Sad

This is so incredibly sad and completely unexpected. I remember reading an recent NYT article where he talked about his sleeping problems and how he was only sleeping an average of two hours a night while filming the new Batman movie Dark Knight. He said while he was physically exhuasted, he couldn't quiet his mind. When he took one Ambien, it only kept him asleep for one hour while two would put him into a stupor. Any average insomniac can relate to that, but he also said he was deeply affected by his movie role as the Joker, whom he called a "psychopathic, mass-murdering, schizophrenic clown with zero empathy." He was clearly a sensitive soul who couldn't sleep, who ironically now, at 28, will sleep forever. A fantastic actor and, from all accounts, a fantastic father as well.

Snippets!

Back-to-Back Brushes with Death
Friday, I was almost killed – twice -- in under 38 minutes. At 2 p.m., I was leaving a meeting at the Hancock tower and heading toward the Back Bay garage. For reasons unknown, I made like I was in London; I looked the wrong way on Clarendon Street and almost got plowed down by a Town Taxi when I stepped off the curb. We’re talking inches from death. The driver swerved and screamed something in Haitian. I almost had a heartattack. Strangers – normally indifferent -- were aghast; people were running up to me. Oh my God! Are you OK? Yes. Thank you. That was close. Whew. Wow. Damn!

I sat in my car for a few minutes, dealing. I took some deep breaths and tried to stop my heart from racing. Recovered, I was heading toward 93 over by the Boston Herald. I had a green light at the Harrison Ave intersection when out of nowhere, an ambulance came flying at me from the right. I didn’t even hear the sirens until it was right on top of me. (probably because I was blaring Blur -- Wooo Hoo! -- and blasting the AC.) Considering my sub par driving skills, I still don't know how it didn't hit me. In that instant, I was possessed by Lightning McQueen. I slammed on the brakes and turned the car 180 degrees as the ambulance wizzed by. The fact that there were no other cars on that road on a Friday afternoon is amazing unto itself. I pulled into the Herald lot to do some yoga stretches and more dealing before getting on the highway. Friday the 13th ended up being my lucky day.

Renegade Parade
I was still rattled by my back-to-back brushes with death but I sucked it up and took the traveling circus to the Common to watch the Renegades' game. These softball outings have been gigantic failures over the past few years, full of whining, sherpa loads of gear, and vein-popping hypervigilance. I've left some games crying and even abandoned a stroller on a quick getwaway during Caroline's historic "Gotta take a turn" meltdown of 2005. Then: Life takes a turn. Suddenly, things are much more chill. There were no heavier than thou diaper bags, just a couple of wet naps and a cooler packed with Cavit ponies and juiceboxes. I even whipped up a mobile snack plate for the bleachers. And instead of running on the field or expecting a turn at bat, the kids put on a Wizard of Oz sideshow, played freeze tag and served beverages to the adults. Some scenes:











(video: Oh, this was weird. The game was interuppted short-term by some bizarre parade of undead winding its way thru the Common. WTF was this?)


Apryl wasn't drinking Sangria...


...at Nate's 1st birthday party on Marina Bay yesterday. Why? Nate has a new baby brother or sister on the way. Yup - Apryl is expecting again which means we can expect to see the mama boobs in full effect again soon. It also means Pete is going to have four kids. Pete. Four kids. Say it.


Birthday
boy.








Scott Baio is 45 and Single

They're totally ripping off High Fidelity with the "revisiting of the exes" premise but if they weren't, we wouldn't get to watch crazy-eyed Erin Moran tell Baio that he has a small penis. Wow. In this delicious car wreck of an episode, Baio opened up about his past relationships, including an anecdote about losing his virginity to Moran on a corduroy couch where “mistook” the couch for "her." It's an image I didn't need. Still, I was pleasantly surprised that Baio's ego doesn't preclude him from ripping on himself a little. During the show, he's trying a little too hard to create some chemistry between himself and the life coach that is guiding him on this path of self exploration. No Tony/Melfi thing happening here. He acts annoyed by all the self analysis, repeatedly rolling his eyes at the life coach as if he's not getting paid. Also, I don't know if it's dirt or fine hair but he's working some pubescent-looking 'stache. It's kind of pervy looking. Yet I'm strangely drawn to him.

The Victoria Beckham Effect

“People think I’m a miserable cow who doesn’t smile. Actually I’m quite the opposite.”

Right. Does anyone else have a burning desire to flog Victoria Beckham with a bag of deli meat? The reason people think she’s a miserable, non-smiling cow is because she always looks like a miserable non-smiling cow. Always. A common media whore, she acts exasperated by the cameras knowing full well she’d disintegrate without them. I've had enough of her this week. Why is her stupid reality-show-downgraded-to-a-TV-special a lead news story -- everywhere? The headline -- "Victoria Beckham is Coming to America!"-- pisses me off because that insect-faced bitch is here, like every week, shopping. And pouting of course. The news outlets are playing it like it's her first time in the country and she's arriving from somewhere extraterrestrial. I don’t get her appeal: A humorless ice queen who doesn’t smile, laugh or eat. All she does is shop and pose, shop and pose. Why is this hot?

I don’t get David Beckham’s appeal either. I don’t care if he’s a professional athlete, he’s not very manly and he's prettier than his wife. But then again, the Beckhams are special, they share a soulful, kismet connection: Recent quote: "I've always had a liking toward clothes, but when I met Victoria, she directed me in the right way," says David Beckham. "When she tells me something doesn't look good, I believe her. We have a connection that way." Wicked deep connection. I'm sure they're a scream to hang out with too.

Let's call it the Victoria Beckham Effect: The more talentless and useless you are is directly proportionate to how cocky and arrogant you behave. Because that’s all you’ve got to offer -- smoke and mirrors. Nothing but your shitty ‘tude (and a few grapes) to sustain you. A washed up Spice Girl who looks the other way when her husband cheats on her because $250 million buys a boatload of Birkin Bags.

Whew. I feel better.

Toss her in a Landfill

(Recycle me)

Paris Hilton wears her stupidity and uselessness like a tacky tiara. So you know she is absolutely thrilled to show the world that she’s too weak in spirit to serve her sentence like a big girl. She loves sending the message that the laws don’t apply to her and her ilk. Just as she gets a rush from cutting the lines at LA’s nightclub of the week – she gets off on everyone knowing that she has privileges that regular people don’t. “You will never get into my club. Suck it, peons.” When you’re Paris Hilton, you don’t persevere or be penitent, you do some jumping jacks and get taken out for a Slushpuppy. When you’re Paris Hilton, you don’t suck it up in private shame, you get dumb toadies like MTV VJ Suchin Pak calling you “courageous” for showing up on the red carpet at the MTV Movie Awards.

Luckily, this whore has an expiration date. Karmic retribution will come with middle age when she’s marveling at her own boring irrelevance. Something tells me that ferret face is not going to age well.

Anyway, the big question today: Will she or won’t she go back to the slammer? There is all this talk about “overcrowding” but she’s a waste of space whether she’s in jail or not. My solution: Her soul may be plastic but she’s biodegradable. Screw jail. Toss her in a landfill somewhere. Stuff her ass in a recycle bin and turn her into a sustainable energy source. Maybe she and her natty hair extensions can finally make themselves useful

What do Alec Baldwin and Penny's Mother from Good Times Have in Common?

By now, you've heard that Alec Baldwin got his Schweaty balls all in a knot and unleashed a psychotic voicemail rant on his 11-year-old daughter, calling her "a rude, thoughtless little pig" and threatening to fly across the country to "straighten her ass out." Yikes.

Alec Baldwin, welcome to the Society of Loose Cannons. Other celebrated members of the SLC include Michael Richards, Mel Gibson and others driven to rage by the limitations imposed upon them by black people, Jews and elementary school children. Baldwin issued a weak, somewhat arrogant statement acknowledging that he should've used "different language while parenting his child." So this was just a "parenting issue?" He must've attended the Leona Gordon School of Parenting then because calling your own child a pig is not a flawed parenting style, it's psychological abuse. Alec, frustration comes standard with being a parent. You've got to control yourself, man. Being a frustrated parent means walking out to the back porch, closing the door behind you and screaming "OH MY FUCKING GOD PLEASE SHUT THE FUCK UP" into a balled-up hand towel. So I've heard. You are a total ass.

Not that Kim Basinger is any better. She's an angry old mess who's only instigated the situation further. Poor Ireland is going to need a team of therapists before she's 20. Run away, child! Join the circus or find some Willona Woods-type savior to adopt you.

UPDATE: Baldwin's belligerent rant has been mashed up with the Ramones --you can download it as a ringtone at Cellytown. It's wrong, but kind of funny.

Aloha and Mahalo

(At 76 years old, Don Ho was still a hit with the ladies)

Just when we'd thought we’d heard the word "ho" enough for one week, we learn beloved Hawaiian crooner Don Ho has headed off to that big luau in the sky. I never really got what his deal was. In my world, he wasn't quite as famous for his "Tiny Bubbles" lounge act as he was for his guest appearances on 70s TV shows like Charlie's Angels, Fantasy Island and Sanford & Son. His most memorable cameo, however, was on the Brady Bunch's three-part episode in Hawaii. I only remember it in flashes: The Tabu Tiki thingy, Cindy's & Bobby's encounter with Mr. Ho where they ask him if he knows how to play the ukelele (as the laugh track goes wild), Bobby somehow ends up sitting on said ukelele, and then the entire family sits in a circle on some beach where they take turns blowing into a conch shell. And wasn't Vincent Price involved somehow? It seems surreal now. Anyway, farewell Don Ho. I'm sure a heavenly pig roast is being held in your honor as we speak.

Womb Raider: A Psychoanalysis

Angelina Jolie needs help. It is clear she's suffering from a serious addiction to adopting orphans from the world's shitholes. Last week, an adoption agency in Vietnam announced she has filed papers to adopt a little Vietnamese playmate for her son. Someone needs to stage an intervention...and soon!


Pointy Note: I can’t even mention Brad Pitt here without going off on a tangent. So let's just say he seems like an emasculated pull toy who is likely locked in bat powder-lined closet in NOLA, only rolled out for diaper changes and staged family photo ops.


Back to Jolie: Does anyone else sense a Mommie Dearest theme happening here? When Joan Crawford was the Queen Whore of Hollywood, she decided to adopt some kids to soften her image. She proceeded to pimp out the kids for publicity whenever it served her needs but had little use for them otherwise.


In the late 90s, Jolie was the reigning psychoslut in Hollywood. With vials of blood and tats galore, she loved regaling the media with tales of how she used knives during sex. On the red carpet at the Golden Globes, she and Billy Boy Thornton told reporters they’d screwed in the limo on the way there. A few years earlier, she practically dry humped her own brother at the Oscars. Suddenly, she was box office poison.

Then, she adopts Maddox from Cambodia. When crazy-as-hell Billy Bob leaves because even he can't handle her lunacy, Jolie emerges as a martyred single mother dedicated to a noble humanitarian mission. Her career shows signs of life again.

Around the same time, Brad Pitt was wimpering on all of the talk shows about wanting to be a father. Looking for a father figure, Jolie reportedly used Maddox on the set of Mr. & Mrs. Smith to mesmerize Pitt into seeing what a caring earth mother she was. Joan Crawford apparently snagged one of her husbands by dangling her adopted kids and dreams of "the perfect family" before him.

When suspicions arise that Jolie and Pitt are having an affair on the set, Jolie gets up on her soapbox ranting about how she'd never be attracted to a man who would cheat on his wife because her father cheated on her mother. So, when she becomes pregnant with Brad's child while he's still married to Jennifer Aniston, she needs a distraction from her own hypocrisy...and fast. So she snaps up an Ethiopian kid before news of the pregnancy gets out. Her image remains one of humanitarian instead of homewrecker. The next thing you know, she's dressing and speaking like Gwyneth Paltrow and her career is hitting a high point.

[Personally, I preferred Jolie when she was bat shit crazy.]

Now, with her recent spate of bad press, she’s adopting yet another impoverished kid, this time from Vietnam. By doing so, she is telling the world to cut her some slack because her reserves of altruism and selflessness are even deeper than one could have imagined.

Of course, many people do exactly what Jolie does every day without their own camera crews paid to photograph them in flattering lighting and perfect lipgloss.

I predict it's only a matter of time before current It-Whore Paris Hilton goes the Mommie Dearest route and starts collecting little Russian babies with little furry Russian hats.

Check out this hilarious video spoof "Womb Raider" where Jolie invades third world villages, stealing children from unsuspecting families. "Run! Angelina is coming!" Asian school children scream as they duck for cover." Priceless.

I'd Like to Thank...

...the fucking Oscars for keeping me up way too late again. Right now, I'm so tired and cranky that I'm talking like Grandpa from Little Miss Sunshine.

Back in the Hab

Brit rechecked into rehab today and has to stay there for 30 days or she could lose custody of her two boys to K-Fed. I say she's already started digging a Shawshank-style teaspoon tunnel. Thoughts?

Awesome photo courtesy of Perezhilton.com

Oops....

...she did it again! ET is reporting that Britney has checked out of rehab for the second time in less than a week after being onsite less than 24 hours. I take it all back. She's an idiot. She's the next Anna Nicole. Her family is finally trying to help her but she refuses to help herself. Booze and drugs mean more to her than her kids. I'm down with Perez Hilton on this one: Give her babies to Larry Birkhead.

Defending Bald Britney

Another PU prediction has come true. Britney has officially checked into rehab.

I usually don't care about the self-induced plights of celebrity addicts but I really feel badly for this baldy. She's only 25 years old and has been living out the consequences of a whole slew of ill-advised decisions under the 24/7 media microscope: She married some wigger buffoon and had two kids back to back. Now, she is going through a divorce only months after the birth of her second son. Her career is in the turlette and she's always drunk or high and has been photographed in clubs pantless, acting the way Vito does when he gets around stuffed bunnies and throw pillows. Of course, her problems do not justify her neglecting her two babies (K-Fed is equally guilty, btw) But to rip off Chris Rock: "I ain't sayin' it's right...but I understand."

After having two kids back-to-back, I definitely went a little nuts. And I was 34, not 24. I was riddled with anxiety. I couldn't retain a thought. I couldn't eat or sleep. And I was postpartum in a large way -- I once became unhinged at a local deli when a sandwich I'd ordered arrived smothered in cheese. At the same time -- and this is the wild dichotomy of parenthood -- I was flying high and happy. All of this manic emotion, I now realize, was caused by my hormone-drenched, post-partum brain.

There are plenty of stable adults in this world who approach parenthood with breezy self-confidence and serenity. Then there are those of us who are averse to domestic captivity and prone to rebellion and moments of extreme immaturity. My initial instincts: "Shit! I'm the MOMMA? Are you kidding me? I can't find my shoes. I've killed Chia Pets." I was certain the cops were going to pull us over on the way home from the hospital and confiscate the carseat.

But when you're in this state, you're afraid to voice any comments about your insecurity or uncertainty because you're worried they'll be met with contempt instead of compassion: "Poor you. You have a beautiful family. Boo hoo."

So you stuff the anxiety down (maybe with some Grey Goose martinis) and one day it manifests itself as a massive panic attack on the ride home from NYC. Luckily, the insanity is fleeting: Hormones subside, you get into a groove, you adapt. But you do need help: I had a grounding force (Jimmy) and two other tiny forces (C&P) that compelled me to grow up a little and stop spinning. I also have good friends who would never say BOO HOO to me unless I deserved it. I now know that being a MOMMA doesn't mean distancing yourself from your identity, your life or your friends. (I've seen so many new parents do this but now I realize that they're just lazy).

We still have plans. We still have friends. Fart jokes are still funny. Life is good. BUT -- without a grounding force, I believe ANYONE could end up bald and in rehab. That said, I am pulling for Brit. I hope she emerges from rehab a sober blonde who can't wait to see her sons.

DEAD

There you go. The Pointy Universe noted in a random quizzilla earlier this month that we were way overdue for an untimely celebrity death. This one was too easy and almost expected. I think Anna Nicole has been on the roster of everyone's unofficial dead pool since the late 90s. Perez Hilton is jump-starting a conspiracy theory that Howard K. Stern, Anna's boyfriend, lawyer and faux father of her six-month-old daughter is behind the deaths of both Anna and her son Daniel last year. His motive: Getting his furry paws on the millions she inherited from that octogenarian billionaire. I'll jump on that bandwagon. It wouldn't be too difficult to make the public and police believe that these people (especially!) died of self-induced drug overdoses. Messy.

Worst Undressed

It is common knowledge that money cannot buy class but Paris Hilton and Britney Spears are living proof that it cannot buy style either. These fashion-challenged morons tied for first place on Mr. Blackwell's 47th annual list of "Worst Dressed" celebrities. But they probably shouldn't appear on this list at all. These dumb bitches were barely clad throughout most of 2006. Britney was routinely seen hanging out in nightclubs with no pants on. WTF? And let us not forget the ratty hair extensions and shameless, repeated flashings of poon (they don't wear underwear either). At least their rank sends a message to any wannabes that "clothing-optional" is a poor fashion choice. Keep your pants on, ladies!

Is Donald Trump 8?

(photo of Trump and his nipple-exposing wife pilfered from Perezhilton.com.)

"You're ugly. You're a fat loser."

I have never been a fan of Rosie O'Donnell's but this guy is a humorless tit. In case you haven't heard, The Donald went on a childish tirade yesterday in response to comments Rosie O'Donnell made on the The View. Rosie made fun of The Donald's morally superior press conference where he granted Miss USA Tara Conner a "second chance" after learning she was not a good role model for young women but an underage-drinking floozy who loves drugs.

Is it really any secret that Trump is less a moral adviser than a creepy uncle who touches? Rosie simply spoke to that point, saying “He’s the moral authority? Left the first wife, had an affair, left the second wife, had an affair, had kids both times, but he’s the moral compass for twenty year olds in America? Donald, sit and spin, my friend.” She also said she expected him to sue her but added “he’ll probably be bankrupt by that time so I won’t have to worry.”

Rosie is annoying and obnoxious. That's her thing. The point here is she was factually correct in her statement and Trump's massive ego can't handle it. Not to mention -- in his world -- women are supposed to be silent, submissive and anorexic. Lesbos are no exception.

Infuriated, Trump ranted to People Mag and Access Hollywood, mostly attacking Rosie's physical characteristics, calling her fat and unattractive. Then he inexplicably added: “She ought to be careful because I’ll send one of my friends to pick up her girlfriend and I think it would be very easy.” This idiot has grown so accustomed to dumb & easy gold digging whores that he thinks he can actually make someone change teams.

As expected the litigious-happy Trump said he's going to sue Rosie. However, it will not be over the remarks about him cheating on his families. Those didn't seem to bother him at all. The comment about bankruptcy, however, really frosted his single-process combover. "She'll say anything that comes to her unattractive mouth. I have never been bankrupt." said Trump. However, according to Wikipedia, he has indeed.

We all know that Trump is a well-versed publicity slut who is likely pouncing on this to promote his tired show that is starting up again in January. Either way, he comes off looking like the "fat loser" in this one. Ratings for The View will likely soar in the wake of the controversy; The Apprentice has sucked for years.

Cream Shop Friday: FED-EX

K-Fed, we hardly knew thee. While you were mostly known as Mr. Britney Spears and for tacking the word "ass" onto all of your adjectives, you touched all of our souls and made them feel icky. However, we now know that you're an intelligent creature after you recently opened up to GQ about your "amazing ass" GED scores. You've always had a way with the skanks and when you turn on that charming-ass charm, nothing can stop you. "Any of you sexy-ass ladies wanna dance with a pimp." That's the stuff...what a sweetheart. We'll never forget you.

The Pointy Universe invites all to pay tribute to this glorified wigger by taking in an encore performance of him here jamming out to one of his own songs, a "Brazilian ass shaker" called Popozao. This instant classic captures the true essence of all that was K-Fed. I'm thrilled he will be immortalized on YouTube for generations to come.

What a Schmuck

It's always the holy rollers; the exaggerated genuflectors who fall on their knees at the altar, loudly praisin' the Lord -- they are often the most gigantic hypocrites, and even more frequently, the most gigantic assholes. Case in point...the uber-holy Mad Mel.

Last week, Mel apparently busted into the sacramental vino at one of the fringe churches he founded in Malibu, sped off into the night butt-wasted and was pulled over on suspicion of DUI. He then proceeded to launch into this inexplicable rant:

"Fucking Jews. The Jews are responsible for all the wars in the world," he barked. "Are you a Jew?" he asked the arresting deputy. When he noticed a female sergeant standing nearby, he yelled at her, "What do you think you're looking at, sugar tits?"

OY.

Considering the steaming cauldron of crazy that is Mel Gibson, I'm surprised this did not come to a head sooner. INGREDIENTS: 1. Mel's father, Hutton Gibson, is a religious zealot and holocaust denier who -- hand on Bible -- believes the 9/11 planes were flown into the WTC towers by an "unknown party" using remote control devices. 2. Mel's dad also founded a fundamentalist splinter church, a sort of Hezbollah for Catholics, to which Mel belongs. 3. A good Christian boy, Mel believes that his wife of 26 years is going to hell because she's Episcopalian. 4. In 2004, he pissed off the chosen people with his portrayal of Jews in The Passion of The Christ but was not widely viewed as an anti-semite...until he outed himself last week.

Tonight, Mel is holed up in rehab devising a better PR strategy. His first mea culpa which stated "I said despicable things that I don't believe" was transparent. Everyone knows people say things when they're drunk that they'd never say when sober. However, what they do say while intoxicated is often what they really think and feel. In vodka veritas.

It's all so familiar. A celebrity behaving erratically around relgious fanaticism. The Cruise must be pumped.

(YES! I'm off the hook.)

"Steaming Drunk" Hoff Gets the Boot

JUST IN -- Hasselhoff was chucked out of Wimbledon last week for being "steaming drunk" and starting a "blazing row" with some security guards. This, alone, is fabulously Hasselhoffian. But the 53-year-old actor took it a bit further, reportedly barking at the guards, "Don't you know who I am? I'm the Hoff." Awesome.

You Say It's Your Birthday

Paul McCartney wrote the tune "When I'm Sixty Four" at a time when your 64th birthday marked the year you started plowing into farmers' markets with your Buick LeSabre and taking out a few pedestrians.

Today, Sir Paul turns 64 and his life resembles that of someone half his age. He's not "losing his hair" or "knitting by the fireside," but playing to sold-out stadiums worldwide. He married -- and is now divorcing -- Heather Mills who is in her 30s. Instead of bouncing grandchildren "Vera, Chuck and Dave" on his knee, he's caring for a two-year-old daughter named Beatrice. On top of all this, he still devotes time to a number of humanitarian causes, including breast cancer research in honor of Linda, the woman he'd hoped to putter away with in old age. Happy Birthday, Paul. You don't look a day over 32 -- on paper, at least.

I believe the theme song for our generation's sextegenarians will be another song from Sgt. Pepper's, "Getting Better." (except for the part about beating one's woman, of course). If not, I propose "Big Balls" by AC/DC.

What's in a Name? Crap.

I'm sure it's been around for awhile but I've heard every respected media outlet -- print, television and online -- refer to Vince Vaughn and Jennifer Aniston as "Vaughniston" over the past few days in stories about the movie "The Break Up." This is beyond ridonkulous. First, these celebrity merger names have run their course. Second, if you're going to apply a celebrity merger name to a couple, at least do it in proper context.

Most credit/scorn J. Lo's and Ben Affleck's "Bennifer" for unleashing this monster but I remember hearing it in the 1990s when people were referring to the Clintons as "Billary;" the combined name implying that the couple, based on its public persona, was not two individuals but a singular entity. The "Bennifer" and "TomKat" labels grew out of a similar sentiment: The couples were ubiquitous, they were constantly in the public eye courting the media. Also, their relationships seemed to be born not out of love but of business mergers meant to pimp their careers. Suddenly every new couple that emerges or even hints at emerging is tagged -- even when they don't fit the profile.

Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie ("Brangelina") are hiding out in the African desert. I think Vince Vaughn and Jennifer Aniston have been spotted together in public once. Neither couple is in-your-face like the others. These crappy names have no meaning. They are no longer funny or creative and JamKat has tired of them.

NOTE: When Jared Leto and Lindsay Lohan hooked up for 10 minutes last year, I heard someone refer to the potential couple as "Jared CataLohan" based on Leto's "So-called Life" character Jordan Catalano. Now that was truly inspiring.

Old Hairy Hasselhoff

I knew I'd be deeply engrossed in the Lost two-hour season finale last night so, out of morbid curiosity, I decided to TiVO American Idol so I could see the final announcement. At first, I was slightly ashamed of myself for recording it but I am SO glad I did. I was fast-forwarding through Ryan "the Tan" Seacrest's empty yammering when I saw the unmistakable glint of the Hoff. I had to rewind and pause a few times because he was easy to miss. I almost woke up everyone in the house when I exclaimed, "Holy Christ, it's Hasselhoff!" At first I thought I was in the grips of some Zyrtec-induced hallucination, but no, there he was in all his hairy glory -- sitting in the audience, welling up with cheesy sentiment at all the Idol fanfare. It was so worth it.

But it gets better. Hasselhoff and some other misbegotten relics are going to be judges on a crappy knock-off show this summer called "America's Got Talent." These horrible shows usually inspire blind indifference or hopeless rubbernecking in me; I have a feeling I won't be able to turn my eyes from this one. It could end up being "surprise fun" like last summer's Hit Me Baby One More Time, which -- as I've said previously -- was so-bad-it's-good fun, fun like the Wham! Rap, fun like a shaving cream fight.

(NOTE: Be thankful I posted this ridiculous G-rated tire swing photo of the Hoff. I was going to post this one but decided to spare you)