After an accident while performing “Love In an Elevator” (too awesome) at the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally in South Dakota yesterday, Aerosmith frontman Steven Tyler found himself being airlifted to the closest hospital after suffering neck and shoulder injuries. Tyler was initially assisted backstage until it was realized that the aging rock icon was in need of more serious medical attention.

The event’s spokesperson told the Associated Press “He was good-natured about it. He was in good spirits when he got in the helicopter. He was talking and joking with the physician.”

It’s been a rough couple of years for Tyler, which included rehab stints for both himself and his daughter Mia, so we’re hoping that he’s on his way to a speedy recovery and able to reclaim the stage in time for Aerosmith’s upcoming Canadian tour scheduled for this summer.

Like when anything happens with any celebrity, there’s a quick clamoring of the masses to see what they can get out of it. The death of Michael Jackson is no exception and if anything, it’s way worse. We’ve seen Cheetos shaped like the moonwalker being sold on eBay, tacky memorial t-shirts, boxed sets, and now, the one and only painting that Jackson ever posed for is going back on the market for the first time since 1990 because of “renewed interest” in the King of Pop.

The painting went for a whopping 2.1 million when it was auctioned off to a tri-state area couple almost twenty years ago, and now it’s being shipped from a Jersey warehouse to a Harlem car showroom (???) to be seen and possibly bought again.

I can imagine that the painting’s value could have either doubled or been knocked in half after all these years. Yes, it is supposedly the only painting that Jackson ever posed for, which I suppose does add some value, but with the crashing economy, art sales have been at an all time low. And you know, pardon me because I wasn’t an art history major and I’m not really sure, but isn’t that painting like, really friggin’ tacky? I mean, maybe if some foreign royalty in a velvet lined palace can find a place for it between his gold plated zebras the painting will find a new home, but it seems likely to me that they’ll have a hard time finding a bidder.

OK, so I know that you all saw the Parade Magazine interview with Brad Pitt that came out yesterday and it’s great that he supports gay marriage, but hello– I think we already knew that. Let’s concentrate on this sound byte about his teen years, shall we?

I liked to smoke a bit of grass at the time and I became very sheltered. Then I got bored. I was turning into a damn doughnut, really.

A damn doughnut, really. I have to say as someone who is barely known but maybe more commonly associated with smoking le grass (French points!) than Brad, that nothing gets my rocks off more than hearing celebrities talk about their munchies weight, because then you know that they aren’t just occasional tokers. People who pack on the pounds via munchies and then take said pounds off while still being potheads are truly magical beings. They have transcended stoner culture and have now adapted a lifestyle. Once you’re no longer just using pot as a means to properly space out in front of episodes of Family Guy and eat a bag of Funyuns , you’re probably using it to self medicate. And it’s kinda awesome to think about Brad Pitt having a big fat headache from the kids, the wife,et c., going out to his shed with a Doobie Brothers’ record and sparking up a fat ass joint.

I imagine that Brad uses this time to stare at the backs of his hands, play with one of those miniature rock gardens and contemplate whether or not it’s a good idea to have another kid. When you think about it, it would certainly explain why he has so many of them.

I don’t know why I’m up at 3 am. Scratch that. I’m up at 3 am because I have a very serious West Wing addiction. I’m helplessly buying and watching every single episode from iTunes. I was just going to do one tonight, but that turned into two, and now I’m pondering a third. This is, like, the sort of thing that warrants a 12-step program at this point.

The good news about being up at 3 am is that you get to catch Lindsay Lohan’s crazy tweets to Samantha. From this I gather that Samantha told Lindsay she was at home, Lindsay arrived at said home, Samantha wasn’t there and is not answering her cell phone. So the next rational course of action is for Lindsay to publicly tweet about this betrayal. Someone needs to explain the direct message feature to Lindsay. Not that she’d ever use it in an attempt to keep her private life private.

I suspect that around 5 am we’re going to see a scene much like this one.

(BT-dubs, you can follow me on Twitter here.)

A very pregnant Heidi Klum, along with hubby Seal, takes Leni and Henri to LAX. The family’s headed to NYC. My gosh, if I were Heidi, I’d be afraid to fly at this point. She looks like she could pop at any minute — although she’s not due until October.

Wooooooooow. Did Hollywood fire all its half-decent trailer directors because of the recession? Bad idea. I mean, there are shitty trailers, and then there are shitty trailers. This one falls in the latter category. Not one of these jokes is funny, and not one of these shots make Justin Timberlake look like a competent actor. Why does he keep trying? Justin, you’re really good and making music and dancing. You’re not good at acting. Give it up.

By the way, the poor girl who got sucked into this cinematic sinkhole is Kate Mara, who was in Brokeback Mountain and was also totally awesome in Transiberia. This script choice was a notable misstep on her part. Note to talented up-and-coming actresses: If a “singer-turned-actor” is involved, you shouldn’t be. Taryn Manning, I’m looking at you.