If you haven’t heard already, Josh Duhamel – or Fergie’s lapdog – was removed from an aircraft this past Thursday for violating flight protocol. Apparently Josh thinks himself as something of an exception to that whole ‘please turn off electronic devices while we try to get this 150-ton hunk of scrap metal off the ground, OK’ thing because when asked to turn his phone off, he said, ‘No thank you,’ and continued texting.

When Josh – or ‘John,’ as People.com refers to him in the top tab as seen here:

didn’t comply with the steward’s continuous suggestions, then requests, then demands, to turn the phone off, the plane was turned around and Josh was removed by flight staff.

I mean, Josh should know that any variety of things will get you kicked off a plane these days – including being fat – so why would he think that being a douche wouldn’t be one of them? Because even if he didn’t refuse to shut off his mobile, I’m sure they would have figured out another reason to get his smarmy ass off of the aircraft.

I don’t know about you guys, but I know that when I celebrate Christmas exiled to my grandmother’s front porch with the drug addict cousins and their obnoxious husbands with poor boundaries because I asked to sing “Happy Birthday” to Jesus and I “wasn’t being serious,” one of my first thoughts is always “I wonder what John Waters’ Christmas would be like?”  Good news:  the Chicago Tribune did a Christmas story with John Waters, so I don’t have to wonder anymore.  Bad news:  I’m not totally sure my family would appreciate me taking John Waters’ advice on anything.

On meat thieves, the driving force behind the plot of his (hopefully) upcoming Christmas movie, Fruitcake: “We have them in Baltimore,” Waters explained. “They come knock on your door and say, ‘Meat man!’ and you say, ‘I’ll take three porterhouse steaks and a ham.’ They shoplift it and bring it back, and you pay half the price that’s on the label.”

On who should play Santa: “Is it fatist to ask fat people to play Santa Claus at your office party? Yes! Don’t do it.”

On how to deal with crazed Christmas shoppers: “If you want to get through a crowd, wear a T-shirt that has something obscene about Christmas on it. People move right out of your way, and you can get right up to anything you want because they’re busy shielding their children’s eyes away from you. You get right to the front of the line, I’m telling you.”

And for those lucky enough to be on his Christmas card list: “This year I’m sending 1,900 hand-signed Christmas cards.” Each year he designs a new card. “It is a great holiday burden, and I firmly believe that every person should design and mail their own personally signed Christmas cards. And if you ever sell mine on eBay, not only will you never get one again, my friends will burn down your house on Christmas Eve.

Sounds good, John!  And hey, if all else fails, I’ll just watch A Dirty Shame and cry like I did last Christmas.

Like Michael Lohan and Joe Francis before him, it looks like Keanu Reeves has joined the ranks of the Crazy Eyes, that elite task force of dicks and douchebags alike.  I’m not sure when it happened – it seems like only yesterday he was being a harmlessly horrible actor and starring in a hilarious meme – but that doesn’t matter now.  Keanu has lost his soul, and there’s nothing that can be done about that.

I’ll tell you my story of Soulless Keanu, just for the sake of solidarity.  I was browsing through potential pictures to show you guys, keeping an eye on the “Bridezillas” marathon while I did so, and then I saw the unmistakable form of Keanu in a thumbnail. Feeling a strange sense of dread and fear, I opened the picture, and all of my happiness and joy was sucked out of me into the vacuum that is Keanu’s stare. And I faltered for a moment, I did, but then I remembered my duties, and here we are.  Don’t ever say I never warned you about the demons gathering around us.

Feel free to share your story in the comments.  This is a safe place.

Ok, maybe that headline is a little wrong, because Taylor Swift was obviously officially named Entertainment Weekly‘s Entertainer of the Year, that’s not a question.  I guess the question is more of an incredulous “really?”

I think Taylor Swift seems like a sweet girl and everything, and I’m super excited about her new role as Jake Gyllenhaal’s beard, but Entertainer of the Year seems like a bit much.  Or really, I think her overwhelming popularity seems to be a bit much.  I’m sure her music’s enjoyable if you go for that sort of thing, but have you seen her live performance?  It’s not that great.  In fact, she’s sort of notoriously bad in concert.  I’m not saying that I could do any better, I’m just saying that I was at this party last night and in between rounds of shots, a couple of my friends played that classic game, “Turn the Shitty Pop Song Into a Showtune,” and their drunken theatrical version of Ke$ha’s “Take It Off” was way better than anything I’ve ever seen Taylor do.  And that definitely makes me question the integrity of this award.

Who do you guys think would have been better suited for this honor?  Lady Gaga?  Bristol Palin? Steve Guttenberg?

“When we start the kissing scenes I forget we’re surrounded by a load of people. I actually end up getting really carried away. It’s only when the kiss is finished that my mind registers there’s actually a set full of people around, and I just walk away embarrassed.”

- Robert Pattinson on what it’s like to kiss his lady love, Kristen Stewart, in a professional setting.

I bet all you Twihards out there are biting your pillows to shreds just like Edward does in Breaking Dawn when he finally consummates his creepy, unhealthy relationship with Bella. That’s cool, just be sure not to impregnate anyone with a zombie-like halfbreed fetus, because then you’ll have to perform a C-section by gnawing through the uterus (that movie is going to be so amazing).

I know you guys have been really curious about what Mike Tyson has been doing with his life.  I know you read articles on this site and think “Yeah, that Lindsay Lohan is great and all, but what’s Mike been up to?”  Well, consider this your lucky day, because I’m here to let you in on the latest development: birds.

Pigeons, to be exact.  To be even more exact, 2,500 pigeons. Mike Tyson owns 2,500 pigeons.  He says that he has “birds everywhere that I go,” and that he has them “at different homes that I live and hang out at.”  There’s even going to be a documentary about his pets, set to be aired next year.  And I think that is just bananas.

I’m not trying to come down on birds, but I hate birds.  I’m not saying that they should be systematically eradicated from the earth, I’m just saying that they make shitty pets.  They just make noise and peck at you and scratch you and get caught in your hair, and even though you know that the bird is way more freaked out than you, you can’t help but to flail and scream because there is a creature tangled up on your head. And have you ever tried to pet a bird?  So unsatisfying.

The point is this: Mike Tyson has officially gone crazy.  I mean, I know that he’s always been crazy, but 2,500 birds is a new level.  That is Heidi Fleiss crazy, and that is not a place where you want to be.