I possibly like Madonna's new song a little, and I'm in no mood to take any shit about it. Fuck.

Elsewhere: Oprah makes the guy who plays Johnny Cash in that new biographical movie throw up. I know exactly how he feels. (And when will the world finally listen to me: That woman is as queer as Christmas in Istanbul. You'll see. Someday. I guaran-fucking-tee it. And then, oh! How you shall all fall to your scabby knees and praise the glory of the Adrian! PRAISE HIM!)

In related gayness: Leonardo DiCaprio finally broke up with that interminable supermodel he's been "dating." That creaking noise you hear is a metaphoric closet somewhere, slowly... cracking... open...

Meanwhile: Conan O'Brien had another baby, which must have hurt, as he's a man. Conan's wife, who is from here or something, could hardly be reached for comment. (And remember when she and Conan were married at St. James on First Hill, and then threw that huge reception at the old train station? Me neither!)

It's been widely reported that poor Hilary Duff is suffering from physical and aesthetic exhaustion caused by her so-called "superstar year" of alleged "success."

In other important news: My asshole itches.

Then: Paris Hilton was miraculously unhurt in a terribly not-serious car accident last week, which is unfortunate on many levels, the least of which being that this particular paragraph is much shorter, and remarkably less dazzling. Paris Hilton remains blond.

In more Jews: "Dear Adrian, I believe in Jewish Thanksgivings. I have been to several on Mercer Island. They never offered leftovers to go. —Shalom, Bob"

Dear Shalom, Bob, I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention. What?

Somewhere else, hopefully: If you have $900,000 to burn, and can put up with his bullshit, Russell Crowe will fly to wherever you are and sing at your Christmas party. Although it's impossible for anything anywhere ever to be as universally horrible as Vincent Gallo peddling his scary spooge online for a million bucks, Russell Crowe remains startlingly tacky.

In things you wish you didn't know, but do now: Ellen has a foot fetish. She unequivocally demonstrated this particular proclivity all over Jennifer Aniston during her spectacular daytime show recently when, unable to resist, she compulsively lunged for Jennifer's unshod tootsies and began to rub like Dr. Scholl on an E jag. I have no comment on the matter particularly, as I love Ellen like a mother and think Jennifer has cute toes, too; I'm simply bringing it to your attention as the voices in my head do bid me. Shalom.

Send! adrian@thestranger.com