Matt Damon is not engaged. I believe this is a terrible misunderstanding. What unofficial representatives clearly meant to say was, "Matt Damon is gay and enraged." Or, "Matt Damon is gay in a cage." Or he's "gay and enraged in a cage." Something like that. Because… engaged? To a girl-thing? Matt Damon?

Faggot, please.

Next: Bono likes fish. If you would like to see a picture of Bono eating fish, ask the manager at Ivar's. He just took one!

Also: Bill Murray hates Scarlett Johansson. Scarlett Johansson hates him back. Charlie Sheen is a penis-head who totally deserved to get dumped by Denise Richards. "Ummmm, like, ummmm, like, ummm, um." These were among the highlights of the "inspirational speech" given to the tittering pubescent crowd at a local all-girls Catholic school by Anna Faris, who is the chick from Scary Movie (I, II, III and, soon, IV), for those who probably don't already know, which is everybody. (I had to Google her.) And that's all I have to say about that.

"Adrian: Stop dissing Fred Durst's penis! Because I've seen that video, and you're doing him wrong… he has been, is, and will always be, a handsome, hot, furry little fuck monkey. He can dangle his engorged, pink-crowned scepter anywhere near me at anytime. David, Reader."

Dear David, Reader: I stopped talking about that tired, pink-crowned scepter ages ago. You're the only one still talking about it. STOP TALKING ABOUT IT!

Next: Mary Kay Letourneau and what's-his-ass (I can neither remember nor pronounce that dude's name) have somehow become utterly adorable. Honestly! I remember way back when Mary Kay seemed like a screaming she-hag and Vili Fickalickafulani or whatever the international spokesmodel for everything I didn't want to put in my mouth. (He was squat and grouchy looking for a teenager who was getting laid and he possibly reminded some racist, racist, racist people who might not have been just me of the evil bad-luck tiki that put a curse on Marcia or whatever when the Brady Bunch went to Hawaii. Not that he'd remember, being pre-embryonic at the time.) But now? You've noticed? They're both of-age and thin and moussed and glowing connubially and are as darling as Pearl Bailey's pearl buttons--or at least they were reported as such when they were seen walking hand-in-hand down Third Avenue in Belltown last week. Michael Jackson had no comment.

And has anyone heard from Courtney Love lately? Somebody should dredge a lake or some bottles of Robitussin or something.

Lastly: This week's parade of C-level celebrité finally concludes with a rare and peculiar downtown sighting of John Ritter's wife, Amy Yasbeck, that will not be repeated here due to the relative obscurity of the reference. Thank you.