Monday’s choice tidbits are few and far between, but duty, as they say, calls. And my post-Thanksgiving gift to you: No Star Trek or Watchmen updates.

Black Friday, indeed: Steve Guttenberg says sequels to Police Academy and Three Men and a Baby are in the works. Ha, ha, good one, Steve. Seriously, stop kidding around. No, really. Shut the fuck up.

Joss Whedon ready to bring Buffy the Vampire Slayer back to the big screen.

Hold on to your hormones, ladies: Johnny Depp and Christian Bale are respective adversaries John Dillinger and Melvin Purvis in Michael Mann’s Public Enemies, a Cream Team pairing sure to keep theater ushers everywhere on “moist-seat alert.” Have your canisters of talcum powder ready, boys!

Tom Tykwer’s The International is set to open next year’s 59th Annual Berlin Film Festival. Normally I wouldn’t post this kind of Eurocentric fare, but Tykwer’s Run Lola Run is one of my favorite films, and with Clive Owen and Naomi Watts starring, I can’t wait to get a look at this. (Unless, of course, the buzz is really bad, in which case I’ll slam the film sight unseen.)

And finally, some strong Oscar buzz is swirling around Clint Eastwood’s performance in the upcoming Gran Torino.

See, I told you there’d be no Star Trek or Watchmen. Have a great Monday.

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First things first: A review of the 2-disc Blu-ray edition of The Dark Knight.

New on DVD or Blu-ray today: Hancock, A Colbert Christmas: The Greatest Gift of All, Fred Claus

Variety reviews The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, starring Brad Pitt and directed by David Fincher. Spoiler: They like it.

William Shatner gives his two cents on the design of the new USS Enterprise. Spoiler: He likes it.

Sarah Jessica Parker reveals that Sex and the City 2 has a story and may be released in 2010. Oh joy, another reason for girls loopy on Cosmos to tell male movie critics to eat shit.

Tim Blake Nelson talks about becoming villain The Leader in an Incredible Hulk sequel. Which doesn’t even have a script yet.

Twilight of Bond: Tween vampire flick overtakes Quantum of Solace at the box office. Hit movies based on young adult novels about girls infatuated with pretty boys who drink blood must surely be a sign of the apocalypse.

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You may know Thomas Kincade for his revolutionary method of painting with light, earning him the moniker Thomas Kincade, Painter of Light and also somehow making him “America’s most collected living artist.” (I’m quoting from the Man’s website here, folks. He can’t be exaggerating, can he?) Christmas Cottage marks the Painter of Light’s first foray into motion pictures and, after being held back from theatrical release last year, it finally hits the market in DVD form this week. While you might expect a stark, unflinching look at a world devoid of morality and human kindness, Christmas Cottage — judging by the trailer, at least — is actually gooey, soft-focus cheersploitation. Hide the kids, watch the trailer, then fear for the future of man.

How in the world does this thing feature actual actors? Marcia Gay Harden? Peter O’Toole? Um, Chris Elliott? The most heartrending casting decision, though, involves star and Kincade stand-in Jared Padalecki, who, not so long ago, was lighting up the small screen with his epic turn as Dean Forester on the now-canceled Gilmore Girls. (Okay, so I’m a little obsessed.) First House of Wax, Jared, now this? For shame.

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Palin: Can I get you boys a drink?
Russian 1: No thanks, we’re already pretty drunk.
Palin: But you need to make a call?
Russian 1: You know, if I could re-arrange the alphabet, I would put U and I together.
Palin: If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you guys were flirting with me.
Russian 2: Excuse me … I think I dropped something … my jaw.

It’s a brilliant parody of common porn tropes, with a buxom veep impersonator to boot. And then the sex happens. Watch this clip of the first minute of this modern masterpiece — it’s totally safe for work. Unless you work for Fox News, or maybe the Amish.

Here’s a link for more pics, albeit of the less work-safe variety.

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A day to defeat the video game, a lifetime to live down the shame. [Stop] Big ups to web traffic! [Stop] Jessica Simpson to stump for beer. A light beer. Substance-less, in fact. Yep, that sounds about right. [Stop] Winehouse back to rehab-Blake redux. Again. Once more. [Stop] Dave Matthews’ sax player LeRoi Moore, dead at 46. RIP. [Stop] Hasbro’s Clue circa ‘08: The butler did it, in the bathroom at Koi, with the knife seen in those scandalous pics with Lindsay Lohan. And don’t forget the super powers. [Stop] Not content to live la vida loca with one bambino, Ricky Martin does dos at once. [Stop] Forbes reveals the hip hoppers living largest. (Guess which money-monikered rapper?) [Stop] The New York Post has no love for our Cous Cous. That’s okay, we have plenty. [Stop] Bleep, meet the new bleeping bleep. Really bleeping funny, you bleeper. 

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David Beckham, The Musical. Tee hee, they said “Goldenballs.”

Phelps’ pop culture domination begins/continues.

Kellogg’s trumps Wheaties for Phelps promo gold: Ahhh, snap!

Phelps’ backlash begins/continues.

“Fierce, flawless and fabulous” mommas-to-be: Christian Siriano to design for the preggers set. Next up, haute baby messes.

Just in time for the first week back: The economy cuts class.

Billy, don’t ya lose this number: $46.68 million.

A hurtin’ Hershey’s chocs [prices] a lot. We thought it was a stretch, too.

Gawker on Gore’s new spot. Giggle.

Speaking of which, semicolon is the new “[blank] is the new black.”

The return of the Ventura. Eeesh.

This is just plain cool. Way to go, guys.

Blah blah drama blah. Mayer blah Aniston blah. Yawn. Blah.

Chinese Democracy thisclose to being released. No seriously. We mean it. For realsies. Swear. Honest.

Another tasteful new series for the fattest nation on the globe.

Roseanne is bat shit crazy. But we already knew that, right?

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Julia Child, secret agent chef.

30 Seconds sued for 30 million for failing to deliver the “goods.” (Shouldn’t Jordan Catalano and co. get a bonus for NOT making “music”?)

Where were you when Phelps landed his eighth (and his seventh the night prior)?

That means none of us were at the movies, and the numbers prove it.

August anniversary, part 1: E.P.’s death.

August anniversary, part 2: Madge’s birth.

Trump’s latest role: McMahon’s landlord.

Rolling Stones roust gramps from a coma; he joins his elder, Keith Richards, for a celebratory bender.

Ellen and Mandy tie the knot; Anne Heche joins her elder, Keith Richards, for a commiserating bender.

The Hollywood Reporter pegs it on the Writer’s Strike, but…

Fox News claims Radcliffe’s upcoming full frontal derailed the new Harry Potter movie release date. (We think it’s just O’Reilly not wanting Danny Boy to steal his own off Broadway thunder. Very off off off off off off Broadway.)

In related news, Entertainment Weekly mightily miffed at its parent company… Whoops.

We always said McLovin’ kicked ass. And so it came to pass.

Blender polls the presidential candidates, High Fidelity style. The answers speak for themselves — but that won’t stop Randy Newman.

Speaking of which, where’s Jackson Browne, McCain? Perhaps, because of this?

Nyet irony here: Rocky to pimp Russian vodka.

Jerry Lewis explains that gun oversight; still no explanation for his French fanbase.

Defamer’s take on the 007 divorce scandal.

$40,000 a month? That’ll barely cover the monthly Hogan family peroxide party.

Ernest Borgnine reveals the secret to longevity. OMG awesome.

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P. Diddy should be sued for not shutting the flip up.

Aw, we heart you, comeback Britz: You can take the country out of the girl, but…

Elvis and Priscilla Barbie dolls. They’re right about the plastic Priscilla thing, just waaaaay early. (Now where’s our matching Graceland Barbie Dreamhouse?)

Uncle Joey finally talks about that song. You oughta know what we’re talking about.

The Chupacabra does exist, and this proves it. Really?

Bigfoot, too, though alive? Not so much.

Another broken record for Phelps, another broken ratings record for NBC.

“John Edwards in a onesie.” Gadzooks.

Michael Phelps eats 12,000 calories a day. Not because he can, because he has to.

Forthcoming season of America’s Next Top Model jumping the shark: Or rather, Tyra’s forehead.

Coming soon to a theater near you, Superbad Express? (Bring the McLovin’!)

Billy Bob to be Freddy Krueger. Yeah, we felt a bit off just typing that.

Kanye to push Fatburger. Make your own joke.

Senor Crazypants’™ longtime biz partner bows out. Leaving, em…?

Yeah, we almost feel some sympathy crazy for him. Almost.

Going to the office is the new working from home. Or the old working from the home office. Or something.

We drink all y’all’s celebrity milkshakes. We’ll just take a butt-ton of Valtrex after doing so (Yeah, sounds really gross typing that, too.)

Just to cleanse that palate…

It’s official: Facebook rules the world. We’re throwing a self-referential column at it right now.

Speaking of Facebook… And self-referential… And columns…

Poo facial is the latest beauty craze: Kinda gives new meaning to the term “shitface,” don’t it?

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The latest Olympic scandal: Lip synching kiddies!

This just in[visible]: Super awesome cloak coming soon.

Ben Stiller responds to Tropic Thunder controversy. Yeah, we’re still seeing it, too.

Forbes ranks the top-earning celeb chefs: Rachael Ray prevails, our beloved Bourdain barely placed with a paltry $1.5 million.

In other gourmet news, Tommy Boy Cruise lands his latest role. Speaking of Senor Crazypants™…

Jolie takes over for Cruise. She really is superwoman.

Kanye gets his puppet on.

Gawker gets at why TV is so crappy. So. very crappy. “Stupendously shitty.”

Before it was crappy, it was big. Wide. Like whoa.

Hawaii Five-O: Crappy. Craptastic. Tubular. And back for a do-over.

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A Martha Stewart parody show = A very good thing.

Heroes star Hayden: She’s just a cheerleader, and her folks are only human. Or something.

The Batman, still on top.

Aw-right, aw-right, aw-right, aw-right. McConaugHAAAY talks fatherhood. And placentas.

Olympics opening ceremony scores ratings gold. Yeah, that was a weak one, we admit. It’s Monday.

Fragrance mogul Diddy proclaims “I Am King.” We Don’t Care.

Tori, Tori, Tori, it was never about you. Ever.

More Edwards-related dirt. And dirt is the operative word here. Dirt. all. over.

Rick Astley interwebs joke sensation, meet Obama. Presenting, Barackrolled!

Dear George Lucas, Let. It. Go. Seriously, stop it. Please. Don’t make us Barackroll you. XoXo, CL

P.S. Lucas, we’re not the only ones.

Aw, sheesh. Quit yer Spitzing.

Jezebel is not digging Today’s Curry.

The Washington Post isn’t so hot on the Today fourth hour, for that matter.

And then there’s Kathie Lee…

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