Who's News 2006.

A new year tragically means the same old shit: Who’s News, culled directly from the pages of USA Weekend. For new Admin Worm visitors, these are actual letters sent by actual readers to USA Weekend asking the pop culture-related questions that keep us all up at night.

We are huge Jeff Daniels fans and love that he has stayed firmly planted in his home state of Michigan. We hear he's a musician, too. – Belinda Edmunds, Louisville, KY

“We”??? What’s with you people using “we” all the time? Do you have a mouse in your pocket? Undiagnosed multiple-personality disorder? Or does it genuinely take two of you to muster up the suitable combinations of vowels, consonants, nouns, verbs, and adjectives to create a cohesive sentence?

And by the way, Who’s News is for questions. Where’s your question? Questions are denoted by the “?” at the end of the assemblage of characters, you moron.

Sorry, just a little hungover and crabby here from the fact that I’ve already broken three New Year’s resolutions, and in the process at least two local statutes.

Anyway, yes: Jeff Daniels lives in Michigan, much like documentary-filmmaker Michael Moore, but unlike the 900-pound Moore, Daniels does not live in an exclusively white neighborhood. Yeah, that’s right: Michael Moore is a gigantic, fucking hypocrite, but he hates George Bush so let’s all get down on our knees, push away the flab with the jaws of life, and dutifully fellate him.

Jeff Daniels does indeed have a musical side, Belinda. He joins such luminaries as Dan Akroyd, Bruce Willis, Jim Belushi, Keanu Reeves, Kevin Bacon, Steven Seagal, etc. etc. etc. who don’t know when to leave well enough alone and let someone else have a tiny portion of the fame and money available in the world. While “real” musicians continue to work ‘round the clock, tour endlessly and go hopelessly into debt thanks to shady contracts wantonly dispensed by unscrupulous record companies, multi-millionaires like Daniels et al. snap their fingers and are magically given carte blanche to record albums with the music industry’s finest studio musicians, and embark on promotional tours playing A-list clubs and staying in the finest hotels.

If we're really lucky, perhaps Daniels will churn out a heartfelt blues number letting the world know how painful it is to be him; how gut-wrenching it is to play your heart out at the L.A. House of Blues only to find domestic caviar in the limo afterwards, not imported as clearly spelled out in the contract.

Here’s a picture of a scale, Belinda. This is for the purpose of weighing whom I hate more, you or the celebrities you worship so. Looks like a toss up, and in honor of that I think I’ll toss up my lunch because you make me sick.

From "Happy Days" to "Raising Helen," I've enjoyed director Garry Marshall's wholesome work for 40 years. ‑ Carol Creswell, Bloomfield, N.Y.

Again: Questions, people. Who’s News is for questions. This is not free column space for television-addicted Down’s Syndrome sufferers. This is your opportunity to ask me, an expert in all things pop culture, questions.
And by the way, my pet peeve is when people ask me “Can I ask you a question?” Because for starters, when you ask me that, you already asked me a question. And second, technically a question is all you can ask.

Now, the bad news, Carol: If you’ve enjoyed Garry Marshall’s “wholesome work,” you’ll be dreadfully disappointed by his latest project. Marshall has just inked a deal with HBO to create adult-themed versions of his beloved hit family shows. Working titles include “Joanie ‘loves’ Chachi,” “Happy Gays,” and “The L-Word and Shirley,” the latter graphically illustrating that Penny Marshall did not live by milk and Pepsi alone.

Says Marshall, “If (former Happy Days star) Ron Howard can cash in with (the Fox sitcom) ‘Arrested Development,’ I can sure as shit push the envelope myself a little. Plus, I screwed Erin Moran so badly out of residuals that she’s got to be dying for a chance to recapture the spotlight, and since she’s the sole child star who hasn’t shown her tits in Playboy yet, I’m sitting on a cash cow the size of which makes (1,200 lb. George Bush hater) Michael Moore look like a starving African child.”

Is the ABC comedy "Less Than Perfect" coming back? ‑ Allen Daniels, Heeney, CO

Well, I don’t know about “Less Than Perfect,” Allen, but my feeling of being less-than-concerned is certainly back with a vengeance.

Just joking, Allen. Lighten up, you pop culture-addicted shell of a man.

Anyway, to answer your question, the ABC comedy Less Than Perfect, starring Andy Dick, is slated to…

Wait, I was right to begin with: Who gives a fuck? You’re taking a tremendous chance sending me a signed letter basically confessing that you’re one of the people contributing to Andy Dick’s inexplicable fame and fortune. When will this talentless piece of shit die in the street with a needle in his arm, for Christ’s sake? That would be a more dignified end than continuing to appear in the turds masquerading as comedies he continues to star in despite having not one shred of talent.

Go outside at night and look up, Allen: That’s outer-fucking-space and you’re in it. If you can do that and still give a shit about some crappy ABC shitcom, I’ll personally take you to Best Buy and purchase you the biggest fucking flat-screen they’ve got, and to sweeten the deal I have a brain surgeon friend who owes me a favor: I’ll have him make your lobotomy official.

Everybody else on "CSI" gets the spotlight. Why not the teddy bear, Paul Guilfoyle, who plays Jim Brass? ‑ Cathy James, Albany, OR

First, I hope you’ll forgive me, Cathy, but I’ve been instructed to forward any letters bearing “pet names” for celebrities directly to the FBI. Your reference to Paul Guilfoyle as “the teddy bear” is eerily reminiscent of a letter I received from a certain Mark Chapman back in 1979 about “the former Beatle and now evil mastermind who’s been controlling my thoughts from New York City whom I will soon deal with in a swift and severe fashion, as soon as he autographs my fucking album." I really, really dropped the ball on that one and am still kicking myself.

To answer your question, Paul Guilfoyle shuns the spotlight because of a rare condition making him susceptible to skin damage from prolonged exposure to light. In fact, any more than two hours under the hot lights of the set is enough to cause the skin of “the teddy bear” to bubble up just like that naked Vietnamese napalm kid in the famous photo shown here. I show it not to be gratuitous, but rather to hopefully impress upon you that there are considerably greater issues in the world than whether or not Paul “the teddy bear” Guilfoyle is getting enough time in the spotlight, you fucking moron.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but wasn't Angelina Jolie the reason Billy Bob Thornton and Laura Dern broke up? ‑ Ruth Smith, Ferndale, Mich.

You’re wrong, Ruth. Wrong for pissing away even one precious moment of your one and only life contemplating the comings and goings of sexually super-charged celebrities. Wrong for pressing your nose between the pages of the latest People Magazine blindly trusting the planet to continue its complicated dance through the cosmos while you live vicariously through amoral shreds of human debris. Wrong to scrawl barely legible block letters on a piece of cardboard and ask inane questions about celebrity romance while even one child remains homeless, neglected or abused, and that includes the three dozen Chinese kids Angelina Jolie's had shipped to her mansion in the past two months.

But as far as the love triangle thing, you were right. Way to go, champ.

Well, that wraps it up for the first Who’s News of the year 2006. Last night, as the clock ticked down to midnight, I made a resolution: To take it a bit easier on the folks who write me the butt loads of letters I receive about meaningless shit each week. “After all,” I told myself, “not everyone is as privileged as you, Admin Worm. You have a great-paying job, you love what you do, you’re on the fast-track to incredible success, so don’t begrudge John and Jane Doe of Nowhere, USA the opportunity to ask a question or two about a celebrity they happen to admire, if that’s what gives them even a sliver of happiness in their otherwise meaningless lives.”

Then it dawned on me that none of those things about me are true: I’m a 40-year old college sophomore earning no money at a job I despise. I’m bald, out-of-shape and angry. I long for a faith that can “move mountains” like that of which Christ spoke, yet I continually fight the nagging feeling that we’re all alone in the Universe. If I don’t lash out, there’s a chance I might look inward and realize there’s no one to blame for my current state than myself, and we cannot have that, can we? I’m glad you agree. See you next week for another edition of Who’s News.