Can we talk about the fact that Tim Tebow’s mom is the final Cylon?

Peace in our time.

Over dinner we were discussing ways that Avatar’s villainous WeHo muscle queen jarhead could’ve Billy Zane’d things up a notch and reached a consensus that Cal Hockley would probably have raped Jake Sully in the tanning bad while Jake’s avatar was perving on Neytiri in the disco forest.

Kevin Smith’s manufactured kvetching over Warner Bros.’ refusal to release Cop Out under its original title, A Couple of Dicks, is just a smokescreen for the fact that Smith refused to cooperate with the studio’s original plan to market the feature as Brett Ratner Movie.

I’ve never seen anyone eat a Kit Kat with less conviction. It’s haunting me.

Poignant thing a girl said to me tonight, unintentionally in the cadence of a Beyoncé song: “If I were a boy, I’d grow my beard out to here.”

When someone is exceedingly knowledgeable about a subject you love, discussing it with them can feel like slipping into a nice warm glove … that they may slap you across the face with at a moment’s notice.

One of the more specifically terrifying things in modern life is when you zoom in haphazardly on a Google Map and wind up becalmed in the middle of the deep blue sea.

The legal department shot back some revisions to the copy.

I have a very specific sexual disorder: I get off whenever I hear Sherri Shepherd say the word Chyron.

“Whoever designed this ad must have noticed the subtext.”

This British seatbelt PSA is gradually hokey and then suddenly powerful. It reminds me of this Acura safety commercial from a year or two ago. Beautiful work, both. [thanks, atencio]

The internal clock’s all wonky, as if it knows time is no longer on its side.

Whenever you find yourself hunting for a bunch of adverbs to characterize something, you’ve lost the scent.

I bet Michel Gondry can’t wait to get his big-hands fetish on an iPad.