Pop-country tween phenomenon Taylor Swift dropped by Ellen today to promote a new album of songs that tap deep into the wells of heartache she's already amassed in her scant 18 years on this planet. The most achy-breaky of all? Her breakup with dreamy-haired Jonas brother Joe, about whom she says pragmatically, "One day...I won't be able to remember the boy that broke up with me over the phone in 25 seconds when I was 18." What follows is a thunderous wave of "Ohhhhhhwaaahhhhhhwhoooooooaaaa" from the audience we think is supposed to encapsulate their shock, sympathy, and outrage over the callous tele-dumping. While we feel for the singer, we too are certain there's far more worthy suitors in her future, and she'll chalk this experience up to yet more grist for the country-song mill, culminating in a CMA-winning composition entitled, "I Need Your Lovin' (Like I Need A Fartin' Dog in My Dodge)." [Ellen]

We've been made vaguely aware that there recently existed some sort of romantic entanglement between preternaturally unlucky in love Friends star Jennifer Aniston and female-anatomy-as-human-amusement-park-rhapsodizing troubadour John Mayer—and that it has ended, badly. Our condolences go out to both of them, but particularly to Aniston, about whom we're really starting to believe that one-eyed Gypsy woman who grabbed us on a Melrose sidewalk, wagging a gnarled finger in our face as she warned: "Mark my words—Jennifer Aniston will die alone!" before vanishing into a nearby alleyway.In any case, an emotionally agitated Mayer was approached on the streets of Manhattan by reporters hoping for a word on two on the breakup. Mayer then offered them more material than they had ever hoped for, turning the tables on the stunned-speechless gossip hounds by insisting they print the truth (for once!), instead of spinning scurrilous hearsay into cover line gold. Unfortunately, he sticks around about two minutes too long; by the time he offers, "I don't waste people's time...I'm just being honest, yo....Let's poll the people around us and see if my theory is right that 20% of them would have liked to have dumped Jennifer, too—they just didn't have the guts!" things just start getting uncomfortable for everyone involved.

We don't know how many more young Hollywood power-couple breakups our hearts can bear: Days after learning that Drew Barrymore would never again look the Mac Guy in his built-in iSights, cooing, "You're so unbelievably special and have a huge, amazing heart. You really do have the soul of a manatee—free and strong and beautiful," out of the side of her mouth, comes word now that Sarah Silverman and Jimmy Kimmel's open-fucking-relationship is no longer. (Sure, this seems like Matt Damon's perfect opportunity to swoop in and bag the potty-mouthed Jewess of his dreams, but we'd argue that it was the illicit nature of their mini-bar rendezvous that really fueled the affair. Now that she's available, we doubt we'll be hearing any musical odes to fat Damon moustache rides.) While their flacks would only offer, "Jimmy and Sarah will have no further comment," usmagazine.com spotted Silverman with "a male friend" at WeHo bruncherie Hugo's, where they obsessively chronicled her every menu choice, facial expression, and A-list tableside condolence:

It was a high-profile relationship that was difficult to reconcile: perennial Hollywood good girl and honorary bear icon Anne Hathaway to "bad boy" paramour Raffaello Follieri, an oily entrepreneur linked to a string of shady business transactions that culminated recently in his charitable foundation coming under investigation by the New York State Attorney General's Office. Now, reports the Daily Mail, having experienced the comparative bliss of having exchanged potentially infectious bodily fluids with a total non-charity-swindling-dirtbag like Steve Carell, Hathaway has finally pulled away:

In a breaking celebrity-dumpee cup-enlargement stunner, In Touch Weekly is reporting that Sarah Larson, the woman who spent one year as George Clooney's girlfriend before being unceremoniously relieved of all arm-candy-tendering services, was actually recovering from breast enhancement surgery when she received the life-changing news. They report:

Call us incurable romantics, but something about the pairing of Hollywood elder statesman George Clooney and Sarah Larson—the Phish-loving, sandworm-emulating Ginger to his Fred—seemed to us more than your standard, fly-by-night arm-candy operation. This was a girl who inspired in George acts of chivalry previously thought not possible—on one occasion requiring him to come nearly to fisticuffs with a physically imposing margarine-spokesman just to protect her privacy. Yes, we naively predicted these two crazy kids would find a way to muddle through, in road rash and in health. We were wrong:

Because no end to the regular comingling of celebrity fluids is final without the issuance of a joint statement announcing their amicable goodbyes, we bring to you the official, publicist-assisted obituary of Justin Timberlake and Cameron Diaz, R.I.P.:

Justin Timberlake has had a busy year, having successfully campaigned on behalf of the return of sexy after it suffered a series of sexy-rights abuses during its internment at the Guantànamo Bay detainment camp, and more recently focusing his attentions on the creative wrapping of his genitals. Sadly, however, there were no bow-adorned penile presents under the tree for Timberlake's longtime girlfriend Cameron Diaz this Christmas, according to a report from Star magazine:

Fridays are supposed to be happy days, so it brings us no joy to inform you of the snuffing of yet another incandescent point of celebrity love light: Matthew McConaughey and Penelope Cruz have "decided to take time off as a couple," according to People.

If nothing else, 2005 will surely go down as the Year the Love Died. In its honor, we present to you the above photomosaic, made up of the misty water colored mem'ries of a year's worth of lost celebrity love (which were conveniently compiled for our looting by a third party). If you stand several feet back (say, 20) and squint, you will notice that the individual images amazingly add up to one larger picture: that of a Pierrot clown, nose pressed tightly to a ceramic straw as he blows a line off a mirrored tray, and catches a single, heartbroken tear running off his own cheek in the reflection. A thousand words, indeed.

No more false alarms, this time the pain is real: Nick Lachey and Jessica Simpson, America's lone beacons of love and marital stability, have finally split. How do we know this? We simply walked over to the window, looked up to the heavens, and watched in horror as a dozen rainbows simultaneously turned black and fell to earth, destroying several houses in the Hollywood Hills. Also, Gawker and US Weekly told us. Our hearts go out to the former couple (especially Lachey, who is now no longer famous—tough break, kid), as well as anyone else who has suddenly realized that love is a scam sold to you by Tom Hanks movies and Thai massage parlors on Hollywood Blvd.