To roll out their all-new level of Black Tie Geek Squad Protection (the geeks arrive in stretch limousines, carry silver trays, and are all named Giles), Best Buy enlisted the celebrity services of "Four Icons of Protection, Steven Seagal, Richard Dean Anderson and Tanya Roberts," according to the press release. (That's just three, but who's counting?) Our Zune-taunting cousins at Gizmodo were there to catch all the excitement. Sadly, despite the best efforts of the emcee urging him to, "Take this pack of chewing gum, a pogo stick shaft, and a box of nail filings, and make something blow up already!" MacGyver proved to be about as mechanically minded as our mom.Seagal, however, was even more of a disappointment, throwing a fit as soon as he mounted the stage over the intensity of the stage lights. You'd think someone with as much experience starring in a string of marginally beloved martial arts movies, and shredding his blues away on the El Rey stage, would be accustomed to the hot glare of theatrical lighting. If we had to guess, however, we'd say his vampiric reaction might have to do with flashbacks to the powerful lamp shoved into his face by overzealous FBI agents trying to connect the actor to the Anthony Pellicano racketeering scandal.

In the ungoverned wilds of Chinese industry, where intellectual property is barely policed by the ineffectual People's Glorious Bureau of Familiar Western Faces and Poultry Grading, it's not an uncommon occurrence to stumble upon an A-list celebrity gracing the packaging of some 99¢ Only-store-bound product.

Always on the lookout for free creative ways to promote their artery-jacking Famous Bowls, KFC has again appealed to the newly minted stars of American Idol to help usher its gustatory message to the finger lickin' masses. Having struck out last season with a generous offer to the runner-up of a $10,000 "commercial recording contract," the fast food outlet has now set its sights on the series' most polarizing contestant—tone-deaf hairdevil, Sanjaya Malakar:

Poor KooKoo Bear. While a competing house of bambino fashion stumbled upon the Holy Grail of celebrity baby endorsements by having one of its T-shirts modeled by the Chosen One on the cover of People magazine, the KK Bear must settle for a press release touting a secondhand endorsement ("Jennie Garth received numerous gift item from KooKoo Bear Kids — and loved them!") from an actress best known for holding her own against Tori Spelling in a teen drama that peaked 20 years ago. And while it can't offer much comfort to know one's career currently carries only enough heat to grace the headline of a PR script pushing plushie onesies, it certainly beats the prospect of being a former Oscar winner and discovering your name ("Hollywood stars, such as Mira Sorvino, seek out the exceptional designer items...") buried several paragraphs into the text.

The empirical measurement of a celebrity's marketable "celebrityness" has, until now, been a fuzzy science. Sure, there are Q-ratings, power lists, salary charts, and the informal caste lettering system consensus that firmly places a Nicole Kidman on the Chanel-pimping A-list, while a Patricia Heaton floats comfortably somewhere in the Albertson's B-zone. But now, thanks to the scientifically rigorous Davie-Brown Index, all the guesswork has finally been taken out of assessing a celebrity's ability to shill burgers and hair products. Reports THR:

Conan O'Brien isn't the first comedian to use the intangible, inherent comedic properties of Finland to his advantage, though he could well be the first to affect the country's political history by doing so. So taken is he with his passing resemblance to President Tarja Halonen (see above), he has officially begun a one-man campaign in support of her re-election, going so far as to release this official press statement: "Why do I support Tarja Halonen? Because she's got the total package: a dynamic personality, a quick mind, and most importantly — my good looks."

Adapt or perish, the saying goes, and no better example has ever existed than that loose cluster of constantly regenerating and morphing biological matter better known to fans worldwide as William Shatner. Who else could take, as he famously described in an SNL sketch, "an enjoyable little job, that I did as a lark for a few years," and parlay it into a fifty-year TV, movie, spoken-word recording, and internet "name your price" travel sales career? And now, his greatest venture yet: The William Shatner DVD Club, where a personally curated menu of science fiction, fantasy and horror "underground hits no one else has," is culled from the bins of the finest 99-cent stores everywhere and delivered straight to your home for the low, low price of just $4 (plus a reasonable annual membership fee). Just imagine your delight when Dragon Storm, starring Maxwell Caulfield, arrives on your doorstep, its glistening, taut shrink-wrap just begging to be torn off so that you may hungrily consume the Shatner-approved contents within.

We recently posted a reader's blow-by-blow plot analysis of an Argentinian men's fragrance ad starring Ben Affleck, locally oversaturated movie star and director of Violet-burping, hitting the streets of Buenos Aires with a babe-tallying clicker. Today, a helpful reader points us to the ad itself, which is available for online viewing (simply click on the TV icon to "mira el comercial.")

New father and househusband Ben Affleck always seems to have a number of quiet side-projects cooking: uncompensated celebrity Starbucks endorser, unauthorized likeness model, and according to a reader spending some time outside the country, South American fragrance-advocate:

[Ed.note—Update after the jump.] It's way too early for us to determine whether this site touting Steven Seagal's Lightning Bolt, an energy drink available in delicious "Cherry Charge" and "Asian Experience" [!] flavors, is a brilliant hoax or the greatest marriage of washed-up actor and consumer product ever conceived. To wit, from the drink's website: