The question that has kept an anxious nation on tenterhooks for the last two days—"Did stoner movie star Seth Rogen light up a real spliff on stage at the MTV Movie Awards last weekend?"—has finally been resolved. According to the AP, the stunt was a big fake; but they also say that Rogen and Pineapple Express costar James Franco weren't supposed to do it at all! Is anyone here telling the truth? Such a web of deception!

Now that he's a bigtime fancy-pants director, Clint Eastwood wants nothing to do with his role as a rogue cop with a taste for brutality in the Dirty Harry franchise. Kidding! He's totally cool with it. "'At the time in the press, there was a lot of attention to the rights of the accused, and that's not bad or wrong, but nobody thought too much about the rights of the public or the rights of the victim, that's not what the attention was on,' Eastwood said. 'All of a sudden here was a picture about the rights of all the victims, and I think it really resonated with people who were frustrated.'" And Eastwood's not some gun-nut, either.

"I can't imagine how my mom would feel if she found out both of my brothers are on steroids right now," says Christopher Bell, the narrator and director of a new documentary called Bigger, Faster, Stronger. Well he can imagine it now, because he made a movie about his brothers being on steroids! Along with other important American cultural figures like Arnold Schwarzenegger, Hulk Hogan, and Sly Stallone. The film is billed as a real, down-to-earth look at all sides of the steroids issue, not just a one-sided condemnation. These drugs are for stupid people and cheaters, but they're also everywhere. Why can't you look like that ripped guy in the gym? Because he's on steroids. Simple! (Anybody know any media people on steroids? Email us). The early reviews are good, and this is yet another thing that guys can do this weekend instead of seeing Sex And The City. Watch the trailer, after the jump.

There's a new hotspot in The Bronx that you simply won't want to miss unless you hate sex and lunch meat. It's COUSIN VINNY'S LITTLE SECRET! Tell us: where else can you pay just $50 for six hours of hardcore lap dance action, unlimited fountain soda, and a footlong sandwich of your choice, all in "a discrete and totally safe atmosphere to indulge in your carnal fantasies": namely, a former Subway sandwich franchise. In the Bronx! We've been sent a transcribed version of the flier that "Cousin Vinny" Agnello—owner of a stripper service and the self-described "King of Bling featured as a "Celebrity" on the DIGGS WEBSITE" (two Diggs!)— is reportedly passing around the area. Our tipster says the local merchant's association is...concerned about Cousin Vinny's new venture. But we predict this will be a hot alternative to seeing Sex And The City. "MEMBERSHIP HAS IT'S PRIVILEDGES!" Vinny's full, quirkily awesome invitation, after the jump:

Sharon Stone has finally apologized for her "inappropriate" comment that the recent massive Chinese earthquake was a product of "bad karma" for the country for its treatment on Tibet. She's sorry, okay! Nevertheless, fashion house Christian Dior announced that it's pulling all of its ads featuring the actress from all department stores, and the entire country of China. Though the comment itself was stupid, Stone's hasty retreat from her brash Tibet-championing—and Dior's even harsher public rebuke of her—are a great illustration of what is becoming the New China Rule: "Do Not Talk About The New China Rule." It's been de rigeur for top stars to prove their class by endorsing luxury brands, and to prove their morality by pontificating about Tibet. But guess what: pretty soon you're going to have to pick one or the other, Hollywood. And it's not looking good for the Dalai Lama.

Toronto, proving once again that it is a city ahead of its time when it comes to zombie creativity, is currently hosting an onstage musical version of the classic, terrible 1981 zombiesploitation flick Evil Dead. To advertise the show their agency is making zombie-themed versions of posters from popular Broadway shows. Any excuse to make the theater more friendly to the undead is worthwhile. Pictured, a Les Miserables ripoff; and after the jump, a Hairspray version.

Oh hey, it's me, your weekend guy (Who's now on the masthead! Yahee!). So I went to the first showing today of Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, because how could I not? And I thought I would tell you what I thought of it, without spoilers. I am not a film expert, and certainly not a critic, but I am all full of Indy right now, so, if you're interested, here's what I think.

In the wake of former entertainment industry exec Terrance Dean's gay-blind-item-filled book Hiding In Hip Hop, the hip hop community was split. Some reacted by saying, essentially, "Ew. That is so gay." But others basically yawned, and pointed out that of course there have always been gays in hip hop. Have you looked at some of these album covers lately?

Hey, Sanjay Sanghoee, the hedge funder who's raising money from hedge funds to make a movie about a heroic hedge funder, has apparently been trying this nonsense since college. A former business school peer of Sanjay's just emailed us to inform us that back at Columbia, Mr. Sanghoee "was the founder, president and sole member of the Film Financing Club." He's been sending these fund-seeking mass emails for years. Former b-school associates received this one just a few weeks ago, as the banking crisis threatened the money Sanghoee had raised to date. If his screenplays are half as captivating as his pitch emails, it'll be a hell of a picture.

Take a journey, if you will, into the secret inner chambers of New York's cultural elites. It's an exclusive club where well-dressed "raconteurs and bon vivants" chatter urbanely while tuxedoed waiters scurry about. Of course, their meetings are at noon on Tuesdays, their members are mostly over the hill, and they didn't admit women until 1991. Welcome to the Dutch Treat Club, the Algonquin Roundtable for 21st-century Manhattan olds who still like to drink and ogle girls!

Going to the movies is already way too expensive. In Manhattan, two tickets, a large popcorn, and a drink will run you more than $30. And since most movies suck, it's a hefty gamble. But "the price of movie tickets is expected to skyrocket by as much as 30% this year." What? Shouldn't competition from the internet and Netflix be driving the price of tickets down? How the hell can this happen? Besides the fact that Adam Sandler ain't getting any cheaper, this cinematic economic time bomb all comes down to one thing: precious, precious corn.

Business types are excited about the news today that General Electric is planning to sell off its appliance division in a $5 billion move. Normal types are excited because this proves that GE CEO Jeff Immelt is now making decisions for his $323 billion company based on how they would affect the characters of 30 Rock. After Alec Baldwin's character Jack Donaghy got relieved of his imaginary position running the microwave division of GE's NBC on the April 21 episode, it was only a matter of time before this sale happened. The loss of a leader of Alec Baldwin's caliber—and its ripple effects on Tina Fey—sends strong signals to Wall Street. Recap video of that fateful episode is below. If GE decides to finance Tracy Morgan's Fat Bitch 2 movie, we're rating its stock a strong buy.

TV networks continue to come up with new and better ways to morph their shows into continuous advertisements. MTV is already selling ads that are designed to be mini-shows in themselves, and ABC has gone subliminal. Not to be outdone, Turner Entertainment is now telling advertisers that it can strategically insert their ads into commercial breaks directly following part of a broadcast that relates to their product. I'm not sure how this is supposed to make us more disposed to buy crap, but it will certainly make watching movie reruns that much more annoying:

Freaky deaky swinger singer R. Kelly is about to go on trial in his hometown of Chicago for the crime of child pornography. But first, they have to find a jury. And that seems to be more difficult that you would think, because, judging strictly by media coverage, Chicago is full of weasels, crazy people, and child porn supporters. After the jump, the five best reasons [from a longer list at the Chicago Tribune] that people have given to get out of serving on the jury in this case of the century:

The James Frey Super Badass Killer book tour hit the Blender Theater this week, and the sleepy burg called New York is still reeling from the overpowering awesomeness. This tour, you'll recall, is not just some punk ass reading at Borders; no, it's a heavy metal-blasting punch of literary skill right in the face. Fiction writer Frey "walked through his adoring fans flanked by two huge body-builders," then read while hardcore Terry Richardson photos of guns flashed on a screen behind him. Someone asked Frey about writer's block. "Writer's block is for chumps," he replied. Step back, abstract psychological concept! At least Frey is bringing some energy to his book tour, as terrible as they usually are. But where was all that overpowering machismo when he was taping this Barnes & Noble promo earlier this week?:

Don't expect to roll mobb deep to the club with Hills star Spencer Pratt unless you're ready to spread around some serious cash, my friend. In his closely-read advice column in Radar this week, the boy wonder responds to a needy fan—whom we envision wearing a tight shirt and a year-round tan—who's in anguish over only being able to hit the town with five of his boys at a time. "You can't roll in anywhere with more than five guys holding your hand," he explains. How can he satisfy all of his other homeboys who want to hold his hand in the club? Spencer says: Money money money money, monnneeeeyyyyyyy:

Two things I'm noticing about cock-spying New York Post columnist of evil Andrea Peyser: first, her columns are something like 300 words long. Even Post readers could be expected to puzzle through a bit more than that. Second, she's a racist, past even an ironic point of amusement. That's not news, but it does make for some harsh reading first thing in the morning. It's hard to tell whether she's a just-showing-off Ann Coulter-style racist, or a real nitty gritty racist from birth, but either way, she gets the job done. For racism! Today, she takes a bold, racist stance on rappers, what with all their shooting guns and hurling Blackberries and who knows what else. They're not even people; they're just "things":

Hiding in Hip Hop, entertainment industry vet Terrance Dean's coy tell-all book about the gay secrets of famous people in the music world and Hollywood at large, has not exhausted all of its blind items. Not by a long shot. And I was forced to read (a large portion of) this book, so I plan to bring these gay celebrity blind items to you, the curious masses. Today: the lesbians! And at least one is very obvious:

Scarlett Johansson's *ahem* long-awaited Tom Waits cover album "Anywhere I Lay My Head" is hitting stores a week from today. But in order to demonstrate to your circle of friends that you are ahead of the curve when it comes to blonde starlets and their ego-driven vanity music projects, you can check out her album now on the social network imeem.com (she's "online now!"). It's more targeted than putting it out on laughably polluted Myspace, so from an online marketing perspective, it's a fair deal for ScarJo, and an even better deal for iMeem. But from the perspective of a Tom Waits fan, it's tragic. "I Don't Want To Grow Up" redone as a droning plinky synth-pop song? We're not friends any more. If all goes well technically, her playlist is embedded after the jump. Good credibility-builder for iMeem. Bad for ears: