Garry Shandling’s face needs to be ironed.
John Goodman is mostly made of potato.
Jeffrey Tambor is Dr. Phil.
George Clooney’s best roles require moustaches.
Mr. T must wake every morning, shave two-thirds of his head, and dye what grey hair remains a youthful black. Now who pities whom?
Kirstie Alley ate Kirstie Alley.
Bruce Baum is Jeffrey Tambor/Dr. Phil after a two-week mesc binge.
Don Rickles is half bulldog.
Death cannot stop Tupac Shakur from releasing platinum-selling albums.
If you prick Anna Nicole Smith with a pin, you will get soaked.
Ben Affleck cannot foresee the same chain of events as the rest of humanity.
The sneaking suspicion that Mary-Kate will rise to unparalleled fame, while Ashley Olsen will simply fade away.
In 20 years, Björk will resemble Clint Howard.
There are more Culkins lurking somewhere. In fact, there’s one behind you right now.
Arnold Schwarzenegger’s heart problems belie the public’s poor perception of him as an action hero. Also, his accent belies the public’s poor perception of him as an actor.
Ashton Kutcher sure plays a remarkably convincing idiot.
Every morning, Mel Gibson must wash the stigmata off his hands and feet.
Coppolas will soon outnumber Scientologists.
J. Lo truly believes she’s Latina.
Peter Falk and Sandy Duncan are arguing over the rights to Sammy Davis Jr.’s “marble.”
Renée Zellweger’s cuteness factor is about to tip.
Egads, Melissa Rivers.