Ms. Young, May I Suggest an Ice Cold O'Doul's?

Updated 1/30/08: Footage from the the scene of the DGA heckling.

Look, we've all gotten blitzed and said a few things publicly we shouldn't have. In fact who hasn't gotten drunk and blamed the Jews for all the problems of the world? Hey, it happens. And let's not kick a poor woman when she's down.

That is, unless she deserves it.

Once the poster child for insane actresses everywhere, whackjob wunderkind Sean Young was fortunate enough to simply be forgotten. Death to an actress but probably the best thing for a working mother. In one of Entertainment Weekly's slowest week's ever last Fall, Sean Young gave an interview where she mentioned taking a computer course. Perhaps this would enable her the skills to turn on a computer, access the internet and auction off her undies on eBay to panty-sniffing Bladerunner fanatics or to set herself up for a plum role as the go-to Monday temp at Apple One Employment Services.

Either way, she opined that if she could only take -- get a meeting with George Clooney, she'd win him over as his latest leading lady. She moaned that she could have had Julia Roberts' career. Yes, so should about 10,000 other actresses, but they didn't and Julia is an Oscar-winning millionaire stuffing solid gold binkies into her babies' mouths.

Sean baby, I should have gotten into the University of Irvine's grad program. I should have won the Toyota Camry in that Glendale Galleria sweepstakes. I should have rounded the bases with dozens of hot girls I had crushes on in my youth that never glanced my way in class, let alone allowed me to adjust my wiggling loins as we slow-danced to Journey's Open Arms. Life ain't fair, sweetheart, but to get lit and heckle an old-timer at the DGA Awards? Hell, that's a ceremony you had about as much right to attend as Donald Rumsfeld would at a MoveOn.org fundraiser.

Ms. Young, instead of being the escorted-out-the-back-door-of-the-ball belle of the ball, it's time to actually wait for an invite to the ball. And if that invite never arrives, then stay home with your two kids. Rehab is not the ideal place for your children to visit you at.

To paraphrase Dean Wormer from Animal House, "Botoxed, drunk and kicked out of awards parties is no way to go through life, dear."

Separated at Birth?

Our favorite mullet man's latest film Rambo opened to over $18 million this past weekend. Congratulations, Sly. Your 30lb. crrrranium aside (Head! Beer! Now!), we are impressed with those human growth hormone'd forearms. Much better results than eating spinach out of a can.

Thar She Blows!

Sweetheart, we at The Mung Hour have no problem with weight gain. We just have a problem with an ingenue like yourself, whose career is a tapestry of cleavage-bearing fashion magazine photo-ops extolling the virtue of the perfect physique, crying foul when you're caught smuggling mashed potatoes. When people still cared what you did last summer, you were obviously thong-worthy from fifty yards away. And it ain't like you've aged fifteen years and crapped out a half dozen kids since you ran for your life from the Gorton's Fisherman. You're a twenty-something bra and panty spokeswoman.

Look who we've got our Hanes on now, indeed.

"A size 2 is not fat! Nor will it ever be," Hewitt responded in a post regarding last month's discovery of the Two Moons of Yavin above her thighs. "And being a size 0 doesn't make you beautiful."

Pardon the pun. Size two, our ass. To have those proportions and still be a size two, you'd have to be about nineteen inches tall. A cynic would say that you took one look at TMZ when this all transpired and pictured a board room full of old perverts at Hanes wondering aloud if maybe they shouldn't cancel your multi-million dollar endorsement contract and put their Hanes on someone with a smaller butt.

We have no doubt the Jennifer Love Hewitt Big Booty publicity parade is coming to a daytime talk show near you. After years of making a living off her hot bod, Hewitt will cry on Oprah's shoulder about how judgmental society is, and shouldn't we all just be a bit more sympathetic to the plight of a woman with a rear like two Christmas hams.

He Ain't Too Old For This Sh--!

America's beer-bong champ, connoisseur of fine pre-mugshot hair gels and favorite anti-Semite, Mel Gibson, turns 52 this week. Now firmly planted in his fifties, one wonders what the formerly mulleted Martin Riggs has in store for the world as far as career choices. No word yet from the rabbinical leaders here in Los Angeles as to how the fence-mending has been going, but judging by the island he purchased in Fiji and relatively clear IMDb slate, I'm guessing he's not exactly picking up trash outside of Sinai Temple in Los Angeles, eager for a meeting with the studio heads.