Hollywood week continues on in this lengthy two-hour episode of American Idol. It is time for the dreaded group rounds. With personalities clashing and frustration levels at an all time high, we are promised an episode full of pressure and intense drama. Some of our early favorites are slated to go home while some fresh faces are slated to shine. Warning: get ready for group rounds, that is, if you can handle it.

The harsh cuts of Day 1 and Day 2 are finally over. The remaining contestants definitely have reason to celebrate, right? Not so fast. Before they can even allow this huge accomplishment to sink in, they find themselves frantically running around in a mob of idol wannabe’s in hopes of finding a group. The 168 contestants choose their own groups, and then pick a song from a list created by the producers. Oh, and they also must figure out some type of choreography. Personally, the choreography seems to be a complete waste of time as well as a distraction for the contestants (and viewers.) Do we really care about the awkward dance moves?

Some contestants from Day 1 attempt to get a jump-start on group day by forming groups and picking songs early. Well, that isn’t very fair now, is it? The producers did not think so either. They remind everyone that the groups have to be a blend of Day 1 contestants as well as Day 2 contestants. Nice try, Day 1!

Tiffany Rios knows that if she walks up to any group, they will accept her with open arms. Not quite, Tiffany. She bounces from crowd to crowd asking if anyone needs a new member. Everyone seemingly shoots her down, leaving the girl completely group-less. Maybe it would help if she whips out her silver-starred bikini top that she so confidently adorned during her first audition. It could help, you never know. Tiffany is outraged that no one wants her and soon begs Scotty McCreery, the loveable deep voiced country boy, to take her in. Sadly, he declines as well.

Tiffany Rios steals a pretty blond girl named Jessica from the group, Sugar Mamas, because she, and I quote, “loves hot people.” Scotty McCreery is now in high demand to join other groups; however, moments later, Scotty is now left with no one. The fickleness of these contestants is riveting. Everything turns into absolute mayhem, bringing out the iniquity of idol. It always manages to find the cruel sides of our once loveable contestants. Jordan Dorsey is not exactly winning anyone over with his constant critiques of others. I think he believes that he won over Simon Cowell’s job rather than Steven Tyler. With Jessica gone, the Sugar Mamas are now left without a Day 2 person once again. Things are about to get complicated.

The producers end up allowing Tiffany Rios and Jessica to perform a duet with each other since no one else wants them. The groups all break off and go to extreme measures to get a bit of privacy (bathrooms not excluded.)

The Minors, a group of solely 15- and 16-year-olds, exude confidence and happiness. They feel that they have an edge on the competition because of their age. Young, free living, and stress free. They also come with some baggage, their mothers, who do not shy away from telling their little kiddies the truth. James Durbin (high-pitched, screamer) and his group become endlessly frustrated with the stage moms in the corner. To add to the hostility between the two groups, they both pick the same song. Though, James feels that their version will suffice.

We get a quick peak into the group, Three’s Company, which is made up of exes Rob and Chelsee as well as Jacqueline. Jacqueline’s boyfriend, Nick, was supposed to be a member of the group, however, he was sent packing after Day 1. Rob seems to constantly complain to the camera while fumbling with the lyrics as well as the dance moves. Hopefully, he can pull it together when their time to shine arrives.

Resident crazy, Ashley Sullivan, has a complete breakdown during practice. Call the ward! She is in total hysterics as she begs producers to go home, claiming that she is extremely embarrassed. Ashley, sitting somberly in a corner with her hood pulled tightly over her head, eventually quits the group and basically screws everyone over.

Jacee, the adorably pudgy 15-year-old, is soon kicked out of his group. Did anyone else’s hearts break? There is also a resident diva in town, Clint, who claims that Jacee could not hold his notes. He decides that Jacee should no longer be in the group. With no one sticking up for the sweet kid, he gracefully walks away and tells them that he understands. Poor, Jacee.

American Idol judge wannabe, Jordan Dorsey, is fed up and bails on his group in search of another. Ashley Sullivan realizes that she is walking away from the opportunity of a lifetime and rejoins her group. The Sugar Mamas spot a group-less Jacee and welcome him into their group without hesitation. Jacee is determined to learn the lyrics and make his mamas proud.

So, it begins. After watching a half hour of group chaos, the most intense round of Hollywood Week finally kicks off. The first performance is a group of three New Yorkers; it is sweet, harmonized, and beautiful. Without question, the three girls make it through to the next round. The next two groups to battle off: Jordan Dorsey’s former group, 440, vs. Jordan Dorsey’s new group, Four Plus One. Impressed with each performance, the judges agree to send both groups through. We finally start to see some talented fresh faces. Stand out singer, Lauren Turner, definitely catches my eye. Girl, can sing! Let’s just hope Jordan Dorsey can take his attitude down a notch for the next round. He is on my, well, you know what, list.

The next group up is Spanglish. They’re pretty decent, but decent does not cut it nowadays. The only two members to advance to the next round are Karen Rodriquez and Kevin Jovany. The group, Center Stage, is ready to go after Spanglish. These ladies have a few tricks up their sleeve. The creative group of four girls yank a very excited Steven Tyler out of his judges seat and onto the stage. The girls offer a cute, little serenade to the rock star. Tyler even chimes in at points. Quite the adorable performance. I think most, if not all, will advance to the next round. Though, what do I know? Clearly, not very much. Only one girl shines, an early favorite named Lauren Alaina. Her group sticks by her and continues to offer support. How, sweet.

Another early favorite, country boy Matt Dillard, breaks the cardinal rule. He forgets the lyrics. Bad, Matt. Matt is eliminated along with most of his group. One beanie clad, emo-looking, Colton Dixon, is the only one the judges keep.

The show begins to pick up speed as we sail through the next few performances. Cue the montage. It is the end of the road for Paris Tassin, a young lady who brought tears to Ms. Jennifer Lopez’s eyes during her first audition. Folky singer, Emily Anne Reed, is also eliminated. To my surprise, Aaron Gutierrez is sent home while his brother, Mark, is asked to stay.

It is time for Ashley Sullivan’s group, The Hits, to hit the stage. After a string of dreadful group performances, I am surprised Ashley is able to hold it together for so long. The Hits shock us all, including the judges, and deliver quite a nice performance. Ashley, included. The judges dub them as the best harmonized group of the day. Ashley struggles a bit with pitch, but all in all, the judges are delighted. The entire group is sent through to the next round. Ashley can now take a much-needed breather.

We are back to James Durbin’s group, The Deep V’s. Their rendition of ‘Somebody to Love’ is less than pleasing. James screams louder than a six-year-old girl in the midst of a temper tantrum. Everyone in the group is rather forgetful. James’s insane range manages to get him through to the next round along with his group mate, Caleb.

The Minors take the stage to show The Deep V’s how it is truly done. This group of young idol wannabe’s perform the same song. Let me tell you, they absolutely kill it. With their stage mommies watching from a few short feet away, each kid is better than the next. The Minors even get a standing ovation from the judges. They are all through to the next round with flying colors.

With a terrible performance of ‘Grenade,’ the judges still send three people from the group forward, including Corey Levoy. Even Corey thinks he does an awful job. He forgets the lyrics, lacks eye contact, and basically butchers the song. Corey foolishly questions their decision to send him through. Randy tells him to get off the stage before they change their minds. Contestants never learn. But, hey, I guess the judges see something in him.

The Night Owls take a risk and decide to sing acapella. Familiar faces, Julie Zorilla as well as Casey Abrams, are the only two to make it through. Other faces we have seen before, including Devyn Rush, Caleb Hawley, and Chris Medina, are next. Plus, a new face. A young guy with a big personality. His name is Carson Higgins and he manages to put a smile on all three of the judge’s faces. Good job, Carson. They are all sent to the next round besides for Devyn Rush. Devyn is not very happy with the decision, and the singing waitress is devastated.

Finally, little Jacee’s group is up to bat. Will Jacee remember his lyrics? Not quite. The cute fifteen-year-old forgets everything. Instead, he sings a new version of the song. This new version is about how Jacee does not want to go home. To be honest, it is kind of endearing. The judges ask him what happened; Jacee explains he joined the group extremely late because his other group kicked him out. The judges slowly tell each person to move forward. Eventually, Jacee is standing alone in the back. Don’t worry, though. Moments later, with tears in his eyes, Jacee is asked to step forward as well. They all make it through and Jacee is absolutely elated.

Jacee’s old group is up next. Clint, the ringleader behind operation: kick Jacee out, tries to defend the group’s decision. But, being the sincere gentlemen that he is, Scotty McCreery defends Jacee and tells the judges that he regrets not sticking up for him. Their group performance is very well done. The judges think so, too. They’re through.

The final group, Three’s Company, is up. Exes Rob and Chelsee along with Jacqueline struggle to finesse their performance. However, it seems as if Rob has already given up. The tired and dreary contestant sits against a brick wall with his head hanging low. On the contrary, Jacqueline and Chelsee are still full of pep. They also seem to have formed a nice friendship. Though, the two continue to worry about their third group member. As expected, Rob completely forgets the lyrics. The guy does not even try, so I refuse to feel any sympathy for him. His ex, Chelsee, is quite good. Jacqueline, not so much. With a loud squeal in the middle of her solo, I am certain that Chelsee will be the only one to make it. Once again, I am wrong. For some odd reason, Jacqueline makes it through with Chelsee. Rob, of course, is left by his lonesome in the back of the line. He heads home. Hey, at least I got something right.

After months of speculation, we have our Nathan Drake. Actor Mark Wahlberg, most famous for his role in Boogie Nights and for talking to animals, confirmed today that he will be stepping into the shoes of the adventurer in the feature film adaptation of Uncharted when it hits theaters.

The actor confirmed the casting in an interview with MTV, he also confirmed that director David O. Russell has created parts specifically for screen legends Joe  Pesci and Robert Deniro.

“I’m obviously in whatever David wants to do but the idea of it is so off the charts: De Niro being my father, Pesci being my uncle. It’s not going to be the watered-down version, that’s for sure,” he added. This would mark the first time that any other member of the Drake family appears.

Wahlberg worked with Russel before on the upcoming film The Fighter.

“David is one of the best writer/directors I’ve ever worked with. The idea that he has is just insane. So hopefully we’ll be making that movie this summer,” he continued.

Not too sure about this one — what say you?

Here’s a rare Hollywood story. An actor hit a bicyclist while driving, and he didn’t run off or end up getting arrested for DUI.

Jason Alexander, who we know and love as George Costanza from “Seinfeld,” accidentally hit the 14-year-old cyclist on Tuesday along Wilshire Boulevard in Los Angeles. Alexander stayed with the boy and waited for police and firefighters to arrive.

The boy wasn’t seriously injured, and Alexander was not cited for wrongdoing.

Alexander’s publicist Ron Hoffman told the Associated Press that the actor acknowledged responsibility and acted properly by waiting for police and paramedics to arrive. He says Alexander is grateful that the boy wasn’t seriously hurt.

Well isn’t that nice.

It is almost universally agreed upon that Hollywood is a terrible place. A soulless corner of the earth where creativity, ingenuity and love go to die. Watch any film or read any book about making movies, and you’ll find a coterie of deceitful producers, unpleasant agents and wide-eyed blondes from the mid-West who do Terrible Things for fame. It’s the James Ellroy school of thought.

Then there are the Miller brothers.

Logan and Noah Miller, twin brothers from Northern California, had a very singular experience with the Hollywood machine, which they describe with pinache and infectious style in their first book “Either You’re in, or You’re in the Way.” The brothers, after the death of their father, made a promise to get their script “Touching Home” made into a film within one year, with Ed Harris as the star. One year. With no money, and no real contacts in Hollywood. THe book tells the story of that eventful year, in which they wheeled, dealed, and maneuvered every level of the film industry to make their dream come true. They worked with everyone from non-professional actors and young hopefuls, to method actors, to angry teamsters, to Academy Award-winning production people. It’s not too much of a spoiler to say that they’re successful in their quest; though the book is a mix of memoir, family history, and how-to book for young, aspiring film makers, “Either You’re In” is actually a fascinating look at the way such success always happens in America: a madcap combination of hard work, daring, embellishment and a heavy dose of pure dumb luck.

In case you’re keeping count, there are literally thousands of ways this enterprise could have failed, and part of the great fun of the book is watching two young, gregarious, slightly wild men walk into big important offices, with big important people, and manage to wrangle talent, support and money out of them. Instead of the faceless monster of Big Hollywood, we see reasonable people who truly, actually want to see a creative duo succeed in their quest. The brothers wrote the film about their father, a brilliant craftsman and roofer who fell to alcoholism and became homeless for years before his death.

The brothers (who speak as one being, saying in the beginning of the book “Bro is me and I am bro.”) have a knack for easy and capable, if not terribly complex, storytelling. As the overarching arc (two guys with a dream) is somewhat trite, the true gems lie in the characters who people the landscape of their story. Especially delightful is their strange experience working with brilliant character actor Brad Dourif, who loves astronomy and cannot work without a hi-definition television, a moving scene where they have lunch at a burger joint with true mensch Ed Harris and a hysterical night they spend in Tuscon pulling off a difficult scene while their ruffian assistants get drunk on the set.

This is a truly American story — a couple of outlaws breaking all the rules and getting fame and glory in the process (there’s a reason one major chunk of the book is called “Desert Shoot-Out”). I’m a pretty cynical person, but who doesn’t want to see these guys strike it rich with a little film they wrote, produced, directed and starred in themselves, with nothing to their names but about $50,000 in credit card debt? If anyone in the sunlit universe of Southern California can prove Ellroy wrong, these are the two to do it.

There were two questions running through everyone’s mind at the‚  81st Academy Awards: 1. Who will take home the most awards — Slumdog Millionaire or Benjamin Button, and 2. Why is Philip Seymore Hoffman wearing that beanie?

Fashion has always been a huge part of the hype surrounding the Academy Awards and Sunday was no different. With Hollywood’s brightest stars walking the red‚  carpet in their finest, we can always expect to see some characters.

Best of the Evening

Taraji P. Henson

With a white, curve-hugging dress by Alberta Ferretti, Taraji keeps you captivated from head to toe. A stunning, sharp necklace contrasts with the dress as it softly unfolds into a train.
Anne Hathaway

This lucky lady actually got to wear two dresses at the Academy Awards tonight. Her red carpet dress by Armani kept with the neutral tones of the evening, fishtailing at the bottom with bright paillettes throwing light and intrigue into her look. Once on the stage with Hugh, you might have noticed she changed into something a little more danceable, but no less charming.
Angelina Jolie

Less is more. Angelina kept it simple and striking with a black Elie Saab gown, and green Lorraine Schwartz jewelry. There’s really not much to say about how this woman constantly keeps up her track record for being undeniably attractive. Not to mention the arm candy that never goes out of style – Brad Pitt.
Freida Pinto

Despite being part of the stand-out movie of the year, Freida could have been spotted anywhere on the red carpet with her deep blue, one sleeved John Galliano gown. She looked timelessly beautiful, which was fitting considering her diamond ring was 150 years old.

Penelope Cruz

Another neutral color, but by no means plain. Penelope’s dress was vintage, ruched, and brilliantly embellished. It’s hard to believe, but this dress has waited in the shop for Penelope for 8 years. We’re glad she found it again.

Hugh Jackman

He was just too brilliant to look anything but spectacular. It might have been the song and dance that blinded us, but his simple, sharp tux really looked great on a stage worthy of the old glamorous Hollywood.

Robert Pattinson

We can’t help but mention our new favorite Brit. In a classic old-school tux with a skinny bow tie, Rob showed us how well he can clean up. Not only did he shed a bit of his new beard, but also a bit of his British accent for presenting this evening.

Worst of the Evening

Jessica Biel

Although white might have been in this year, Biel missed the target with this shape-contorting block by Prada. With one of the best bodies in Hollywood, it’s a shame she decided to cover those curves up with this tiered mess of extra material.

Tilda Swinton

Why would such a dignified woman and actress dress in something that made her look like a cigarette? The black and grayish-white number by Lanvin left her skin looking even more pale than normal and reduced her figure to one hard line.

Mickey Rourke

It’s hard to say this is one of the worst when he’s donning a necklace in memory of his dear Loki, but alas, it’s true. His white Jean Paul Gaultier number definitely shows the gusto we expect from Rourke, not to mention the random chains and wicked witch of the west shoes that we should have expected, really.

Sarah Jessica Parker

This “barely mint” Dior Haute Couture strapless seems like a shout out to her recurring character Carrie Bradshaw. It definitely makes her cleavage “barely” avoidable, but in conjunction with her overstated makeup, leads us to remember that Carrie often wore some pretty ugly (though supposedly fashion forward) stuff.

Sophia Loren

It’s hard to put into words really – and it seems it must have been hard to put into fabric. A neutral, yellowish, puffy octopus inspired dress oozed around Sophia while sallowing her skin color and clashing with her hair.

Heidi Klum

Think origami inspired ’80s Jetsons and you’ve imagined Heidi Klum’s red Roland Mouret gown. Bold, yes. Tacky? Just maybe. Fashion forward? I guess we’ll see in a century or two.

Philip Seymour Hoffman

We saved the best for last. Sure, the tux was normal, but we kept getting distracted by the beanie. With sweeping locks falling from underneath the hat, we figure that maybe he’s trying out the young look we’ve seen so many of our heart throbs wear out on the towns, but at the Academy Awards? On Philip Seymour Hoffman. It just doesn’t add up.

Now let us know what you think. Were you as equally dazzled by our stars and starlets? Do you think Miley Cyrus deserved to be on this list in one way or another? Think the beanie was hot? Reveal your fashion highs and lows of the night below in the comment box.

“Tropic Thunder” bested “The Dark Knight” for the first time since the latest Batman movie’s release, but “Knight’s” $16.8 million was enough to pass “Star Wars” as the second highest grossing film of all time in the U.S.

We thought “Star Wars: The Clone Wars” was disappointing at third place, but we’re not surprised because we hated the movie. We hated it.

Here are the top 10 films of the weekend in North American box offices for the week beginning August 15.

1. Tropic Thunder: $26.0 million

2. The Dark Knight: $16.8 million

3. Star Wars: The Clone Wars: $15.5 million

4. Mirrors: $11.1 million

5. Pineapple Express $10.0 million

6. The Mummy: Tomb of the Dragon Emperor: $8.6 million

7. Mamma Mia!: $6.5 million

8. The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2: $5.9 million

9. Step Brothers: $5.0 million

10. Vicky Cristina Barcelona: $3.7 million

Domestic totals:

The Dark Knight: $471.5 million

Hancock: $225.1 million

WALL-E: $214.1 million

Mamma Mia!: $116.4 million

Step Brothers: $90.9 million

Journey to the Center of the Earth: $88.1 million

The Mummy: Tomb of the Dragon Emperor: $86.7 million

Hellboy 2: The Golden Army: $74.6 million

Pineapple Express: $62.9 million

Tropic Thunder: $37.0 million

HOLLYWOOD, Calif. — After the car and hotel problems John already mentioned, we headed to the El Pollo Loco for a lovely KFC-meets-Taco-Bell type lunch. Delicious, really. I can see heading back there, but John wasn’t so sure. We both did get to enjoy our first-ever churros though.

After lazing around our not-so-Quality Inn hotel room (with no elevator, thank you very much John), we finally got over the jet-lag and headed to Tinsel Town. Not gonna lie, it wasn’t exactly what I expected, but that’s mostly because we started off in the slums and then managed to continue far enough down Hollywood Boulevard to reach Touristwood, the Hollywood everyone wants us to see.

I was pretty excited. We had finally reached the people that we recognized of the Hollywood stars on the sidewalk (other than Lassie and the Rugrats, who we had seen earlier), and there we were, right at the heart of downtown Hollywood. We passed the Egyptian Theater, and made it to the Guinness World Records and Hollywood Wax Museum buildings, which were awesome. It was my first time in a wax museum, so I was pretty impressed. The best wax figure was, obviously, Sammy J. Did you really question that? He had the shades and everything.

Also, apparently there is a world record for how many cigars you can smoke at once. It was fourteen, and the man could sing and whistle at the same time. Get on that, people.

Graumann’s Chinese Theater was probably my favorite though. There were all these people dressed up in character, like Superman and Jimmy Neutron and even Optimus Prime, that people were taking pictures with. Walking around and looking at all the hand prints that celebs from Will Smith to the Marx Brothers had made felt like being around royalty. It was a surreal experience (we still have 11 more days to meet an actual celebrity; the search continues!).

We had dinner at Mel’s Diner, which was the closest thing we could find to my requested Jack Rabbit Slim’s experience (I don’t care if it’s fictional or not!) and headed back to our car when, WHAM BAM ALAKAZAM!, turns out come cops were pursuing… someone, and hit and killed two pedestrians along the way. About two blocks of Hollywood Boulevard were closed off, so we had to walk through some pretty slummy areas in order to get back on track somewhere around the Geisha House. You’re lucky, your dearly devoted reporters almost didn’t even make it to E3!

By the way, wasn’t kidding about the hotel room. After not even spending 24 hours here, I woke up this morning to find the toilet’s broken. It’s going to be awesome.

How a pack of skinny girls became better tabloid fodder than any young actor. PLUS: Play “Spot the Bad Boy” and pick out the real renegades—then share your take on the candyass leading men of today.

-Bart Blasengame

Approximately 144 consecutive hours into CNN’s coverage of Paris Hilton‘s release from jail, my vision got a little blurry. A hot tear balled up in my left eye and I began imagining Paris Hilton with a penis. Yes, a penis. A nice, healthy man-appendage swaddled in Levi’s. I even added some facial shrubbery to her cheeks.

Because while having Hilton & Co. suddenly flood the police blotters increases our chances for a show called Simple Life: Caged Heat, it also raises an unsettling question: When did the Hollywood Bad Boy become a Hollywood Bad Girl?

Renegade lovelies like Lindsay Lohan, Britney Spears, and Paris Hilton are staging their own real-life, white-girl version of Set It Off: They’re doing things like sucking down spliffs while cruising L.A. boulevards, playing smash-up derby in their convertible Benzes, snorting rails at VIP clubs, and flashing their labia like an American Express Black card. Apparently, their male counterparts are too busy getting their eyebrows sculpted and perfecting their pigeon poses to join them.

“They’re all a bunch of marshmallows,” says James Parish, author of Hollywood Bad Boys: Loud, Fast and Out of Control, of young male celebrities. “Older men like Mel Gibson and Russell Crowe are still belligerent, but as for the new breed of actors, Elijah Wood isn’t exactly Johnny Depp.” Frankly, Jim, he’s not even Scott Baio. And neither are any of the other Eagle Scouts pounding green tea on the back patio of the Marmont. They’re either too busy prioritizing the environment over model nookie (Leo), making babies with mere mortals (Tobey), treating the 12 steps like something other than a speed bump (Joaquin), or grinning like a simpleton amid the sickening stagnation of a committed relationship (Matt, Ben, Heath).

Since as far back as the twenties, self-destructive thespians have been a fixture in Hollywood. Fatty Arbuckle allegedly raped and murdered a girl—and got off scot-free (though the scandal did put an end to his career). After Fatty came unapologetic embodiments of trouble like Robert Mitchum, Frank Sinatra, Marlon Brando, and, of course, Steve McQueen, a drug-devouring, chopper-straddling, womanizing, gun-toting Republican. In the eighties, Rob Lowe filmed himself having sex with two girls in an Atlanta hotel room—one of whom was 16. Not bad. But somewhere between Sean Penn’s last frothing swing at a cameraman and Robert Downey Jr.’s famous Palm Springs cocaine bust, we’ve lost our way.

“Yeah,” actor Corey Haim says with a weary exhale. “They’ve all gone soft. Now Robert’s into yoga, meditation, and natural herbs.” Haim, the cuter half of the pair of Coreys who ruled teen cinema in the late eighties, knows all about what it means to be a Hollywood Bad Boy.

“I was 17 and doing stuff crazier than anybody out there today,” says Haim, who’s getting a second shot at infamy with an A&E reality show costarring Corey Feldman called The Two Coreys. By his mid-twenties, Haim had been in and out of rehab several times and had filed for bankruptcy once: “When you have that sort of money and access at that age, it’s kind of expected.”

Kind of?! Hell, it’s obligatory. When Colin Farrell, our best hope for an Errol Flynn-style return to decadence, completes a stint in rehab and then fights to keep a tape of himself having sex with a Playboy Playmate out of our hands, something isn’t right. But until Shia LaBeouf starts banging the lead grinder at the Crazy Horse, or Frankie Muniz is popped with a kilo of Mexican brown up his ass, we’re left with two options: Suffer through the faux tantrums of rich kids like Sean Stewart and Brody Jenner while we wait for a bona fide savior to lift us from our mama’s-boy-induced malaise, or gape in awe at the Cat Pack: Blo-han, Brit-Brit, and Inmate No. 9818783 tearing through velvet ropes with a squad of cop cars in hot pursuit.

“Hey,” Haim says with a growling smoker’s chuckle, “at least they look good doing it.”

Come back, Corey. Hollywood needs you.