Yes, yes...as we noted on Friday, the Olsen Twins turned a barely-legal 18 this weekend. And, as we'd feared, America's perverts surely had all the anticlimaxes they could handle to file-shared versions of New York Minute, freed at last from the statutory masturbatory fantasy authorities. Luckily, Yankee Pot Roast's Josh Abraham commemorated the occasion aptly, with a mini passion-play starring the Twins and tiny thumbnails of their high school yearbook photos. We can't keep them straight, so the following excerpt runs without the proper dialogue attributions or line breaks; surprisingly, this adds a strange, lyrical quality to the proceedings:

It's been a banner week for OJ Simpson. First, he gets his mug all over the television and plugs Juiced, his reality TV show, while seemingly blaming Nicole for her own murder on the tenth anniversary of her death. Now, Lasagnafarm says that Simpson's finally solved her slaying, and, tragically, the culprit got away clean:

Wherein we use the LAT's "Hot Property" real estate column and some ellipses to depress both ourselves and the Los Angeles housing market:

Americans, despair: The super-secret government-sponsored David Arquette Sterilization Project has failed. People reports that Arquette and wife Courteney Cox Arquette have given birth to a baby girl named...

With only a few precious hours until former Screen Actors Guild (and American) president Ronald Reagan is finally laid to rest, Flak Magazine finally addresses a hole in the media's first-person accounts of how Ronnie touched people's lives. They bring us the ruminations of Family Ties' number one Republican son, Alex P. Keaton, allowing everyone some peace in knowing that even fictional sitcom characters have had their say.

In just two days and two hours, the Olsen Twins will finally come of age. How will their 18th birthday affect their acting career? They'll lose much of their jailbait luster once the taboo of being below the age of consent is lifted. But, we suppose, there's got to be some kind of subset of jailbait aficionados that enjoys the barely legal action of twins on the town, getting into adventures, and looking like they really, really could use a sandwich. Happy birthday, gals! Enjoy their senior yearbook photos, which were taken, like, last week.

The Daily examines how LA's "fashionistas" might be spending their summer in the city with only one season. Without the occasional trend piece, we wouldn't even know it's summer, except maybe from the sudden appearance of slightly louder, worse movies, and agents tossing iced coffee on their assistants instead of lattes. Most intriguing in the story is the mention of the "hottest new development" in plastic surgery, the "Feather Lift," a quick-healing, less invasive, and cheaper version of a face-lift. It's amazing to think that now even struggling actresses all over LA can afford to wile away their July days having their faces sliced up and tugged taut in an attempt to salvage something of a career. It's almost as good as a margarita by the beach or a leisurely, summery casting-couch blowjob.

Moments ago, a tipster at a music publication told us that Ray Charles had just died. As were we typing this, we heard a report on the radio. First Reagan, now Ray... Hey Garfield...how many have to go before you move your premiere out of respect for the dead?

From the We Couldn't Make This Shit Up Department: Orange County officials are considering a plan to rename John Wayne Airport "The O.C. Airport, John Wayne Field." Yes, in honor of The O.C., which a member of the county tourism braintrust lauds as "a truly great publicity vehicle." (God, too many obvious jokes. Will every flight end in a party and a fight where someone winds up in the pool?)

If we've ever said anything about Craiglist LA not being that great, we recant. An alert reader sends us the two-part CL tale about a West Hollywood resident, his peeping Tom neighbor (Mr. Peepers), and some retaliatory photographs. Start here, then go here. Big pictures after the jump, just in case they get pulled down on CL.

Yesterday's edition of PrivacyWatch, in which reality star "Bachelor Bob" was spotted hugging a man , spotted again with a man in "too short" shorts and a "George Michael" beard, and inspired a discussion of how hetero men can hug in a "non-gay" way got us thinking: How exactly can a male celebrity hug a man in public without seeming gay and possibly jeopardizing his career? Tom Cruise seems to employ entire law firms full of litigation-crazed homophobes just to scare away anyone thinking the G-word within a 500-foot radius of him.

We were innocently scanning our RSS feeds this morning when we came across this headline in the LA Blogs feed: "Tupac Alive in Hollywood Hills?" The summary described the seemingly-anonymous blogger's supposed encounter with Shakur in a "neighborhood above Hollywood Boulevard." When we clicked through to read the full post, it was gone. Hmm. Conspiracy theorists, time to take off the tinfoil helmets and get to work! Click on the image of Tupac to see a screen capture of the RSS summary of the post.

From the AP, on the viewing of Ronald Reagan's body at his presidential library: "Other visitors included Govs. Bill Richardson of New Mexico and Mitt Romney of Massachusetts, and celebrities Morgan Fairchild and Bruce Boxleitner, who arrived as representatives of the Screen Actors Guild, which Reagan once led."

The NYT profiles some members of the New York Celebrity Assistants group. Nothing so great in this piece on the masochist assistant subculture; it's your run-of-the-mill mix of celeb bosses praising their wonderful helpers (in between beatings) and the tossed-in anecdote of a nightmare request from an unnamed star employer. The NYCA seems to be thriving, but where's the LA chapter? (There's a quick mention in the article: "A Los Angeles group originally was associated but now is independent.") Celebrity assistants are roughly one-fifth of the population in Hollywood, but we've never heard of the "LACA." We just assume that if they ever try to hold a meeting, a CAA/William Morris-sponsored hit squad would firebomb the happy hour, take all survivors to a Wilshire Boulevard mailroom, and scald their pretty, uppity faces with Starbucks macchiatos.

Even The Simpsons aren't immune to the lure of wacky, Japanese ad dollars; after all, they're still creatures of Hollywood. In this disturbing clip, they drink some mysterious beverage that makes them take off their clothes and inappropiately cavort in the kitchen. Maybe after the vague alienation of some time in a foreign land sets in, Sofia Coppola can train a camera on them and win an Oscar for writing a sensitive, nuanced movie in which nothing really happens.

With all of the attendant hubbub surrounding the passing of our sole surviving nonagenarian actident (actor/President) this weekend, one thing has gotten lost in the shuffle: How is Bonzo taking it? Low Culture answers the question, printing this surprisingly heartfelt remembrance from Ronald Reagan's best known costar:

A blogger on the LA Blogs community blog has pictures of the Ronald Reagan funeral and accompanying media circus unfolding outside her door. And, not surprisingly, it's a fashion disaster. She cites the sartorial menace of "apparel jingoism," where everyone's swaddled in American flag clothes. God, let's hope they're not rocking the stars n' stripes with Ugg boots.

Tech-dork sister blog Gizmodo unearths yet another celebrity eBay auction. This time, Kuffs fans can go bid on Star Wars toys from Christian Slater's collection (Slater's snow speeder: current bid: $5.50). It would probably just be easier to sign up Slater for food stamps by proxy. We hear that you can redeem them at the Ivy for five minutes in the dumpster.

Limp Bizkit frontman/champion celeb-blogger Fred Durst has sold his house in Los Feliz for just under $2 million. According to the LAT, the gated, three-bedroom house is 3,100 square feet and has "expansive city views." It did not mention if the sale price included a visit from an exorcist or feng-shui expert to remove the bad vibes from the scores of skanks Durst nailed within the house's confines, or the framed, notarized certificate detailing his sexual encounters with Britney Spears.

Who said that people in Hollywood don't have any original ideas? Oh, right, we did. Every day. In any case, we were just waiting for someone else to post a script on eBay. Didn't take long, as this message from an aspiring writer and sound capitalist informs us: