Hugh Hefner to Finally Make Honest Woman Out of 26-Year-Old

Well, this is nice. Though the marriage was called off once in 2011, it seems that 86-year-old Hugh Hefner and his 26-year-old fiancée, Playboy's Miss December 2009 Crystal Harris, are finally going to tie the knot at the end of this month. Yes, the couple went and got their marriage license in Beverly Hills and have set the date for New Year's Eve, which will be festive, because Hugh will already be dressed up like Father Time, as is his duty every year. Look, it's bad to be down on love, but what is really going on here? To put things in perspective, Hugh has a child who is 34 years older than his soon-to-be wife. So what's everyone getting out of this? Hef gets to feel like a cool, sexy daddio for a bit longer, I guess. Crystal gets the attention that all this news brings, which can't hurt. But does she get any money, y'know, if the unthinkable happens? Probably not. But I'm sure she's well aware of that at this point. Hef's been around the bunny block a few too many times to not have tucked his money safely under his captain's hat. Not that, like, all these Playboy models are gold-digging gross-os — I'm sure some of them are lovely young women who do what they do for a variety of perfectly valid and understandable reasons. But the one that's marrying him when he is sixty years older than her? Girl must have some kind of agenda, right? It's probably just attention. She can always be Hugh Hefner's wife this way. For the rest of her life, whenever anyone asks, she gets to tell them. That probably sets her up for something. And, again, Hefner gets to feel virile and hep-catty again even though, woof, he hasn't been any of those things in a long, long time. Here's a question: What do you think the Playboy Mansion smells like? I imagine something antiseptic, a heavy, ubiquitous cleaning product, mixing with a medicine smell, definitely a medicine smell, and, like, tomato sauce? Vegetable soup? You know that kind of gross warm V8 smell? That's what I'm imagining. But you imagine your own Playboy Mansion smell. That's all you or I can do at this point, really. [Us Weekly]

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Police have determined that the altercation that took place at Halle Berry's house on Thanksgiving was, in fact, Halle's ex-beau Gabriel Aubry's fault. It seems that after Aubry dropped off his and Halle's daughter, Nahla, Berry's current squeeze Olivier Martinez asked to speak with him outside, at which point Aubry got angry and pushed him and took a swing, to which Martinez responded with three quick punches of self-defense. So the French-Canadian male model tried a thing and then the French actor responded in kind, only harder. Martinez's father was a boxer, after all. Anyway, Berry and Martinez don't want to charge Aubry because they don't think it's best for their daughter, and the authorities will likely go along with that. So, it looks as though this is all winding down for now, which is good. Everyone go have Christmas and try not to think about it all and devote your prayers to Cloud Atlas doing strong international business. Because really there's one person sorta keeping this whole ship afloat, and that person could always use a hit. [TMZ]

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The Office smirker John Krasinki recently co-wrote and co-stars in a movie with Matt Damon called Promised Land which just had its big premiere, and at the event Krasinksi joked around with reporters, saying, "Matt is one of the coolest guys I know, and I'm totally in love with the guy, but he doesn't even know my name. I would love to have a bromance with him, but I don't even know if I could even use the word 'bromance' because he and Ben are so tight and like a married couple that I'll never get in there." So, ha ha, dude joking about his affection for another dude, nothing new there, standard banter, especially from someone who's always as yuk-yuk genially self-deprecating as John Krasinski. But, a glimmer of something, eh? A flash. A moment of swallowed, indelicate yearning. "Haha, I want to be best friends with him, but..." But of course they are close, they made a movie together, wrote and acted, they'll have that bond forever, but now the experience is over and Matt is off to some other project and he's harder to get on the phone and after the premiere John texted him, "Yo what u up to?" and never heard back, Matt probably home with his kids, or hanging with Ben and his kids, and everyone just living these sweet domestic lives. And sure John's got his wife, his really lovely and cool-seeming wife, but something... I dunno, something. John texts him one more time, trying to sound casual, "Hey going to the Ace for a drink if you want to meet up" and then stands around waiting to hear back before dejectedly getting in a cab and going back to his hotel. He falls asleep alone, all the good times flickering like old film inside his head. [People]

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Oh NO. Poor Adam Levine. America's most not-at-all-creepy singer, like you would totally feel safe alone with him in a basement with one flickering light bulb and a weird mattress-less cot on the floor, is now [THE VOICE SPOILER ALERT] completely out of the game on this season of The Voice. Yes, his last two mentees were voted off the show last night, meaning he's now just an observer, same as you and me. Well you, anyway. I don't watch that nightmare. There is a picture, a screen cap, of Levine after he'd heard the bad news, and his head is down and his hands are up in a thoughtful prayer position, and I think the attempt is to look sad for his contestants, because their meteoric rise to obscurity as one-time contestants on The Voice has suddenly ended, so he should feel bad about their thwarted dreams. That's the intended effect of his body language. But look. There's a weird smile on his face, which indicates to me that mostly he's embarrassed for himself. That his kids are gone now. That he doesn't have any more bragging rights. That he might have done something wrong. It's embarrassment I see there. I could be totally wrong. Maybe I am. But if I'm right? Well, let's just say that you might want to avoid his basement for a while. I don't think anything good is gonna happen down there for some time. [Daily Mail]

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Important news of the day: Deeply Christian Backstreet Boys member Brian Littrell is NOT praying for Lindsay Lohan. Nope. He was spotted by some weird TMZ paparazzo at the airport recently and the video guy asked him if he was praying for La Lohan and, with a weird smile on his face, Littrell said, "Unfortunately no. I'm probably breaking a lot of ministers' hearts. It's like, 'He's a Christian. He should pray for everybody' ... But she's not in my prayers at night." So... cool. Cool? I don't know. I mean, obviously this is utterly useless information, but it's also kind of mean-spirited information? Like, I don't think that Lindsay Lohan ever thought that Brian Littrell from the Backstreet Boys was praying of her. So why'd it have to be said out loud as some kinda hilarious "Ain't I a stinker?" burn? Just seems needlessly mean. At least Lindsay always has the comeback response of "Who? No honestly, who on earth is Brian Littrell? I swear to god I have never heard that name once in my life." Though of course the jerk who asked the question gets away scot-free, which is the real problem here. [TMZ]

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Aw. Lifestyle guru guy Nate Berkus — he was Oprah's house elf until she mistakenly gave him a piece of clothing — has a new guy in his life. He was spotted in canoodlo delicto at Barney's with none other than Rachel Zoe's former slave Jeremiah Brent. A witness said they were "kissing at the sunglass rack in the men’s section." Ha. That should be a euphemism. "Honey, I found some things on your computer and I have to ask you, and know that I'll love you no matter the answer: Are you kissing at the sunglass rack in the men's section?" "Yes, mom." It could catch ont! But anyway, that's a mighty handsome couple. So isn't that nice for them. Really nice for them. Terrific. Meanwhile some of us are going to go be stuck wandering around the shoe department in the men's section, alone. [Page Six]