This week, MTV unveiled the nominees for this year's towering, glittering, shiny-popcorn-filled monument to idiocy: The MTV Movie Awards—which is the only awards show not sponsored by Maxim to single out both Jessica Biel’s nuanced performance as Girl Who Flirts With Fake-Gay Adam Sandler in I Now Pronounce You Chuck & Larry, and Megan Fox’s studied turn in Transformers as Token Love Interest. Other films vying for a sweaty-palmed high-five from MTV include Disturbia, Step Up 2: The Streets, and National Treasure 2: Treasurier—small, largely unseen movies that truly deserve all the accolades they can get.

This year marks the 17th time that MTV has shouted “Woooooo!” in the general direction of Hollywood, but in those 17 years I still haven’t figured out exactly what the point of the MTV Movie Awards is—besides, of course, to draw celebrities to the show in order to garner ratings and advertising dollars, like any old awards show, and to give Chris Brown the shout-out he totally deserves for his role in This Christmas (he texted with such believability!).

Mark Burnett, the show’s producer, said that he thinks the MTV Movie Awards are “the most relevant movie award show in America today.” And who knows more about cultural relevancy than the creator of My Dad Is Better Than Your Dad? Burnett also added:

This show honors the movies that millions of young Americans go to see.”

Unfortunately there’s already an award for that, Mark. It’s called money. Young Americans have already honored those movies with the millions of dollars that they spent to go see them. It’s not as if young people are a reclusive minority whose voice goes largely unheard by the entertainment industry. Who do you think they made Disturbia for? Why else would there be an Alien Vs. Predator: Requiem?

Of course, there’s nothing wrong with a useless awards show. I mean, obviously there is something very wrong with that, but it isn’t abnormal. Most, if not all, awards shows are useless: The People’s Choice Awards, The Golden Globes, The Oscars, all of them can be distilled down to a fine vapor of meaninglessness and Us Weekly Fashion Disasters pages. But some of those awards have at least the sheen of importance. The MTV Movie Awards do not.

And since they have no hope of appearing important, or of celebrating a movie in a meaningful way, the MTV Movie Awards should just fully embrace their meaninglessness. How? Increasingly meaningless award categories. MTV is already off to a good start with “Best Villain,” “Best Fight,” and “Best Summer Movie So Far.” But those categories aren’t inane enough. Here are a few suggestions for MTV Movie Award categories that will really hammer home the meaninglessness of the whole thing:

Best 'Splosion

Awesomest Dude You Would Most Want To Hang Out With In Real Life

Johnny Depp Award (given annually to Johnny Depp)

Best Use Of Eyebrows To Demonstrate Evil

Best Fucked Up Shit

Best Movie Outfit That You Would Totally Buy If Someone Told You Where You Could Buy It And It Wasn't Too Expensive

Best Acting By Non-Actor (This year the award would either go to Chris Brown in This Christmas, or Shia LeBoeuf's Strokes T-shirt in Transformers.

Greatest Product Placement

Best Superbad

In my 8th grade Biology class, we had to breed fruit flies with different eye colors for some kind of experiment about genetics. It was not very exciting. I don't remember much about it except how difficult it was to stare into jars teeming with tiny bugs and accurately count the number of red-eyed ones. Of course, had my teacher gone the extra mile and rented some giant fruit fly costumes in order to graphically pantomime the fruit fly sex act in front of the class, I'd probably remember everything there is to know about fruit fly reproduction—but then my teacher was no Isabella Rossellini, whose enthusiasm for weird bug costumes, insect humping, and hilarious entomology-related pornography knows no bounds.

Isabella Rossellini is now not just your de facto hero, she's also the perviest amateur entomologist you know who also starred in Death Becomes Her. (Bruce Willis, with those rumors of his depraved bee-keeping is the second most pervy, while Goldie Hawn's noted collection of earthworms in skimpy bikinis earns her the third most pervy spot.)

You can watch all of the Green Porno shorts here, and I highly recommend that you do. But be warned: after watching Green Porno, the buzzing of bees starts to sound less like humming and more like Isabella Rossellini yelling, "My penis would break off!"

By now, you've probably been made aware of Wall-E, Pixar's upcoming attempt to kill us all with overwhelming, radiating cuteness. And Wall-E, the lovable, wide-eyed scamp of a robot at the center of the movie is very, very cute. He looks like Johnny 5 from Short Circuit, but smaller, less vocal, and without the troublingly close relationship with Steve Guttenberg--all of which makes Wall-E possibly the cutest movie robot ever, despite the fact that his story takes place in the aftermath of some kind of horrific, cataclysmic, and unexplained event that forced all living humans to evacuate Earth.

Watching him happily wheel around the giant, rusting junkyard that dominates the landscape of future Earth, you don't even think about the ghosts of the long-dead people who used to inhabit the place before their civilization came crashing down all around them and they were forced to abandon their lives and their planet under the threat of imminent danger. Wall-E's adorable little meeps and moops as he roots through piles of trash looking for something to play with, totally drown out the imagined terrified screams of human evacuees and the deafening silence of an abandoned Earth. And when he picks up that ancient bra from the garbage and hilariously places it on his innocent robot eyes, it's easy to forget that that bra was once worn close to the beating heart of a living, breathing woman who was probably separated from her children in the wake of the unnamed disaster, and who now has to live in exile, far away from Earth, haunted by the knowledge that had she just held onto their hands a little tighter, maybe they would all still be together, even if that meant drowning in the mountains of waste that gradually overtook Earth's surface.

Seriously, post-apocalyptic Earth has never been more precious. You win, Wall-E.

Remember when Tom Cruise was a movie star and not some weirdo who leads his wife around in a two-hand grip like an arresting officer sternly walking a suspect to a waiting squad car?

No? Well, Tom Cruise does. And he wants you to remember that Tom Cruise used to be a movie star first, crazy second. So today he launched TomCruise.com, a personal Internet shrine to himself and his movie career complete with movie trailers, a "25 years of my life in film" montage that feels about 25 minutes long, and a photo gallery that might as well be called "Tom Cruise: Portraits Of Intensity (With Eyebrows)."

Because, truly, nothing says "I'm a movie star, dammit" better than vast displays of narcissism set to bombastic music.

Still, despite appearances, TomCruise.com isn't about Tom Cruise. It's about you, dear reader.

From the Message From Tom:

It is almost impossible for me to believe that I am celebrating the 25th anniversary of the release of Risky Business, my first starring role in a film. In celebration of this occasion, and my 27 years of making movies, I created this site as a thank you, to you, for sharing the journey with me and to invite you to continue to explore what the future will bring.

This is for you. Enjoy!

I think he meant, "It is almost Mission Impossible 1-3 for me to believe..." but still, isn't this nice of Tom Cruise? To make a website about Tom Cruise: Movie Star, so that we can remember him in a positive way, back when the craziest thing he did was star in a Ron Howard epic about Irish immigrants that involved wearing a ceramic bowl over his genitals for an entire scene? Just think about the sacrifices he has made to produce this website for us, all of us, to enjoy. He's basically Jesus--or whatever the Scientology spaceship equivalent of Jesus is.

This weekend was The Kentucky Derby, an event held each year by Access Hollywood under the dark, hollow gaze of Billy Bush to commemorate the fateful meeting of star-crossed lovers Anna Nicole Smith and Larry Birkhead. Every spring, dozens of America's dimmest tabloid fixtures, lowest common denominator reality show stars, Hugh Hefner, and anyone else thrilled to be invited to a real red carpet event (in Louisville), put on their loudest floral prints, and their most cartoonish approximations of "southern dandy" suits, and congregate to celebrate clinging to the lowest rung on the ladder of celebrity.

But even though in recent years the event has morphed into a D-list parade to rival the Daytime Emmy awards, apparently the Kentucky Derby is also a 200-year-old horse race, with all the jockeys, and bridles, and horses that are publicly put down post-race that that entails. (Who knew?) Which begs the question: what does one wear to a horrible, tragic horse euthanization? And who attends such things? Let's have a look:

If you're Spencer Pratt and Heidi Montag, you wear a seersucker suit that can cause ocular lesions, and Laura-Ashley-for-Wet-Seal desperation, respectively.

If you're on Entourage, congratulations! You're probably the biggest fake star at the Derby. You can wear a scruffy beard and shaggy mop that say, "I take horse euthanization very seriously," and escort a bolt of Pucci fabric pinned to a hat with a model in between that says, "I was paid to be here."

If you're a judge on a reality show: you're also invited. If you're noted, like Noted Fashion Photographer Nigel Barker, you wear a leftover costume from Dick Tracy

But, if you're a former NSYNC member turned game show host, you are obliged to wear the shiniest suit in existence, for easy identification/avoidance, like Joey Fatone.

And, of course, if you're Hugh Hefner, you just show up with 3 life-size Madame Alexander dolls.