Rihanna’s “surprisingly slutty” London Fashion Week debut sure was something, right? Her River Island collaboration was widely panned by critics, though if you smoke a ton of weed, the feeling of a breeze gently flirting with your exposed belly button and fondling your upper thighs probably feels soooooo goooood guuuuuys. I don’t know, the fishnet tank and mid-calf skirt ensemble sort of spoke to me. I picture it paired with a vinyl burgerpurse and a bra that has googly eyes over the nipples. I also can’t argue with the merits of the interrupted overalls or the sheer apron-front Sexy Amish Coroner frock. It’s called peacocking, you amateurs. Learn it.

• Patrick Carney from The Black Keys obviously has a crush on Justin Bieber. Typical ponytail-pulling third-grade-boy aggro-flirting. I’ll ‘ship that.
• Just when you finally forget what Angry Alec Baldwin is like, the universe steps in to remind you. It’s awfully ugly. The ticking of his explosion timer started after an issue that tangentially involves yoga, by the way. Yoga.
• Morrissey cancels upcoming shows to focus on his health, “lest I keel over and die before your very eyes.” He goes on: “My ulcer is now under reins, even if neither asleep nor dead, but the continued cause for concern is a slightly embarrassing absence of blood.” Fantine? Is that you in there?
• Antlers and flashlights in the Hannibal teaser, set to an example of my least favorite genre of music ever.
• Dear Fergie: Having a baby will not make it easier not to wet your pants (I have a mental tattoo of this event). But congratulations anyway!
• Mindy McCready’s passing pushes Celebrity Rehab‘s death toll into “notably horrifying” territory.
• Khloé’s off The X Factor.
• Next-generation video games: They’re coming, and they’re going to make you feel old.
• Luck after death, because you can’t kill horses with your fan fiction.
• Monday tunes: Thom Yorke’s supergroup album is streaming, and Phoenix’s Phoenixian new single is on YouTube.
• The upside of rabies!
• Beyond the valley of the dolls … lies an island in Mexico where Chucky and his bride apparently spent their honeymoon taking endless rounds of Clomid and getting really freaky with some toy infants. “The popular story of the island says that a young girl drowned off its coast roughly 50 years ago. The island’s sole permanent inhabitant was hermit Don Julián Santana Barrera, who, shortly after the girl’s death, began finding dolls in the canal. He feared that these were a sign from an evil spirit, but believed that hanging the dolls on trees would direct him from evil spirits and the girl’s ghost.” I CAN SEE WHY THAT IS A POPULAR STORY. Guillermo del Toro, are you on this yet?