Nothing says Christmas like slaves and whores! Anne Hathaway and Samuel L. Jackson enter the ring for a very NSFW Sad-Off over cocoa and gingerbread while they deck the halls. If you’re still at work, now might be a good time to lug your desktop into the bathroom and plug it in under the sink, because I think this ISFP (is safe for potty). How can you top the sad factor of Les Mis, “the miserable”? Well, slavery’s a good place to start. Plus, the star of Jackson’s movie “had his own sitcom on the WB.” And Hathaway was only a Disney princess because she had long hair; in Les Mis all of that gets chopped off “with a knife” (but Jackson “hasn’t had hair since Unbreakable”). Hathaway might not be able to handle being a black man in the South in the 1800s (or ever), but “When there’s a French whore in the White House, then we can talk.” Then again, though Fantine loses her job, “everybody in [Jackson’s] film has job security, because they’re slaves.” Jackson illustrates this with marshmallows and licorice. Oh, so now it’s a slave house? If Hathaway had known, she “would have made whore town.” Someone, quick, throw together a movie featuring slaves with tuberculosis shaving cancer-stricken puppies, hoping to sell the fur to buy instant oatmeal for their families! The Sad-Off championship title can be yours!

• We are all Gossip Girl. She’s Gossip Girl, and so is she, and so is he or she (spoiler), and so are you and so am I. XOXO.

• This is the news that gets leaked when everyone who works with you hates you so, so much: Lindsay Lohan clogged every toilet on the set of Scary Movie 5. Working with Lohan is like getting your passport stamped in Guernica: “No one could go to the bathroom.”

• Donald Trump won a suit ($5 million, which he desperately needs) against a Miss USA contestant who called the pageant “fraudulent.” I think “trashy” can still stand, however.

• A commercial for Funeraria Lopez contains two noteworthy elements: a sexy corpse resurrecting itself in a casket to give a thumbs-up, and a badly drawn lion in a Santa hat pretending to record your reaction.

• I delicately and gracefully push pause on my remote with an index fingernail lacquered with “What’s the Mitch-uation” from OPI’s Modern Family line, and then use that same finger to stimulate myself to vomit in all the shades of the rainbow, including “Diners, Drive Ins & Thumbs” and “Haute Hoarders Heliotrope.”

• This spider is planning to host a Burning Man festival in its web later this year if it doesn’t kill us all of nightmares first.

• Charles Dickens, you were one weird motherf—er: “Understandably distraught when his beloved cat Bob died in 1862, the writer was eager to keep a visual memory on his desk. One of Bob’s paws was promptly stuffed and adhered to an ivory blade, which was engraved ‘C.D. In Memory of Bob 1862.’”

Less chilling than TV Junkie, but chilling nonetheless because the author pees in a sink habitually: One man records his minutiae for Esquire.