Since John Travolta and Olivia Newton-John’s inexplicable slice of Yuletide-flavored nonsense was officially disqualified as one of the worst Christmas songs of the last decade per our draconian awfulness-criteria, we’ll consider it here. And, so, yeah. This would give Rudolph nose cancer, cause Santa to steer his sleigh into an active volcano during his gift-dropping run over Maui, and make the three wise men inject lethal amounts of freebased myrrh into their eyeballs were any of them ever exposed to it. And what, exactly, might Olivia have bought John for Christmas? You want to say a new e-meter, but what you’re really thinking is a book of massage coupons, because you are a bad person. [YouTube]

• “He felt very adamant there could be a military mishap that would result in some sort of virus being released that could cause terrible things to happen … She felt it was ridiculous. He’s passionate about it. And it escalated from there.” And that’s how a The Walking Dead fan from Long Island came to shoot his girlfriend in the back. [NYDN]

• An early contender for Tabloid Headline of the Year, if not Tabloid Headline of All Time:

Exclusive: Brandi Glanville: My Son Mason Got “Extremely Ill” From Eating LeAnn Rimes’ Laxatives

Do the details of the story itself matter? No, no they do not. [Us Weekly]

• A human being in Las Vegas is collecting money to pay for her wedding to a cardboard cutout of Robert Pattinson, because art. [HuffPo]

• Sometimes Anne Hathaway misses being Catwoman so much that it makes her cry. She may be exaggerating slightly in that actorly way, or perhaps she’s just still on a waterworks hair trigger after they shaved her head for Les Misérables. She’ll be OK, everybody. She’ll be OK. [Access Hollywood]