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We'll admit—with no small amount of shame—that we've fallen woefully out of touch with humpy E! gossip-potentate Ted Casablanca, whose weekly, incomprehensibly worded blind items we once inspected with the wide-eyed confusion of a jeweler who has been presented a half-eaten cheese doodle for appraisal. (Does that make no sense? How quickly we fall back under his spell!) While our Ted-translating neurons have atrophied from disuse, the Stony_Curtis blog assures us that there's a significant Casablanca life update contained in the following passage:

Which brings me to why I feel like Ms. Hilton today—kinda/sorta/maybe just a li'l. All legal and loony, really. See, my partner, whose name is Jon Powell, got all rather Paris Latsis when we were on a deserted Hawaiian beach.

Mind you, J. didn't have a huge-butt rock with him, but, he did do something that's often accompanied with such brilliant specimens: He proposed. And I do mean marriage, not, just the Pam Anderson-style sandy nooky that often accompanies such traditions. And guess what?

I said yes.

So, get ready, Ah-nuld, you homo-bashing big-hair. Since the California legislature approved gay marriage, only to be vetoed by your fruit-served self (I mean, do you all know how many gays have serviced Schwarzenegger's girlie coiffure alone?), I suspect my attention to your sorry and sagging behind will only increase during my engagement.

If the above words do, as we suspect they might, contain a wedding announcement, congratulations are in order for the impending nuptials; however—and, as we've previously admitted, our prose-untangling skills are not what they once were—we can't be sure if those last couple of sentences contain a threat or an unexpected sexual overture. Regardless, the Governor's staff should be immediately notified so that they can take the proper steps to prepare for either scenario.