Assuming this lady means raspberry in a sexual kind of way and not in a making-fart-sounds-on-a-baby kind of way, this is one of several sightings we've received lately from women admiring the adorably awkward smoothness of one Michael Cera.

Ever since he got fake-fired from "Knocked Up" and starred in "Superbad," , Mr. Manager has been getting lots of attention.

And while he is certainly hysterical and seems like a very nice kid (born 1988!), something in the profile pieces and the female adoration for being an ordinary-looking, slightly-geeky guy is triggering an ugly, big-lipped, abyss-screaming pang of Braffian déjà vu. And since we adore him, and every relationship we have with an actor is only ever one date with a Simpson sister away from being broken beyond repair, let's look at some proactive steps Michael Cera can take to avoid becoming the next Zach Braff.

1.) Don't date anyone famous or blonde. Some cursory Google-stalking of Michael Cera indicates he is currently dating a stand-up comic named Charlyne Yi. Perfect. Let's just hope with the growing attention he doesn't lose his head. It's a slippery slope people. The kid has too many beers one night, his friends convince him they should see what this Le Deux is all about, just to make fun of the people there of course, and BAM. We lose him forever.

2.) Stop blogging. This is okay now because it's for his web series "Clark and Michael," which is actually funny. However, what if he starts using blogs to talk politics or respond to things the media says about him? It could get dicey. It's better to end it before it starts. It could end up on HuffPo! Ack!

3.) Stop being in a band. Again, all reports are that the band is good, but we're talking preemption here. If you have a family history of breast cancer sometimes you need to lop that boob off early to save your life. It's common sense.

Is all this just a pessimistic attitude shaped by a world in which Promises mean nothing and Carrot Top gets laid? Maybe. But whatever. With the paparazzi on his tail and his growing appearance on those "hot" lists, we happily make the case that it's never too early to take action.

Remember when, in every interview, Drew Barrymore was all "I'm a real woman, real women have curves?" And then she broke up with Fab from the Strokes and became a size 2 and now in every interview she is all, "Here is my fitness regimen! This is the best i've ever felt! I have so much energy!"

Seriously, what?

Also, this Zach Braff thing... eesh... I mean, as terrible as it is, it's not exactly without precedent. Think about it: who was Drew rebounding with pre-Zach? Indie auteur and Coppola-dumpee Spike Jonze. The irony is that Zach Braff is, like, the reason no one has the energy to hate Spike Jonze anymore. Is that ironic? Is that Alanic? Whatever.

Anyway, they will probably get married and their babies will destroy America harder and faster than it is already being destroyed. At least the destruction will probably begin in L.A.

It goes on:

"I haven't had a vacation in 6 years and so I decided to take June and July off. I am having the best summer of my life! I am so happy here!

I'm hanging out with my New York friends, my Jersey boys, my family and loving every single second of it. And yes; I am dating. When we shoot Scrubs I spend every waking hour of my life in an abandoned and haunted hospital. All I can date there are ghosts and they tend to be horrible snugglers. So anyway, blah, blah, blah. Don't believe the hype.

I love it here. I love NYC. I love the people, the arts, I love meeting strangers on the street and talking about the most random things in the world, I love parades where people dress up as mermaids and I really love peach/pomegranate iced tea. I see quite clearly that the east coast is a slightly better fit for me.

That is all for now. I am going to buy a bike.

Peace and love. And as always, thank you for all the many kind things you write to me. You are the best fans a fellow could ever ask for."

Number one: The fashion was a hot mess. Let's be realistic. Without Rachel Zoe, most young actresses would be donned in garbage bags and the Tony red carpet provided many a faux pas that was not far from resembling industrial cleaning supplies. The thing is no one looked terrible but no one looked superbly fantastic. It was a boring night in gownland. That said, the body on Julie White (who later went on to win a Tony) is so smoking she makes Madonna look like a truck driver. Once inside the theater, it was a celebrity traffic nightmare. Ethan Hawke, Bernadette Peters, Liev Schreiber with a very pregnant Naomi Watts, and he who must not be named. Tom Stoppard's "Coast of Utopia" won the most Tonys for one play in like all of history, and, oh, Billy Crudup was single. God help us all.

The gala afterwards was a snoozer. Free booze and some dry cuts of steak were semihighlights and not to mention strange table centerpieces filled with hideous Navajo jewelry—but seriously do theatergoers have no taste? Rivaling after-after parties were those of "Curtains" at Carmine's and "Coast of Utopia" at O'Neill's, the latter of which I attended. The most surreal thing about the party was that the Tony winners left their awards at the tables and on the bars for anyone to fondle. I guess if you can't share your Tony you shouldn't have it at all....

Claire Danes had a purple Grecian attempt at a gown. It was too loose fitting and tacky in a seventh grader way. I thought it would be awkward with her boyfriend Hugh Dancy there and Billy Crudup. Hugh's play, "Journey's End," won. I'm sure all three of them worked it out.

Zach Braff: What was he doing there? What on earth does he have in connection with the theater? He said he was a secret musical theatre lover. Ethan Hawke was with his girlfriend, who I think is a waitress. A little Grease-y but cute. Felicity Hoffman was very skinny. I guess in the end that the funnest part of the awards were the Puerto Ricans smoking pot outside the theater.

It's no secret that women with slammin' bodies and bitchin' faces love celebrities. Thus, it comes as no surprise that Gawker receives tons of reports that Zach Braff is surrounded by nameless "blonde babes" and/or Mandy Moore. What does, however, come as a surprise is why Zach is a legitimate celebrity at all.

Zach snuck his way into famousosity through Garden State, a tour de force which singlehandledly called a cultural truce between the I Heart Huckabees/Wolf Parade/Unbearable Lightness of Being crowd and those who list The DaVinci Code among their favorite books on Friendster. For a brief moment, hipsters laid down their iPods and douchbankers put aside their engraved moneyclips, and the world united to agree that this was a good movie. Zach Braff, celebrity and leading man, was born.

However, last time we checked, celebrities were supposed to be either a) Melania Knauss-hot with no talent (e.g., Enrique Iglesias, Jessica Alba) or b) downtrodden trolls with amazing skills (e.g., Paul Giamatti, Kathy Bates). But Zach Braff is neither hot nor exceptionally talented at anything other than repeatedly playing the same likeable shmo. The fact is, people who may or may not have been members of a certain person's Hebrew school carpool should not be celebrities, because now we're stuck with movies like The Last Kiss and that travesty, The Ex. If all that's required to be famous these days is a bulbous nose, weak chin and average acting chops, why don't we just go ahead and make everybody a celebrity? In fact, why not just rip up the Constitution?

People, the whole POINT of celebritydom is that into this society are born the Ubermensch—a celebrity race that are superior in every possible way to the rest of the world which is filled with despicable garbage. There's simply not enough room in the pantheon of celebrities for the likes of Julia Stiles, Yahoo Serious or Zach Braff. Life is too short to idolize unattractive actors with mediocre skills. We are only hurting ourselves and the future.