DAMN. Check out the bling on Kyla Weber, Vince Vaughn’s fiancee.

The happy couple headed out to a matinee of Coraline in Santa Monica, with Kyla, a Canadian realtor, sporting the ring rumored to be worth $125K. No wedding date has been set, but Kyla recently relocated to Los Angeles. Shit, now this is someone who has figured out how to succeed in a dying economy. Trading real estate for fucking Vince Vaughn. It’s harder work, I’m sure, because you have to rummage through the belly fat and the stench of booze to get to his penis, but it sure as hell pays better.

Because he’s engaged, to 29-year-old Calgary realtor Kyla Weber. The pair are rumoured to have met through a movie producer friend of Vince’s.

They got engaged on Valentine’s Day, but there’s no word on when they actually plan to tie the knot.

Hey remember that Dane Cook movie, Good Luck Chuck? Where he’d fuck a girl and then they’d meet their true love? (It was actually a pretty good movie, as much as I hate both Dane Cook and Jessica Alba.) I think Jennifer Aniston is like the male version of Chuck. After she dates someone, they pretty quickly find their true (non-Jen) love.

Realistically, though, who wants to marry Vince Vaughn at this point? He is bloated and gross and always looks like he smells like stale liquor. I think Jen dodged a bullet.

Defamer has an interesting piece today about how Oscar-winner, box-office champ Reese Witherspoon somehow manages to be billed second to B-lister Vince Vaughn in their upcoming flick.

Is it simply that studios are too terrified to give a woman first billing over a male star, lest people then think the film to be a chick flick? After all, Vaughn’s last hit was The Break-Up, the rare romantic comedy with strong male appeal, something that marketing folks might have felt was in jeopardy had costar Jennifer Aniston been first-billed. Four Christmases isn’t a romcom but a flat-out comedy, but would it be perceived as the former if Vaughn was subservient to Witherspoon in the billing block?

Yes, when compared to Witherspoon, the presence of Vaughn in this film makes us more likely to see it (though still? not very likely), simply because the actor has a track record of enlivening even the most formulaic films with his improvised comic riffs. Still, we wonder just how B- and C-list you’d have to go to find a male costar whom the studio would allow Witherspoon to supplant. In an alternate Four Christmases, could the actress vault over Colin Farrell to claim first billing? Or will she have to settle for a part opposite Freddie Prinze Jr. to claim what, by rights, should be hers?

What do you guys think?

Are studios ever going to be able to give a woman top billing in a comedy without it being labeled a chick flick?

He looks sad. And drunk. And gross.

Maybe Cheetos will cheer him up. Or a bacon cheeseburger. Or an entire cheesecake. Or whatever the hell he’s been cramming down his throat since he used to be hot.

Seriously, who’s casting serial killers these days? They need to get Vince Vaughn’s agent on the line. Because while I used to look at Vince Vaughn and be like, “Gosh, I’d sure like to have sex with that man,” now I look at him and think, “Gosh, I sure hope he doesn’t kill me with a fork and then grind me up and eat me with a spoon.” Seriously. Homeboy looks creepy.

Image via WENN

Jennifer Hudson needs additional media training. [Defamer]

Mario Lopez and Dancing with the Stars partner Katrina Smirnoff are doing the horizontal tango, if you know what I mean. [MollyGood]

Reese Witherspoon(’s breasts) look amazing at the Kennedy Center Honors. [Yeeeah!]

Jen and Vince’s reps join forces to put the final nail in the Vaughniston coffin: “Jennifer and Vince mutually agreed to end their relationship.” The reps admit the two broke up in October, after Jen visited Vince in London. So, you know, right around when the blogosphere said they did. [Dirty Laundry]

Paul Walker has no need for talent. Good thing, too. [Celebrity Smack]

Scarlett Johansson: “Please masturbate to me. I want you to. I need you to. Do it three, four, five times a day. Before bed, in the morning, at the office, at your children’s day care, between rounds of golf, in front of your girlfriend, at your mother’s house, in the boss’s office, in the cafeteria, onto the mashed potatoes, anywhere, everywhere, I don’t care, just as long as you’re masturbating to me.” [Agent Bedhead]

Lance Bass says that he and Reichen are still trying to work things out. He made the statement via MySpace, which is totally Hollywood’s hottest PR agency right now. [ICYDK]

Photos from Johnny Depp’s first wedding in 1983. [popbytes]

On Wednesday’s Oprah, Aniston reiterated that all was well in paradise — she and Vince were still together, and she is still so totally over that Brad Pitt guy.

Is this really what it takes to get these two to admit they were even together in the first place?

Seriously, The Sun is on fire. (Har har har). Now if only they could find a copy-editor who knows how to spell “theater.”

• Vince Vaughn and Jennifer Aniston broke up over the phone.
• Madonna selects an African child to adopt with the same obsessive attention to detail and God complex that make her live performances such extraordinary spectacles.

• Mischa Barton and Nicole Richie are dunzo. Barton says Richie’s “fickle,” by which she of course means “starving.”

• Having properly atoned for a year of sins on Yom Kippur, Mel Gibson’s drinking again.
• Ashlee Simpson denies hooking up with Nick Carter while he was with Paris Hilton, using her own special brand of eloquence: “No! That is so random. When I heard that, I was dying laughing.”

But, alas, the blogosphere is abuzz with this news; it’s likely that the only person on the planet more apathetic than I toward the looming Vaughniston alliance is Brad Pitt.

Hey, Brad, if you’re reading this, you should totally come over tonight. We don’t have to do this alone. We can wade through our Vaughniston ennui hand-in-hand. I have whipped cream and a cat you can call Maddox. Just say you’ll think about it.

Update: Jen’s rep says it’s not true. You know, this is really the bloggers’ fault. If we would only buzz about Us Weekly every day enthusiastically no matter what forever and ever amen, they wouldn’t have to do this sort of thing to us. Jesus. Now wash up the blood, sweetie, and start dinner. That’s a good girl.

Brad: I still have the whipped cream and the cat. Let’s not allow this shocking turn of events to spoil our dreams. Call me.