If you read Hollywood’s fearsome dominatrix Nikki Finke’s Deadline Hollywood on a regular basis, you would be forgiven for thinking that Finke is in a perpetual state of rage, spending her days seething as she bangs away at her keyboard to demolish her perceived enemies.

Finke, who regularly breaks showbiz news, is the master of hyperbole. Subtlety is not her strongest suit. Her missives on Deadline.com have an ALL CAPS LOCK tenor, even when they are typed normally. TOLDJA!—her signature headline (which she actually bothered to trademark), used to gloat whenever a scoop of hers is proven correct—is straight out of a 10-year-old’s playbook. While we like to imagine that she spends her days sticking pins in voodoo dolls of Hollywood executives, the reality is probably less exciting. One thing’s for sure, though: the copy is never, ever dull.

This probably isn’t the summer Will Smith expected. The undisputed king of summer box-office mega-hits experienced a first in his highly successful Hollywood career this past weekend. A flop.

His new film, After Earth, in which he costars with his 14-year-old son, Jaden, brought in a dismal $27 million, chump change for Smith and his $130 million film. Smith’s summer offerings over the last 20 years traditionally rank No. 1 and usually bring in close to $40 million on opening weekends.

Needless to say, electronic music is booming in the mainstream. On the heels of the much-anticipated release of Daft Punk’s Random Access Memories in May, the “Harlem Shake” trap styling of Baauer, and the womp-womp-laced dubstep from the likes of Skrillex, two young brothers from England have the undertaking of reviving a genre to the forefront.

Disclosure has been stirring up the U.K. dance scene with their tracks reminiscent of London’s two-step garage rhythms, which were popular in the ’90s, and combining deep house bass lines with the pop sensibility of soulful, vocals-centered tunes. It’s an impressive feat that there has been so much chatter on the two-person outfit from England—brothers Guy and Howard Lawrence, 21 and 18 respectively. Despite being so young, they’ve sold out shows and have been fiercely sought after for international music festivals (including Glastonbury later this month and New York’s SummerStage on August 6), and are one of the most talked-about groups bursting onto the scene. When Settle hit the U.K. market a day before the U.S. release, it took the second-place slot on iTunes’ U.K. top albums list—sandwiched between Queens of the Stone Age and Daft Punk.

It’s a battle as sweaty and heated as the season itself: the fight for the title of “Song of the Summer.” Each year, one inescapable victor is crowned the earworm track that everyone is singing, every radio station is playing, and every bar, drugstore, and Applebee’s is cycling on loop. Over the years, quality tracks like “Heartbreak Hotel” by Elvis Presley (1956), “When Doves Cry” by Prince (1984), “Crazy in Love” by Beyoncé (2003), and “Call Me Maybe” by Carly Rae Jepsen accomplished Song of the Summer ubiquity.

But occasionally tracks have taken the crown that are so embarrassing we’d rather file them away in the drawer of memories we choose to forget, alongside those neon hammer pants and photos of our summer with the mullet haircut. While three surprisingly solid tracks from Daft Punk (“Get Lucky”), Beyoncé (“Grown Woman”), and Icona Pop (“I Love It”) begin duking it out to be this year’s Song of the Summer, let’s take a tour through summer music’s Hall of Shame.

LMFAO—“Party Rock Anthem” (2011)

Andy’s fuck-you moment to horrible boss Miranda at the end of Lauren Weisberger’s first novel, The Devil Wears Prada, was deliciously vindictive. It was a perfect finale.

The sequel, out this week, doesn’t taste so sweet. With an overstated title, Revenge Wears Prada: The Devil Returns, it explores Andy Sachs’s life a decade later. The theory is fantastic. But the reality is stale.

After breaking free from Miranda-ville, Andy writes for a bridal blog called Happily Ever After before founding a wedding magazine with her archnemesis turned BFF, Emily. As Andy struggles to find her footing, she discovers that “nothing is as it seems.”

We’re at lunch, and Aaron Tveit, star of the upcoming USA drama Graceland, is giggling nervously.

I had just brought up a post—a series of photos, really—published on BuzzFeed while Tveit’s breakout film Les Misérables, in which he played the passionate revolutionary Enjolaras, was at the height of its theatrical run. The post was called “The 42 Most Seductively Charming Aaron Tveit Moments of All Time.”

Hollywood actor, producer, director, and disease epidemiologist Michael Douglas made news Sunday by settling a puzzle that has dogged cancer specialists for more than a decade. He pronounced that his oral cancer, diagnosed three years ago, was caused by cunnilingus.

With the dispatch, he has pushed the field forward, backward, and every which way in a manner that may be difficult to recover from. Only recently, a solid association had been established between certain types of head and neck cancer and the human papilloma virus (HPV), already well accepted as the cause of cervical cancer, the disease prevented so successfully by the Pap smear. And similar to Douglas’s view of the problem, scientists presenting their findings typically have been met with headlines about oral sex, not the changing epidemiology of a concerning disease.

Imagine watching your favorite porno with hands-free control. No more lube on the remote or keyboard!

Google Glass could take the POV concept to whole new levels, and this is particularly relevant in porn. No more awkward over the shoulder camera, with a camera operator breathing down a performer's neck trying to get that spot-on-POV without being the performer himself. Now an untrained camera operator, an actor, can wear these Google Glasses and obtain the perfect perspective while hands-free to guide the action.

And they partook of his salt and bread.

Oaths are meant to be sacred: after all, a man is only as good as his word. But a world in which oaths are meaningless and void is a terrifying place without logic, justice, or order. On this week’s episode of HBO’s Game of Thrones (“The Rains of Castamere”), we see the ramifications of breaking one’s word. Just as Robb Stark (Richard Madden) betrayed his vow to Walder Frey (David Bradley), promising to marry his daughter in exchange for Frey bannermen, so too does Walder Frey betray the most sacred oath of all, that of hospitality.