Mila Kunis. (Getty Images)

Sometimes there are so much information about the world, it's hard to keep it all in your head. How many municipalities does Greenland have? Who owns the Canary Islands? Do we know anything about Madagascar except for cars and that animated movie with comedian Chris Rock?

So we can forgive you for forgetting that Ukraine has been beseiged in its parliament by the All-Ukrainian Union "Svoboda" movement, a nationalist uber-right-wing Slytherin-esque party that is really interested in bloodlines and keeping up the traditions of the neo-Nazis. For the past several years, Svoboda has been gaining momentum with its anti-Russian sentiment, gaining 12 percent of the national vote in the last election cycle.

Which is all terrible, but you know, the anti-Semitic Svoboda party has been rising to power for some time. Why do we suddenly care?

We care because they started attacking on our own territory. We care, in short, because one of their leaders started going after Mila Kunis.

From the news website Algemeiner:

A Member of the Ukrainian Parliament from the far-right Svoboda Party ... sneeringly proclaimed that [Kunis] was not Ukrainian but a zhydovka. This deeply hurtful slur for a Jew was an alarming gutter effort to inject Jew-hatred into the acceptable bounds of mainstream Ukrainian discourse.

But this story gets weirder. Because it turns out that the Ukrainian lawmaker who made these comments, Igor Miroshnichenko, did so not in Parliament but on his Facebook wall. Which is shitty, but still kind of like ... come on guys. Are you just looking to fight with Ashton Kutcher?

The most disturbing aspect of the story was the reaction from the Ukrainian ministry, which claimed that there is nothing wrong with calling Kunis the female version of a "dirty Jew," because the word is in their dictionary. Which you know, maybe change your dictionary? Or not! We have tons of terrible words in our dictionary, but we don't allow politicians to bandy them about on social networking sites without consequences.

See: the question here is whether the words in question express hate and bigotry and were used in that context, not whether they are in a book of words that exist.

And the fact that the ministry is allowing this sort of rhetoric from its parliament members and justifying the hate speech is the most telling piece of information in this whole story.

Well, that and the fact that Mila Kunis is apparently Jewish. Who knew? Also, from Googling, we just found out she and Ashton might be moving to London, which we believe is nearer to the Ukraine than America is, so be careful out there, Ms. Kunis!

The skin cream is not, in fact, proven to make anybody die for your body, although we must say, that does sound like a subjective criterion. Nor will the cream give you "Mila Kunis' Esquire look," as the advertisement goes on to purport. Only a combination of genetics, airbrushing, makeup and dieting will do that.

The Advertising Standards Authority, the U.K.’s industry watchdog group, objected to the ad after it received a complaint by somebody who concluded that it is impossible to get Ms. Kunis's figure from a bottle. The company claimed that the "information" it provided was based on two ingredients in what would surely be a miracle product.

But the ASA did not buy that claim. And wanted to stop a susceptible British public from buying the cream.

"Because robust evidence was not presented to demonstrate the implied efficacy claims for the product or that Mila Kunis had achieved the look featured in the photo as a result of using the product, we concluded that the ad was misleading," the ASA told The Guardian.

The ad has been banned as a result. Glad to know somebody is out there fighting the good fight to make sure that nobody wastes money hoping to get Ms. Kunis's Esquire look.

James Franco (Getty Images)

While conducting a new Interview chat with Mila Kunis, James Franco indicated that another costar of his is something of a diva:

The movie is a comedy, but it's kind of an outrageous one, and this actress—I won't say who, but she had a smaller role in the film—walked off the movie in the middle of a scene. [...] It's not as if the scene wasn't in the script, though. In any case, I didn't see any of this go down, but I guess she basically went up to the directors, Seth [Rogen] and Evan [Goldberg], and said, "I don't think I can do this." She, by the way, didn't have to do anything crazy in the scene. But what was going on around her was, I guess, too extreme for her. So Seth was like, "Well, what can we do to fix it?" And she said, "There's nothing you can do to fix it. It's just everything."

The actress, per Mr. Franco, walked off the set; for her part, Ms. Kunis says "What?" then indicates she never would have walked off a set. Per IMDb, the movie directed by Seth Rogen and Evan Goldberg is The End of the World; the female costars with seemingly prominent parts (which is to say, not playing "Party Goer" or the like) are Emma Watson, Rihanna, and Mindy Kaling. Ms. Kaling has exposed all different parts of her sometimes-raunchy sense of humor in her memoir and the pilot for her upcoming sitcom; Rihanna is certainly a diva, but not one who seems to be frightened of the extreme. And so it is that James Franco let Interview readers know that Emma Watson is difficult to work with.

If you weren't aware, Warner Bros. claimed that the new film couldn't make the Wicked Witch green, since that was something specific to their film, and not L. Frank Baum's children's books. So instead we get a Glinda-riffic Michelle Williams all in white, a fashionably red Mila Kunis, and a darkly chic Rachel Weisz (channeling Charlize Theron in Snow White and the Huntsman) as the hottest witchy witches since Idina Menzel took the stage as Elpheba in Wicked.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yclgHQaAEJU

Oz centers on James Franco as a much younger wizard, who, as it appears in the previews, somehow lands in Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland (maybe the producers had some say in which way the wind blew), and befriends a red queen witch and a white queen witch. Though we haven't seen the film, we're hoping the rest of the plot revolves around the Wizard convincing his new friend to put on a magical art show at the Emerald City's Film Festival, culminating in a Marina Abramovic-style performance piece where a house falls on one--or preferably all--of them.

Also starring Zach Braff.

Wahlberg and Ted (voiced by MacFarlane) in Ted.

Wonders never cease. Who ever dreamed I could (or would, even on a dare) sit through a two-hour movie about Mark Wahlberg and a talking teddy bear? Or that I would (or could, even at gunpoint) possibly enjoy it so much? But here is Ted—a genre-screwing Donnybrook that defies description and guarantees, I swear, open-mouthed hilarity. It is refreshingly oblivious to the kind of political correctness that is going to be the death of us all. It is rude, raunchy and repellent to the point of almost being a send-up of the Farrelly Brothers, Judd Apatow, Adam Sandler and the rest of the ozone polluters giving movies a bad name. (Address your complaints to the nearest sewer.) It contains dialogue and depicts situations that cannot be described in a family newspaper—including the ones that are read only by the Addams family. It has nudity, profanity and X-rated detritus unsuitable for anyone with an I.Q. of 50. It is also creative, adorable, ingenious and devilishly, thigh-slappingly hilarious. Do not take my pulse. It must be the heat.

Boston, 1985. John Bennett, an unhappy 8-year-old boy and victim of school bullying, gets a teddy bear for Christmas. He kisses it, names it Ted, and vows to love it forever, making only one wish—that Ted could really talk. The next morning, when the neighborhood bullies are busy beating up the Jewish kids on Christmas Day, a miracle has turned Ted into a talking Pooh that becomes a national celebrity and a popular guest on Johnny Carson. Nobody can shut Ted up, including Seth MacFarlane, the multitasking hyphenate power player responsible for the outrageous animated TV sitcom Family Guy. He is the voice of Ted, and this is his feature-film debut as a director. I have never been a fan of the TV show, but among his other talents, Mr. MacFarlane has recently unveiled his secret passion for singing Broadway and movie show tunes and big-band jazz on a sensational new CD that has not left my player long enough to mix a fresh cosmo. His music is good, and there’s plenty of that, too. Whatever else you think of the movie, the soundtrack swings.

But I digress. Twenty-seven years pass, John grows up to be a 35-year-old Mark Wahlberg, and Ted grows up to be a potty-mouthed, pot-smoking, beer-guzzling, woman-chasing reprobate everybody would like to send back to any toy store that will take him. Ted does everything to break up John and his loyal, long-suffering girlfriend, Lori (Mila Kunis), but John is a grown man who still can’t sleep in a thunderstorm without his stuffed teddy bear. Lori doesn’t get a minute’s peace, even in bed. She even comes home from a lovely romantic anniversary dinner to find Ted entertaining four hookers, one of whom has done something on the living-room floor no maid will clean up. Forced to choose, John moves Ted into his own apartment, but the funny antics (contrived, I admit) are just beginning. A creepy guy with a humongous son who wants Ted for his own kinky nursery games stalks him in an ominous van. “Who was that?” asks John. “That was Sinead O’Connor,” says Ted. “She don’t look so good no more.”

The script bounces off the wall like a rubber Cassius Clay doll, while movie references abound. Ted talks like Little Caesar and takes bubble baths like cigar-smoking Edward G. Robinson. Jousting with sensitive subjects such as minorities and headline tragedies, flaunting convention in a determined effort to offend just about everybody, Ted (as the voice of Seth MacFarlane) mouths insults in the words of Seth MacFarlane (as the voice of Ted). In no time, you can’t tell one from the other. I ended up loving them both. The CGI Ted has digital features that morph into awesome expressions. He can look and act querulous, hurt, sensitive, impish or obnoxious, depending on the line. When the fat psychotic kid pulls his ear off, Ted yells “Back off, Susan Boyle!” But while you roar at Ted’s aside to the audience (“Someone had to go Joan Crawford on that kid!”) you can also feel the “Ouch!” Peace is restored when Lori saves Ted from his kidnappers, and Ted saves Lori from her oversexed boss, an A-hole who collects lurid artifacts like John Lennon’s glasses and Lance Armstrong’s testicles, “freeze-framed and bronzed.” There’s a guest appearance by an aging Sam Jones who played Flash Gordon, a Norah Jones concert where Mr. Wahlberg reverts to his old Marky Mark days and sings “The Love Theme From Octopussy,” and a vicious duck named James Franco. You had to be there.

In fact, most of Ted eludes description, analysis and explanation. You just have to hold onto your own certifiable sense of humor and let Mr. MacFarlane take you where he wants to go. Then get out of the way and enjoy it. Will it make you wince with embarrassment? That’s a promise. Will you also laugh? In double-time, like a Rockette. I don’t want to see a string of sequels about Ted, who has now worn out his welcome, like Bonzo. But one time around this summertime sandbox has left me cooled off, like a hydrant spray in a heat wave, and limp with laughter.

rreed@observer.com

TED

Running Time 106 minutes

Written by Seth MacFarlane, Alec Sulkin and Wellesley Wild

Directed by Seth MacFarlane

Starring Mark Wahlberg, Mila Kunis and Seth MacFarlane

3/4

If they were giving out prizes for best ledes, the same issue of New York would be our top pick as well. Remember?

"The first time they had sex, during that initial exploration of unfamiliar flesh, John Ross uttered words to Ann Maloney that would sound to her like prophecy. 'You have the body of a young girl. You need a baby.'"

Chills!

Bloomberg Businessweek won the Business & Technology category for its last-minute Steve Jobs cover.  Two different Real Simple covers—both blown-up photographs of flowers—won the Health & Fitness and Women's Interest categories, while GQ's Mila Kunis with iced coffee cover won Men's Interest.

Many more accolades to come at tonight's Ellies.

It's a quick return to GQ for Ms. Kunis, who shared its cover with a venti iced coffee in April.

But she wasn't the only cover girl or boy who worked a double for a magazine editor in 2011.

Harper's Bazaar featured Lady Gaga in May and October (although without makeup, she might as well be a different person) and Vanity Fair put Johnny Depp on January and November covers.

Any magazine cover repeats we missed? No counting Kim Kardashian and US. Our photo collage app doesn't have a big enough grid.

Mila!

In a bit of brilliant synergy, GQ placed Friends With Benefits star Mila Kunis on its cover and in the film, her sex-friend Justin Timberlake plays an art director for the magazine. We talked to Mr. Timberlake about what it's like to be a GQ staffer late on Monday night, at the premiere after party (turns out he's an editor, too).

Now, GQ.com has posted video of the photo shoot -- manned by the newly locked-down Terry Richardson -- and it looks like some real-life art direction could have helped. Running around a pool with all that photo equipment can be dangerous, Terry! Oh, also, there's Ms. Kunis wearing very little and gnawing on a green straw. But we've discussed that before. Enjoy.

Terry says, 'Vote Stringer in 2013!'

Terry Richardson may have shot Mila Kunis for this month’s GQ, but the Transom saw him walking the red carpet for the actress’s casual-sex rom-com Friends With Benefits with a beautiful brunette of the totally opposite vocation. The mystery girl walked through the pouncing rows of shutterbugs unnoticed: until now she’s been known for her press releases, not movie releases. She’s Audrey Gelman, press secretary for Manhattan borough president Scott Stringer.

It turns out the pair have been together since the spring, and they’ve been spotted at the various spots and parties that have always welcomed Mr. Richardson with open arms. Despite many a well-documented encounter with women over the years, the raunchy glossy mag photographer hasn’t seemed too interested in settling down with any of the models and ingénues he shoots.

Ms. Gelman is the youngest press secretary in the city, making her a well-positioned mouthpiece to a 2013 mayoral candidate. Before that, she had a coveted spot as an aide in the war room of Hillary Rodham Clinton’s campaign.

But she’s not the typical type-A city politico. Ms. Gelman’s an old friend of the downtown-famous Lena Dunham and has a featured spot on her forthcoming Judd Apatow-produced HBO series Girls. And let’s hope Mr. Richardson isn’t a Yankees fan: the tattoo inked on Ms. Gelman’s lower lip reads “LET’S GO METS.”

The better half of Manhattan’s unexpected It Couple declined to comment. Mr. Richardson was unavailable at press time, and thus, unavailable. They were also missing from the Friends With Benefits after-party at the Standard. Whom did Ms. Gelman keep Terry from shooting?

Audrey Gelman

Only the likes of Liv Tyler, Emma Stone, Courtney Love, Zoë Kravitz and, of course, the film’s stars, Ms. Kunis and Justin Timberlake. The duo held court in a well-guarded corner of Le Bain, where other attendees scaled rain-slicked benches just to get a glance. The Transom was helped into the cluster of chairs by Ms. Kunis, whom we had last seen cavorting with Wolf Blitzer before the White House correspondents’ dinner.

“You know what? I prefer L.A.,” she said as we sat next to each other, staring out to the Jersey skyline across the river. “It’s nice to be here, but, well, you know.”

Could she introduce us to Justin?

“Oh, he’s doing his thing right now,” she said. He was—Mr. Timberlake was crouched between two girls, entering numbers into his phone.

We waited until he was done and then asked what it was like to play a GQ staffer.

“Well, I played an art director, not a writer, so it was a little different from your type,” he told the Transom.

We concurred, but noted that you can’t get a GQ job without that dapper-writer style.

“And it was fun to edit that piece, though,” he said, referring to a miniprofile of him that ran in a recent issue of the magazine with his corrections scrawled in the margins. “Who was I working with? Um … ”

Wasn’t it Lauren Bans? We were pretty sure …

“Yeah! Lauren, she was great.”

The Transom would have gone on with Mr. Timberlake, the two of us comparing our prose strategies and favorite writers and such, but as more and more people tried to get by the bodyguards, Mr. Timberlake departed the misty Le Bain balcony, perhaps to find some friends, benefits, or both.

@nfreeman1234

With the erasure of Osama bin Laden hours away, D.C. fixated itself on this slight glimpse of fame—it was nighttime and the end of the weekend of the White House Correspondents Dinner.

“Bristol Palin!” Wolf Blitzer said to The Observer as they both leaned against the cracked marble bar-top. People and Time had wrapped the ceremonial first party of the weekend, long forewarned to be the last chance to experience something other than drunkenness or pre-brunch hangover.

When approached earlier, Ms. Palin refused to talk about two things: whom she wanted to meet at the dinner, and the president’s birth certificate.

“Is she still here?” Mr. Blitzer asked.

She wasn’t.

“I’m looking for celebrities but I’m really bad at spotting them,” he said. “National-security-type figures, foreign leaders, yes. Celebrities, I’m not particularly good at. But I’ll find some.”

Over at the W for The New Yorker’s party, David Remnick stood looking out the window next to Sean Penn, a contributor to the Huffington Post.

“Evidently, that’s the Treasury Building,” Mr. Penn said. He was pointing to the building draped in yellow glow that houses the U.S. Department of the Treasury. The Washington Monument shot up behind it.

“David Remnick is a fantastic writer,” Jon Hamm told The Observer.

Standing by the sushi platters, the man who plays Don Draper pointed to The Observer’s tweed jacket. The Observer glanced down at his sleeves and fraying elbow patches.

“That Rag & Bone?” the actor asked.

The reporter had purchased the item for a few dollars at a thrift store in the South.

“No,” he said.

“Shit’s great, man,” Mr. Hamm said.

Next was a party co-hosted by The Atlantic and that magazine’s peer institution, the Web site Funny or Die.

ON SATURDAY THE CORRIDOR beneath the Washington Hilton stuffed a publication in each of its identical rooms. A tired Samantha Ronson spun at Reuters, purply-eyed, headed back to New York after. Andy Samberg posted up at the bar at CNN. Arianna Huffington kissed friends on the cheek. Tina Brown and her handlers beelined toward the dinner, her bob of porcelain hair glossy as ever. CNBC’s Jim Cramer tried to pluck a beer from a bar after closing time and went Mad Money on the man slinging drinks at the Reuters booze kiosk until he relented.

Mayor Bloomberg lingered near Steve Buscemi.

“What’s the main difference between Washington and our city?” The Observer asked.

“Talk to Stu Loeser, my press secretary!” the mayor yelled back at him. “What part of that don’t you understand?”

The Observer smiled and, upon recognizing that sneer, missed New York City.

Mr. Blitzer had apparently learned how to spot celebrities.

“Oh, Wolf’s my date,” said Mila Kunis. “He’s showing me around.”

He had other fans, too.

“I hear that Wolf Blitzer is somewhere around,” Scarlett Johansson told The Observer. “I would really love to meet him.”

But Ms. Johansson was taken. The Washington press corps had been abuzz over the rumors that she’s dating Mr. Penn, an occasional freelancer for The Nation.

At a party hosted by MSNBC, The Observer had Rachel Maddow mix a French 75, went to the Johnnie Walker Cigar Tent for whiskey and a smoke and saw Elliot Spitzer walk in. Then he left to watch the autograph seekers at the enormous mansion.

The next morning, The Observer woke needing coffee and walked five blocks, a long search for something omnipresent in his home city, but soon found a cup and a Sunday Times. A man he’d seen just hours before exited the Hilton, slowed down and politely approached. He knew this man: thin cheeks warped inward like old balsawood, oversize head, live-wire shock of white hair.

Then came a question that has never been uttered in New York.

“Where did you manage to find that coffee?” the Talking Heads singer said.

Mr. Byrne, you were always right. Home is where I want to be.

nfreeman [at] observer.com | @nfreeman1234