Bros, I feel like I’ve been dreaming about this day ever since Andrea Fingerblast ski-poled Flapjacks and me after the Chi O slave auction in the back of Steve L’s mom’s beamer on the way to pledge retreat, and now it’s finally here: Entourage is getting a movie. It’s a pretty personal story for me. I still remember I was wearing the limited edition And 1 kicks Turtle designed the day I found out we hazed Spinach to death after Kamikaze. I’m pretty emotional right now. RIP, Spinach.

From Deadline:

Warner Bros has tonight given the green light on a movie version of Entourage. The film will be directed by series creator Doug Ellin, who wrote the screenplay and who exec produced the series with Mark Wahlberg and Stephen Levinson. Deals are starting to be made with Adrian Grenier, who played Chase, Kevin Connolly, who played his manager Eric “E” Murphy, Kevin Dillon, who played the actor’s brother Johnny Drama, Jerry Ferrara, who played their entrepreneurial driver Turtle, and Jeremy Piven,

That’s about as far as the studio has gotten at this point, and there is no start date. I for one loved the series ending, in which Ari finally gave up his career and pledged his devotion to his long suffering gorgeous wife (Perry Reeves), only to get a last minute phone call offering him his dream job of running a film studio, knowing he’ll lose her if he says yes. Love to see how Ari negotiates himself out of that hell. Did I mention that I watched that show from start to finish, and miss it terribly?

While some naysayers might start in that an HBO transfer to film has no shot, the first Sex And The City did pretty well. For me, I can only think of one word to describe this development. Victory!!!!

See, bros? I’m glad Mike Fleming got a job at Deadline, but this is why he didn’t get a bid and Underpants Tony did. I mean we all know there’s a difference between being a down-ass bro and being a lurky creepenstein who makes all the clam slam shut. As Fat Dave my grand big always said, we need pledges, not stalkers – no homo. Anyway, I was all ready to take a grandma’s funnel to the dome after hearing this news like Stinkeye before he got tazed by the cops after Paddy’s, but then my bro Burnsy was all, “slow down, bro: are we sure this is really a good thing?”

At first I thought Burnsy was just being a f*g, but then it really got me to thinking, and he was holding the hookah so I thought we should hear him out:

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Nikki Finke File Photo

There’s a funny little story I like to tell at my Hollywood swingers parties on board the Sony Pictures invisible yacht. It’s about the time that I had a fake Ryan Gosling Twitter account and the real Ryan Gosling didn’t like that I had “burgled” his name and he had it shut down, crushing the hearts of 50,000 people with good senses of humor and 1 batshit crazy Italian girl who Tweeted “TOLDJA!” at people every day that she’d get me caught for impersonating Baby Goose. Haha, hey girl, you win at Twitter and life.

And speaking of fake Twitter accounts and “TOLDJA!” baloney, Deadline’s Nikki Finke is apparently freaking out – shocking, I know – over a parody account that mocks her “Don’t f*ck with me” attitude. The account, @NIKKIFINKE, has a bio that pretty much sums up how most people feel about Finke: “Mostly I want to see how it long it takes until Nikki Finke threatens me with a lawsuit.”

And according to David Poland of The Hot Blog – which disappointingly features no GIFs of Olivia Wilde jiggling her boobs – Finke is threatening him, not because he has anything to do with that parody account, but because he retweeted it. So go ahead and add this to her current feuds with Bret Easton Ellis, Gavin Polone, and probably you, for all you know.

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I’m not sure anyone really cares where Deadline’s Nikki Finke lives, so when American Psycho author Bret Easton Ellis tweeted that they lived in the same building, the world collectively shrugged and went back to its hoagie. Everyone except Nikki Finke, who reportedly called Bret Easton Ellis’s agent at ICM and screamed at her assistant like she was in an Aaron Sorkin movie. Now ICM, according to the Hollywood Reporter (who, again, it should be noted, are arch enemies of Deadline), has hired “top litigators” to defend ICM, after Finke allegedly “told agents she will reveal their addresses, schools of their children, unless they cut ties with the star author.”

Multiple sources tell The Hollywood Reporter that ICM Partners, the talent agency that represents Ellis, has hired litigation attorneys Howard Weitzman and Lawrence Iser to represent it in legal matters related to Finke, and the lawyers have fired off two separate letters to her website’s owner demanding that she stop harassing agency employees.

The letters, according to sources who have seen them, claim Finke has been calling various ICM partners demanding that the agency sever ties with Ellis and provide his contact information. Sources who have seen the cease-and-desist letters say the letters also claim that Finke has told top ICM employees she would reveal their home addresses and where their children go to school. Finke also is alleged in the letters to have told at least one agent that she would write things damaging to the agency on the Deadline blog that the agency’s executives believe to be false.

NIKKI FINKE IS DRUNK WITH POWER! THE POWER OF HAUGHTY BLOGS! I love the idea that she thinks she’s got the ultimate ace in the hole, the ability to reveal the addresses of a bunch of people that no one gives a sh*t about except Nikki Finke and like three other people. They’re celebrities’ flunkies, they’re not in the CIA.

“MWAHAHA! The DEADLINE is up! The reckoning is at hand! I shall now reveal the addresses of mine enemies!”

“What? Leave me alone, lady, I’m trying to pee. How did you even get in here?”

Also: ICM is one of the world’s largest talent agencies. You really think they have to “hire litigators?” That’s all they do. That’s like the custodial company hiring someone who cleans toilets. No need to brag about doing something you were already supposed to have been doing.

Nikki Finke’s king news without shouting TOLDJA TOLDJA TOLDJA in the headline to show how great she is. She’s also notoriously private (the only known photo of her is that soft-focus glamour shot that’s been on her site for at least five years). Which is probably why people thought it was kind of funny when Bret Easton Ellis tweeted that he’d discovered that they live in the same building in West Hollywood.

Nikki herself, meanwhile, didn’t find it as amusing, which is odd because she’s always seemed like  such a sweet, level-headed lady, with such a great sense of humor about herself.

Nikki Finke called one of the agencies that reps me and threatened to sue me AND to destroy them as well. Fortunately the agency was ICM.

— Bret Easton Ellis (@BretEastonEllis) July 13, 2012

ZING! (I think?) Hmm, I’ll let the Observer explain:

ICM: International Creative Management, the monolithic agency whose Amanda “Binky” Urban has been Ellis’ longtime book agent (who also made a brief appearance as part of the plot of Ellis’ novel Lunar Park). And from what The Observer hears, Mr. Ellis’ claim that Ms. Finke rang up ICM (and basically threatened to wring them dry) is true.

A few folks who got word of what happened tell us: Ms. Finke rang Binky Urban’s office, and not being able to reach the agent, gave her assistant what was characterized to us as an epic, otherworldly screaming-at, the likes of which the assistant had never previously experienced.

“HOW DARE YOU REVEAL THE NEIGHBORHOOD WHERE I LIVE WITH 35,000 OTHER PEOPLE! Why, armed with that information, people could… uh… make more accurate jokes about me.” Also, I like the idea of a heated argument between people called “Nikki Finke” and “Binky Urban.” The silly names, the heated workplace arguments between white people, the constant air of inflated self-importance – this is one smashed Blackberry away from being an Aaron Sorkin script (okay, two smashed Blackberries). I wonder if Nikki ever threatened to take over ICM and turn Binky’s office into her ping pong room. (I hear Nikki stashes the balls in her greasy twat).

Or, as Bret Easton Ellis put it:

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