On Friday’s episode of “Real Time with Bill Maher,” famous person Ashton Kutcher opined that he did not feel he should have to pay for “fat peoples’ health insurance.” Not sure why Maher invited the Kutch to the party; one can only assume that Tony Blair was a late scratch. However, did the Kutch score a point? Afterall, as a wealthy American he may be asked to pony up more in taxes to pay for Obamacare. Does he have a right to insist on a national anthem of “Go, you chickenfat, go?”

Answer: no, he doesn’t. Ashton Kutcher produces nothing of value to this country. His contributions to his own celebritocracy include “That 70s Show,” “Punk’d” and “Dude, Where’s My Car?” One could argue that if it weren’t for fat people too lethargic to leave their living rooms, the Kutch wouldn’t be famous. Hmmm, then logically speaking, if more Americans were forced to get into shape perhaps we could prevent the creation of another Ashton Kutcher. And who said healthcare wasn’t about being preventative?

Our editors, while pitching stories ideas and drinking, came up with a new project for Julie Powell. Put down the French cook books and start reading classics. She could start with Jonathan Swift. She could publish a book titled “Julie and Swift” about her blog recounting her 365 days of cooking Irish children. Yum! Bon Apetite!

“Inglourious Basterds” opens Friday and all of the anticipation I had for it is vanishing rapidly. The more clips I see of Brad Pitt, the more I am reminded of “Ocean’s 12.” Also, Eli Roth? Really, Quentin? Did he replace the late Sydney Pollack? Plus, seeing Tarantino on Letterman reminded me of seeing (actually, hearing about) Tarantino on “American Idol.” Might rent “Jackie Brown” this weekend instead.