These photos from her 24th birthday party at El Centro finally provide us with an explanation for the entire Paris Hilton phenomenon: Her vagina is mysteriously drawn towards any camera within a fifty-foot radius.

From the "more information about Michael Jackson's penis than we can be reasonably expected to handle without a therapist present" file:

If Hillary's lost the Gay Mafia this early in the game, she's really got no chance. She's already got the butch haircut and has lost interest in her husband. What else does she need to do to appease you, Geffen? You know, besides grow a penis...

· More Lindsay Lohan family dysfunction fun time: "One bystander was outraged. Michael Lohan 'has demonstrated that he's clearly more interested in milking his daughter's success for his own financial remuneration than in being a responsible father or husband.'" Funny how that "bystander" talks exactly like a restraining order!
· "Pinot" was the top word from show business that influenced the English language last year. Quick, someone tell Paul Giamatti before he sticks his head in the oven.
· George Michael quits "dead" pop music, pop music sighs with relief that Michael will no longer be jerking off in its bathroom.[via goldenfiddle]
· If Brandon Davis swallowed Mischa Barton whole: click here to see what would happen besides a 200-percent leap in The OC's quality.
· Break out the Jello-brand pudding pops! The Coz is getting off!

· The nattily dressed young men of Interpol play the Grand Olympic Auditorium tonight with Blonde Redhead, no indie slouches themselves. Or if you like getting something for nothing, you can see Interpol's Carlos D DJ the after-party at the Beauty Bar.
· If you're anything like us, you're still bitter that you couldn't talk your way into the Slamdance opening night party and had to pay $30 for drink tickets redeemable for three lukewarm cans of Tecate. But tonight's a chance to overcome that bitterness, as the Slamdance festival winners screen at the Egyptian.
· For the two of you out there who'd prefer to absorb some culture (god forbid) rather than watch movies or try to catch an STD from a band, poet, writer, activist, and NAACP Image award winner Nikki Giovanni will deliver the goods at UCLA's Royce Hall.

Since everyone's favorite starlets aren't likely to cure their career-enhancing eating disorders even for the decadent meals served during Hollywood's Biggest Night, there are bound to be scores of untouched plates at the Governor's Ball.

We hate keeping you in suspense, so it's time to present your responses to this week's game. Grab your parasol and go for one last afternoon stroll with One Alienated Blind Vice:

Because of our immense respect for all that Sherry Lansing, the first female head of a Hollywood studio, accomplished during her storied tenure at Paramount, we are going to refrain from snarky commentary on this picture of her getting down on her knees in front of her slab of entertainment industry immortality. In fact, we feel compelled to note that Lansing's hands are stained from sticking her hands in some ruddy cement, and not because Viacom boss Sumner Redstone slathered his thighs with red paint and requested a final "performance review."

News about Alan Cumming's er, upcoming fragrance line has been circulating for months, but Cumming was on The Daily Show last night, flogging his bottled scents. And we have to tip our hat to him, as he's done something that no other celebrity has managed with their vanity perfume lines: He's creating scents and accompanying beauty products that are completely resistant to satire. What are we supposed to do with products with such impenetrably coy names as Cumming:The Fragrance, or a cream called Cumming All Over? Joke about a mouthwash called Cumming In Your Mouth (as suggested by a reader), hoping that his marketing geniuses aren't already planning that line, or that they won't steal the idea?

Warner Bros.' intensive market research has revealed that today's ADD-addled kids no longer connect with Bugs, Daffy, and the rest of the Looney Tunes gang, so they're giving them new names, some superpowers, and a 23rd-century makeover:

Some crazy person has scanned the entire "Hollywood Style" spread from Italian Vogue for the world's viewing horror. Our Italian's a little rusty, but we think most of the captions muse, "Why must these fashion-retarded actresses wear Ugg boots with everything?"

· After seeing the big numbers generated by Hitch, Columbia seeks to prove that Will Smith can open anything by trying to buy him a superhero story with a title (Tonight, He Comes) ripped from the gay porn aisle of the local sex shop. [Variety]
· The House passes legislation sharply upping indecency fines, helping to keep America safe from any future exposure to pop-star nipples encased in metal shields. This is for the public good—Bono had planned to show his man-titties at the Grammys, but backed off when he heard Viacom might get fined. [Variety]
· Pilot season is great, everyone gets a job! William Baldwin, Adam Goldberg, Rachel Leigh Cook, Swoozie Kurtz, and Chris O'Donnell all stay off the bread lines by being cast in a variety of pilots. [THR]
· Chemistry like theirs can't possibly be captured in just one film: Sahara co-stars Matthew McConaughey and Penelope Cruz will reunite in the love story The Loop. [Variety]
· After finding that there's nothing left to blow up, director Roland Emmerich vows to get more serious, even contending that The Day After Tomorrow had a message. That message? Only the dreamy eyes of Jake Gyllenhaal can stop global warming. [THR]

Wherein we invite our readers to throw the tortured prose of humpy E! gossip donor Ted Casablanca into a centerfuge and spin out the identity of his weekly blind item. This week's tale of an aging actress who no longer gets free clothes doesn't offer the same "wow" factor as last week's salad-tossing extravaganza, so close your eyes and imagine that Sarah Moxie and the rude salesgirl finished their encounter by retiring to a fitting room for some blow and little making out. Throw One Alienated Blind Vice on the bed and roll around on it:

News services (and the pop star's internet propaganda arm, MJJ Source) report that Michael Jackson has escaped from the hospital following a curiously brief stay for "mystery flu" treatment. It seems that yesterday Jackson delivered a coded message to the army of devoted fans that had gathered outside his window. After hours of painstaking study, we think we've cracked the code: "Peace, my beautiful friends. I am well now. The faithful can join me at Neverland Ranch in 24 hours. We'll party before I burn the Ranch down and escape to the moon. Bring a Boy Scout. No, five Boy Scouts. Jacko out!"

On Monday, a Sirius satellite radio crew will chase away the straggling hookers, sweep the pill bottles off the comforter, and prop legendary producer/Brett Ratner BFF Robert Evans up in his California king for his show, "In Bed With Robert Evans." Well, maybe they shouldn't get rid of all the pills if they want the superannuated turtle-neck model to keep squeezing out quotes like this:

It's always entertaining when a couple of A-listers puff up their chests, unzip their flies, and whip 'em our for an old-fashioned dick-measuring contest. Russell Crowe and George Clooney lay down their inches across the pages of GQ and US Weekly (we hope they don't leave any curlies on an Armani ad or a Brad Pitt photospread—we hate to see that kind of needless collateral damage):

· Jennifer Lopez cancels her European tour, succumbing to the celebrity mystery plague that's also delayed the Michael Jackson trial and caused countless problems on the set of Lindsay Lohan's movie in New Orleans.
· For just under two, glorious, Disney-slamming minutes, Robin Williams revives his once-mighty powers of comic improvisation. Did he rediscover coke? [via BoingBoing]
· Don't be fooled by the rocks that they got...even if they finally make it to the altar, their marriages won't last a year.
· We really want to believe that Dave Chappelle blew his $50 million from Comedy Central on weed and nearly wets himself laughing every time an executive calls to ask how the writing is going.
· Not exactly breaking news: In Hollywood, the Rich Get Richer for Free

· Isn't it great how we can read a story about backstabbing on the eve of the Oscars and then tell you about a reading for a book called The Big Show: High Times & Dirty Dealings Backstage at the Academy Awards at the Grove? It's like synergy, except we're too lazy and dumb to derive any kind of benefit from it.
· Jon Lovitz, SNL legend and Mom and Dad Save the World star (sorry, we still bear a grudge over that six bucks), hits the stage at the Laugh Factory for the matter-of-factly titled "An Evening with Jon Lovitz."
· Quickie concert round-up: The Prosaics play at Spaceland with local band Golden Arms; Kill Radio tries to "kill," as it were, at the Troubadour.

The LAW's Nikki Finke reports that Vanity Fair editor/Hollywood snuggle-buddy Graydon Carter is jabbing a salad fork in the back of his entertainment industry buddies on the eve of his splashy Oscar party:

In the proud columnist-to-sitcom tradition of Dave's World and CBS's current Listen Up comes Joint Custody, the 20th Century Fox pilot for ABC revolving around much-traveled (read: frequently fired) LAT entertainment columnist Joel Stein's heady, post-college days. Do you, the struggling thespian looking to make a name for himself in Hollywood, have the acting chops and VH1-ready quips about A Flock of Seagulls to properly embody the Stein mystique on the small screen? From a Joint Custody casting notice: