Rupert Murdoch may have gotten into the holiday spirit by ordering a good, old-fashioned book burning, but that hasn't stopped several leaked copies of If I Did It, O.J. Simpson's description of how he might have gone about committing the heinous crimes he pretends not to have done, from finding their way onto eBay. Both HarperCollins and the Brown family have taken legal measures to see that every copy be destroyed, but eBay reps insist typing "If I Did It" into a search bar isn't as easy as it looks:

Some opportunistic guests of the Tom Cruise And Katie Holmes Italian Wedding Spectacular apparently have smuggled some furtively snapped images from the ceremony and reception to the tabloids, photos which seem to depict the culminating moment of their matrimonial rite. In the pictures, the couple hold aloft the two glasses of extremely potent sacramental wine which, when quaffed by the glassy-eyed war-bride, induced a state of euphoria so total that any thoughts of escape quickly melted away. With Holmes sufficiently hobbled by drink, Cruise then removed his tie and placed it around her neck, a symbolic yoking of connubial prisoner by eternal enslaver completing the union in the eyes of their Church. Holmes would spend the next two hours in solitude on the dance floor, slowly twirling to poor renditions of Motown songs for their guests' amusement, until Cruise suddenly tired of the display, angrily ordering a pair of burly, nautically attired groomsmen to lock her in their honeymoon suite, which he vowed not to enter "until my wife learns the right way to get down to 'Sittin' on the Dock of the Bay.'"

Chad Lowe has finally broken his silence about his unceremonious dumping by Hilary Swank in favor of greener, more agenty pastures, an indignity she mitigated by announcing to Vanity Fair that an unspecified "substance abuse problem" played a significant role in the break-up. Says an Extra press release:

We're overjoyed that our weekly thank you note to our advertisers arrives on this Black Friday, giving us a very special and timely opportunity to urge you to—right now!—head out to your favorite mall and consume with abandon the products offered by the fine people in the following list. If you'd like to advertise on Defamer and have us assist you in completing dominating your line of business, see this page.

· Audi
· Depeche Mode
· Dewars
· The First Post
· For Your Consideration
· Fur
· House of Hilton
· L.A. Philharmonic
· Miramax
· OK Go
· Sprint
· SV Supreme Vodka
· Sam Moore
· Tom Waits
· Yahoo

A Defamer operative picking up some last minute Thanksgiving foodstuffs at a local grocery store ran into none other than spiritual forefather to KISS, Marilyn Manson, and pretty much any rock star who every thought that a live animal slaughter might really spruce up their act—Alice Cooper:

The NY Daily News' Ben "Gatecrasher" Widdcombe helps us kick off this Black Friday by directing us to the online auction of a letter that corpulent screen legend Marlon Brando dashed off to a young Charlie Sheen, expressing his regret over missing the younger actor's 26th "birthday bash." Brando's disarmingly poetic words of apology follow:

· We assumed that Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes pulled off this height-levelling illusion by having the bride stand in a two foot hole hidden beneath her wedding dress, but the WOW Report's X-ray technology seems to disprove our initial hypothesis.
Silly Maldivians! If the newlyweds weren't talking to the Italians who built them shrines, what makes you think they're going to want to chat with you?
If A-Gold is worth $4 million a script, we bet the J-Lo can get at least twice that amount for her scribblings.
Denzel Washington might be harboring an inappropriate crush on Man on Fire co-star Dakota Fanning. [fourth item]
· We could care less what this "scientific study" says; in our heart of hearts, we know we're living in the most coketastic city in the entire world. On that note: See you Friday! (Yup, we're working, even if you're not.)

Several readers suggested that we celebrate this Thanksgiving by once again sharing last year's heartwarming story of how Desperate Housewives star Eva Longoria helped a lucky Koo Koo Roo parking attendant get in the spirit of the holiday:

As we continue to lob posts out into the ether addressed to a readership we realize is by now standing in LAX security lines, waiting to return to the cramped childhood bedrooms where they first conceived their plans to spend the rest of their lives writing largely meaningless notes in screenplay margins, we thought we'd take this opportunity to share a feel-good, Hollywood Thanksgiving moment that is sure to lift the dejected spirits of any of you unfortunate enough to still be with us:

· Music round-up: The Pernice Brothers at Spaceland; The Rolling Stones at Dodger Stadium; and, as previously touted on this very site, Kevin Federline at the House of Blues. We hope you've already gotten your free tickets and will have your reports on the carnage in to us by daybreak.
· The Aero screens superhero spoof The Specials (starring Rob Lowe as The Weevil and Thomas
Haden Church as The Strobe), with a discussion to follow with the producers and director.
· The Hollywood Improv's "Best and Brightest" night showcases comics Dwayne Perkins and Tom "Come To" Papa (among many others), and will probably feature a minimum of racist heckler-baiting, a big plus for those who've already had their fill of that sort of thing this week.

The LA Weekly's Nikki Finke reports that Sony is making Da Vinci Code adapter Akiva Goldsman, a man whose career highlights include depicting schizophrenics as people who spend their days scribbling on dirty windows while playing with imaginary friends and assisting in the destruction of the Batman franchise, the best-paid writer in town by forking over $4 million for him to churn out a script for Da Vinci sequel Angels & Demons:

Defamer is committed to bringing together readers who may have some unredeemed SAG vouchers laying around with individuals so desperate to obtain the golden ticket of union membership that they're willing to sacrifice their lucrative days jobs in the pursuit of their Hollywood dreams. Somewhere in the San Gabriel Valley, a struggling actor is offering to swap his power over criminally inflated sticker prices for some career assistance on Craigslist:

While Michael Richards has not been having, to put it mildly, the greatest of weeks, the actor has already set upon the long road of "personal work" and Jujitsu of the soul that might ultimately deliver him from his shocking inability to launch snappy, epithet-free retorts at comedy club hecklers. A Road To Kramer's Redemption Round-Up:
· "Some of my best friends are Afro-American civil rights leaders!" Richards' newly acquired publicist, Howard Rubenstein, says the actor spent the day calling Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton to let them know how sorry and not racist he is. [TMZ]
· A couple claims they were subjected to yet another racist comedy club outburst, in which Richards screamed at a heckler at The Improv, "You fucking Jew. You people are the cause of Jesus dying," before storming off the stage. Richards would later insist what he meant to say was, "Save your breath for your inflatable date!" but his gut told him the crowd wanted something more "Jew-hatey." [TMZ]

A reader excited by the prospect that Variety might be evolving its coverage of the industry to more directly appeal to subscribers with a healthy interest in upskirt photography directed us to page 9 of today's paper, where an otherwise fairly dry story about November sweeps is enlivened with this promotional photo of Heroes' indestructible cheerleader inadvertently showing off her spanky pants. (The online version of the article uses a different, more modest image, in case you were wondering.) It's probably not racy enough to get a Charlie Sheen-level cheer-porn connoisseur all hot and bothered, but it might do the trick for an assistant looking for a way to kill some time in an empty office before the Thanksgiving holiday.

In his first interview since Rupert Murdoch pulled the plug on his pseudoconfessional ratings stunt spectacular, O.J. Simpson told a Miami radio show this morning that the entire "Hey—how'd you like to make an easy couple mil by describing how you would have gone about the tidy disposal of the ex-wife you loved so much (despite beating her senseless and threatening her life for years), and whoever else might have been around her at the time?" idea wasn't his, and, furthermore, that the interview contained nary an admission of guilt. Among Simpson's claims:

The trades eulogize "iconoclastic, prolific, periodically brilliant director" Robert Altman, "one of cinema's great democratic spirits." [Variety, THR]
NBC is developing a TV version of Thank You For Smoking, in which the movie's former tobacco apologist's new PR firm will take on seemingly impossible image rehabilitation tasks, like trying to convince people that Lindsay Lohan is a hard-working, responsible adult committed to shutting out distractions and fully dedicating herself to her craft. [Variety]
NBC orders three more scripts from 30 Rock, momentarily showing support for the far better of their two low-rated, behind-the-scenes-at-a-sketch-comedy-show series. [THR]
Fox Atomic shuts down production on its update of Revenge of the Nerds, sparing us from a needless remake of a perfectly good nerdsploitation flick. [Variety]
Fox joins CBS in challenging the FCC, claiming that new rules that find "certain words so vile they are automatically actionable" will kill live broadcasting by hampering celebrities' ability to spontaneously say "shit" or "fuck" during awards shows. [THR]

Glory-hole-inspecting sister site Fleshbot has selflessly subjected itself to the crimes against amateur celebrity pornography committed by opportunistic former Saved by the Bell star Dustin Diamond by reviewing Screeched, the "stolen" sex tape in which the actor supposedly lures a pair of stray bachelorette party revelers back to his motel room for an erotic adventure involving a bubble bath and the lighthearted defilement of a luck lady's upper lip with the feces of career-reviving desperation. The verdict? Unsurprisingly, the product is a letdown:

The idea that a hit TV series could affect the fashions of the times is hardly new, as anyone who has ever attended one of those Miami Vice-inspired sock-burning protests of the mid 1980s can attest. But current ABC ratings juggernaut Grey's Anatomy has added yet another wrinkle to the concept of primetime-influenced style, by transforming traditionally conservative hospital dresscodes into hotzones of skirt-hiking, five-o'clock-shadow-growing medical professionals hoping to score like their McHorny TV counterparts:

Enough time has passed since Robert Altman's death on Monday night for hundreds of tributes to the filmmaking legend to finally appear in the media. But none of the reflections on Altman's career or personal impact on those who've worked on his sets will move you more profoundly than the one released yesterday by his A Prairie Home Companion charge, Lindsay Lohan, who risked physical altercations with impatient nightclub patrons by locking herself in a bathroom stall in London and not emerging until this heartwrenching, incomprehensible expression of grief over Altman's passing was tapped out on her Swarovski crystal-encrusted Sidekick and sent out into the world:

Jerry Bruckheimer, the producer whose attention-span-impaired taste aligns so seamlessly with that of easily entertained moviegoers that he's made enough money to shower in two-carat diamonds and spend each night of the next decade sleeping in a freshly constructed, $40 million mansion surrounded by a moat of molten gold, recently opened up to LAtimes.com about his process for selecting projects: