Friday
· Friday night sequential listing of concerts: Metric at the El Rey; John Vanderslice at the Knitting Factory; Detroit Cobras at the Troubadour.
· Margaret Cho signs her book I Have Chosen to Stay and Fight at Barnes & Noble in The Grove. Afterwards, Cho's unwaveringly loyal fanbase will hoist her on their strong, gay shoulders and parade her around the Grove's trolley track.
Saturday
· And if an evening with Margaret Cho doesn't sate your camp-etite, John Waters signs Hairspray, Female Trouble and Multiple Maniacs at Book Soup at 1 p.m.
· Because it's not only OK to drink when it's for charity, it's a moral imperative: Celebrate the 50th anniversary of time travel at Cinespace to benefit the Michael J. Fox Foundation.
Sunday
· Think that L.A's had its fill of aging rockers with this week's U2 shows? You ain't seen nothing yet, you sturdy-hipped whippersnapper: The Rolling Stones play the Hollywood Bowl.
· Patton Oswalt, the comic genius we bravely manage to fawn over only in selected To Do posts, does the Sunday Comedy show at Room 5.

We'd never think of sending you off into the weekend without your blind item guesses. But first, relive the magic of One Forced Fagola Blind Vice:

While we've recently dabbled in more ancient methods of divination to assist with the box office projections, this week we're going back to the tried-and-true method of blind-drunk guesstimating. Crack open that bottle of cheap whiskey and play along at home!

Blogger *glassShallot caught David Lynch's travelling lecture, "Consciousness, Creativity and the Brain," last night at USC, and apparently, the man who brought us the backwards-talking-soft-shoeing-dwarf and daily LA weather reports is starting to get a little weird:

At last night's AFI Fest premiere of hotly-buzzed about Johnny Cash biopic Walk the Line, star Joaquin Phoenix fielded scores of red carpet questions about his uncanny, 'yes-that's-him-playing- and-singing' transformation into the Man in Black. But with one AP reporter, Phoenix gets momentarily sidetracked:

It's time again for our brief genuflection before this week's sponsors, the generous folks who make our fascinating musings on Tom Cruise's poor short game possible. If you'd like to advertise on Defamer and titillate the world's most spend-horny consumers to the point of release, see this page.

· Pierce Brosnan will shake things up by playing a family-dismantling kidnapper in Butterfly on A Wheel for Icon Entertainment, inevitably prompting audiences to wonder, "Hey, why is James Bond acting like such a dick?" [Variety]
· In a clear attempt to fill the huge hugging void left by the imminent departure of John Lesher, Endeavor promotes three agents (read: six fresh, bear-hugging arms) to partner. [THR]
· Bruce Willis, once arguably the biggest movie star in the world, agrees to be the guinea pig in "Smells Like Teen Spirit" video director Samuel Bayer's feature debut, Black Water Transit. [Variety]
· THR gets in on today's Cockblocker fun. Hey, enjoy the title while it lasts. [THR]
· "OK, those fucking penguins killed for Warner. Brainstorm time, guys. We need another animal that says cold, cute, maybe fluffy. What's a marmot? Sounds cute, but do they live on ice and shit? No? Fuck. What else we got?" [Variety]

We are still piecing together what transpired on The Apprentice: Donald last night, but from what we can tell, NBC's search for the next great industrialist has devolved into a contest that might more appropriately be named The Pervy Bigot.

Wherein we invite our readers to ram the black SUVs of their collective intelligence into the side of humpy E! gossipist Ted Casablanca's fleeing blind item Mercedes and force its camera-shy driver out into the street. Ted's once again set his GPS to plot a course for Toothy Tile Boulevard, the favorite drag of a certain closeted actor. Taste the pleasure of One Forced Fagola Blind Vice:

Because the world might stop spinning if the public had no way to find out that Chris O'Donnell is much better at keeping a drive on the fairway than a show on the air, Golf Digest has ranked Hollywood's top 100 golfers. And unsurprisingly, Tom Cruise had to buy his way onto the list:

Ba da ba ba baaa...we're lovin' it! By now, we assume you've seen the video of shitfaced fast-food enthusiast Ashlee Simpson terrorizing the clientele and staff of a Toronto McDonald's (hard to see, but Egotastic's version is easier).

Variety reports that Topher Grace and Seann William Scott will co-star in Paramount's Cockblockers; no need to explain the concept, it's about pretty much exactly what you fear it might be. But what could we possibly love more than reading the word "cockblockers" in the pages of Variety? (Lesser publications were a little more coy about the title.) That there were originally two competing Cockblockers projects in the Hollywood ether, and that the one picked up by Paramount is a sort of Super Cockblockers:

· Dear God! Some horrible monster in a fuschia sweatshirt swallowed Janet Jackson!
· We seriously doubt that access to Vincent Gallo's sperm is so precious that it's worth a million dollars, even if Gallo is (as he claims) "drug, alcohol, and disease free" and (ahem) "multi talented in all creative fields."
· Things never change, do they? Brad Chases Snapper while Jennifer Tackles Infidelity.
· Radar retrofits the Edinburgh Postnatal Depression Scale with Katie Holmes-specific answers. It's more fun than a handful of Paxil!

· AFI Fest 2005 kicks off with a gala (read: $75 a ticket) screening of Walk the Line at the ArcLight's Cinerama Dome. It should be quite something to see Joaquin Phoenix sneer on such a huge screen.
· Music round-up: Golden State at the Viper Room; The Juliana Theory at the Troubadour; and Kay "Remember Letters to Cleo?" Hanley at Spaceland.
· Think that two nights of U2 shows weren't enough of a celebrity clusterfuck at the Staples Center? Then try tonight's Lakers home opener on for size.

Late Tuesday, we short-ended a link to a Craigslist Seattle ad (since removed) seeking a fresh set of bandmates for Courtney Love, who's apparently looking to make a big musical comeback after rehab. It looks like the cattle call's been extended to L.A.

Odds-obsessed Defamer cousin Oddjack, who we've forgiven since that incident at the Hard Rock when they convinced us to put the last of our gas money on six-the-hard-way, has the bedding-odds on newly-released-into-the- supermodel-wilds Leonardo DiCaprio:

Don't get too excited, Owen Wilson's not quite ready for the shelves behind the beaded curtain at your local video store. The Sugarbank blog mocked up this cover to make a point about the importance of eye-catching packaging design in making your amateur pornographic camcorder efforts more appealing in the marketplace. Of course, if you somehow attracted Stallion-quality talent to your project (think they'll ever release his reel from the Grotto's security cameras?), the cover art becomes largely irrelevant.

Blogger DEADlines does us le favor of interpreting a Le Journal de Montreal article from its original Canuck-flavored French into a more Hollywood-friendly, monosyllabic English. But regardless of what language you happen to speak, the universal language of 'Hatin'-ese' needs no translation:

Margaret Cho is trying her hand at sitcoms again. We always felt her sponge-bath-administering character Gwen ("My name's Gwen and I'm here to warrrrsh your vagina!") could be the next Ally McBeal, but Cho has opted for the "ethnic, multigenerational family comedy" route that did her in the first time around:

It seems that Endeavor superagent and HuffPo powerblogger Ari Emanuel has already hit the creative wall. In just the sixth installment of his wildly popular "Ari's Frustration of the Day" (really, is there anyone in Hollywood who doesn't know what bug Ari is excising from his hindquarters on a particular day?) Emanuel's succumbed to madness, offering barely a nod to his reflexive Bush-bashing in the service of utter nonsense: