Warner Bros. purged 250 to 300 profit-killing money-pits employees from its Burbank lot yesterday, and is ready to drop the ax on a hundred more from its international operations. The LAT reports:

As part of Today's "Mysterious Faiths" series, this morning Katie Couric interviewed Jamie Green, a representative of the LA-based Kabbalah Centre. And not unlike a perky Rottweiler with a gristly T-bone in its maw, there was one question Katie would not let the shul's shill hora around through vague references to "coming into the light" and "universal wisdoms." Namely, who is pocketing the 26 bucks they collect per red-string bracelet sold? His answer was ready. And long:

There's really no more satisfying way to kick off a Wednesday morning than to take an inventory of items affixed to Paris Hilton's ass. The tail is a clear indication to potential mates that she's ready to screw like a rabbit, but the nearby birth-control patch suggests that this bunny doesn't completely ignore her reproductive health. Not pictured: twin tubes of Astroglide replacing the costume's original set of boring, fuzzy ears.

Hey, folks, Mark Lisanti here.

· EMI is trolling Craigslist for a variety of "types" to fill out Courtney Love's back-up band. (Once she graduates rehab, of course.) No hard drugs required, but those with reliable connections for the inevitable, explosive Love relapse will be given preference.
· The LAT launched The Envelope today, its full-service awards site. And by "full-service." we mean that it has about 147 blogs, roughly one for each envelope (see how that ties in?) opened during awards season.
· We defy you to find a headline touting less consequential information, anywhere, on any subject whatsoever: Dennis Rodman Settles Speeding Ticket.
· Midlevel Gawker Media functionary Lockhart Steele (not his real name) has a mini blog empire of his own, launching an L.A. version of real estate site Curbed mere hours ago. Disclosure: Lockhart processes our payroll later today. Hi, Lock! New blog looks awesome!
· Harvey Weinstein might be embracing a new policy of fiscal sanity, but he'll still happily splurge on some ring-kissers when he knows the press will be around.

· All Saint's Day music round-up: The Radical Bros. (a High Speed Scene/Deathray supergroup) at the Silverlake Lounge; Magic Numbers at Troubadour; Atmosphere at the Wiltern; American Analog Set at the Knitting Factory.
· More of an "event" than a "concert": U2 once again invades the Staples Center. We expect full reports on the Staples Center VIP carnage on our desk in the morning.
· If your most burning desire is to get as far away from the U2 Staples Center scene as possible, the Skirball Center hosts "Preserving Los Angeles: Buildings, Congregations, Communities," a panel discussionon the importance of preserving historic religious architecture in LA. Don't worry, Bono won't be hurt.

Why is Official Agent Dance mascot Ari Emanuel frustrated? Because he just hates it when rumors that were originally circulating months ago resurface, making the Agent Dance feel stale. But we keep hearing the whispers that Emanuel's shark-in-arms, Endeavor's John Lesher, might finally—finally!—take over Paramount Classics after all. Do we know this for sure? Of course we don't. Are we passing along the chatter anyway? You bet. Revisiting suddenly revived July rumors makes us feel all summery in our naughty places, even with Ari frowning down at us.

The Jessica Simpson Spin Machine has once again lurched to life, belching out yet another story about the stability of her marriage to Nick Lachey. In fact, Simpson now claims that the stress of the constant speculation about her relationship has driven her into therapy:

Because it's much cheaper to fill a Las Vegas arena with bored, unpaid extras than to shell out for budget-busting CGI fans, BeInAMovie.com offers you the chance to participate in the most desperate movie comeback of our time:

There's a word for a crazy person who gets off the proverbial bus in Los Angeles, her entire life crammed into a suitcase, and expects that one day, the entire world will know her name: "actress." And while it's easy to paint these ambitious individuals with the same, dismissive brush of insanity, it's important to distinguish between the kind of actress whose emotional turbulence results in a nervous breakdown when you point out she's bungled your lunch order, and the kind whose melodramatic suicidal tendencies propel her to success. The Simon shares an anecdote about the latter type of "L.A. Nut":

The British seem to have developed a mysterious tolerance to Hollywood's box office crap, as the nation's moviegoers have fled the theaters in smaller numbers than those in other foreign markets. [Variety]
· The Weinstein Co. announces a multiyear marketing deal with L'Oreal Paris, pacting to co-host various events and provide mutual promotional support. Most crucially, only L'Oreal cosmetics will be used to cover up all Harvey Weinstein-inflicted bruises, an estimated two million dollar a year value. [THR]
· ICM gets a $75 million investment from equity fund operator Suhail Rizvi, which CEO Jeff Berg plans to lend to Paradigm so that the rival can finally purchase his agency and finally put an end to months of nasty acquisition rumors. [Variety]
· NBC gives a pilot order to the suspense drama Kidnapped, which will track a family's search for their abducted son, at least until the show itself mysteriously disappears during sweeps. [THR]
· The WGA East and West finally settle their differences with a minimum of bloodshed, but a maximum of incredibly boring bullet points. [Variety]

Juggsy TV ghost-whisperer Jennifer Love Hewitt doesn't just sit around on her hands and wait for studios to offer her hooker housewife roles. She goes out and finds hooker housewife roles:

First ballot Hall of Defamer crackpot and former MPAA head Jack Valenti defends the movie ratings system in the opinion pages of today's LAT, arguing that the current G-through-NC-17 guidelines are far superior to the clenched-sphincter, Puritan absurdities of the infamous Hays Code:

In the case of Gravity v. Drunken, Roof-Climbing Actor, the jury rules in favor of Gravity, and the defendant is hereby ordered to plummet into some nearby bushes and explain his actions to a police officer who will barely suppress her giggles:

Radar Online reports on unbearable tensions in the production of Shrek 3, where Cameron Diaz helpfully "suggested" casting songbird boyfriend (and aspiring horrible actor) Justin Timberlake in a major, tricky role. Timberlake promptly repaid his lady's kindness by "ruining the movie," leaving screwed DreamWorks Animation chief pompom tipJeffrey Katzenberg to muse about ways to rectify the situation and save his money-printing franchise:

· Our pals at TVGasm have collected some predictably horrifying (but still magical) clips from last night's debut of But Can They Sing? For a sneak preview of the last noise you'll hear when your soul slips out of your body for good, listen to Bai Ling's rendition of "Like a Virgin."
· Maddox Jolie is also an excellent last-minute costume idea, as long as you're willing to live with a mohawk for a couple of weeks.
· So Martha's all, "Fuck the Donald, I'm taking over the whole franchise," but Trump goes, "Hey, low-rated cookie-baking beeyotch, you can bite my doily, I ain't going nowhere." You know, to paraphrase.
· Baldwin, Basinger wage heated battle for control of Ireland.
· Geraldo Rivera owns a DVD of Soul Plane. More shocking: He actually paid for it.

Pleased that his well-choreographed exploits with The Break-Up co-star Jennifer Aniston earned him spreads in all the important glossies and tabloids, Vince Vaughn took a couple of close guy pals out for a walk, confident that he'd finally land the covers of Getting Handsy With Uncomfortable Looking Short, Fat Dudes Weekly and Life & Style Presents: 101 Flabby Celebrity Midsections.

· The Aero Theatre in Santa Monica screens The Exorcist, at one time perhaps the scariest movie ever made. Of course, that title can now be been claimed by any number of Ben Affleck vehicles. (Ben Affleck jokes: scarier than demonic possession!)
· If Linda Blair and projectile vomiting aren't your thing, The New Beverly has a double feature of Land of the Dead and The Lost Boys, perhaps the only Corey Haim/Corey Feldman movie that can be enjoyed without irony.
· Look, scary movies are nice, but there are really only two places to be tonight: behind the double-bolted door of your home, praying that mischief makers don't sacrifice your cat, or at the West Hollywood Halloween Carnaval with five hundred thousand or so of your closest friends—assuming that your friends are Britney Spears With A Dick, Paris Hilton With A Dick, or Britney Spears Getting Sodomized By Paris Hilton With a Dick. It's all in good fun, really.

This holiday season, the always family-friendly Fox network will help ease the burden on Santa Claus by answering some of the overworked Christmas icon's mail—on camera, of course. From the AP:

If you're anything like us, Halloween is an excuse to drink enough alcohol to kill a baby elephant, dress up in the clothes your mother thinks you delivered to the Salvation Army for her a decade ago, and stumble out into a throng of grope-happy strangers to temporarily blunt the psychic damage of 16 years of Catholic school. But because the Fun Police want to make sure that this annual purification ritual can't reach the level of total catharsis, they've once again banned the use of Silly String, a crucial prop in any self-respecting pagan orgy. They've covered Hollywood Boulevard in signs warning of $1,000 fines (pictured: one from last year), leaving scores of partyers whose costumes rely on the playful simulation of voluminous ejaculation scrambling to modify their outfits. We have faith in our fellow debauched masqueraders, however, and are confident that they'll find a alternative, legal way to splooge all over unsuspecting passers-by, probably one involving a weapons-grade mixture of Redi-Whip and a name-brand depilatory. They can take away our Silly String, but they can't kill our spirit!