Hollywood PrivacyWatch celebrity sightings are sent in by our readers. Send yours to tips@defamer.com and let Leonardo DiCaprio know that you're always monitoring his vodka intake.
At this point, there's nothing to do but wait until the day when an image of Paris Hilton's genitalia adorns the hundred dollar bill, when she can stare at herself at every point during a shopping transaction.
Tom Cruise has publicly credited Scientology for curing his dyslexia, but the cult's "tech" has seemingly replaced the learning disorder with a severe form of OCD: Every time Cruise sees a microphone, he feels compelled to talk about the "Church" until the offending audio equipment is removed. The actor's latest cry for help occurred at the Nobel Peace Prize Concert:
· A week after exposing reality television producers as script-happy charlatans, Joel Stein goes deep inside Hollywood's secret holiday gift-giving protocols. You will never be able to see the letters VVIP again without a chill running down your spine. Trust us.
· LA.comfidential catches the very underage Mischa Barton getting shitfaced at the Flaunt party on Friday night. We're shocked—shocked!—that Barton could manage to get drunk at a party in Beverly Hills. Come on, we're not talking about a criminal genius like Lindsay Lohan here.
· And while we're invoking the name of Lohan, she popped in to "Weekend Update" to once again assure the world that her chest is real. Somewhere, there exists a publicist-drawn battle plan entitled. "Re-Educating the World About Lindsay Lohan's Absolutely Natural Breasts," and there's a check next to the action item, "Enlist Mean Girls co-stars Tina Fey and Amy Poehler in mammary damage-control efforts."
· Rhetorical question: What the fuck is wrong with people?
This supposed, hatchet-burying epistle from former MPAA head/pirate-hunter-in-twilight Jack Valenti to longtime nemesis Oliver Stone is sure to provide pullquote fodder ("Brilliant!" "Engaging and enticing!" "ALEXANDER...hammered...with a bad rap!") for whatever advertising Warner Bros. wastes on Alexander as it fades away into the annals of epic flop history. We can't be sure that the letter is authentic, so click on the above image and enjoy with all of the healthy skepticism you'd reserve for anything signed by Hollywood's legendary, elf-harboring, buccaneer-baiting former chief lobbyist.
Porn-seeking-missile sister site Fleshbot scores some video-captures of Vincent Gallo and Chloe Sevigny's infamous Brown Bunny blowjob scene [NSFW], thus saving us from our guilt from never ponying up for a ticket to get a look at it ourselves. (And our friends that had seen it are finally released from a continuing barrage of questions that they couldn't have answered without expensive forensic equipment.) Looking at this collage of vidcaps is a poor substitute for the acute sense of communal embarrassment one would get from sharing the full-motion, in-theater experience with other perverts, but we plan on printing it out, constructing a crude fellatio flipbook, and having some pals over to approximate the shame.
· Tara Reid, in an attempt to make nice with Page Six, sends them a fruit basket in thanks for being referred "demurely dressed and completely cogent." We suppose that backhanded compliment is still better than the Six Crew calling her vagina a "revolving man-door."
· We could spend all weekend in front of this montage of classic Maria Moments from this season's Apprentice. We won't, though, because that would be pathetic, and we'll be busy losing two days to a bottle of Vicodin we found in our friend's purse.
· Open All Night stalks Lindsay Lohan all over NY, so you don't have to bother with the frivolous stalker lawsuits yourselves.
· From GoldDerby.com's Golden Globes nominations preview: "Sideways [is] a fine film that probably owes its FANATICAL following to the fact that it glamorizes excessive boozing as being cool." It's not just any kind of boozing, though, It's the classy, wine-drinking kind of boozing, which always seems more acceptable than the kind where you drink straight from the Grey Goose bottle before dancing on P. Diddy's table.
Because it would be tragic to let the remainder of this rapidly expiring work week slip away without a nod to the latest in foot-related Britney Spears news: The British Sun reports that Spears' bare feet emitted a stench so potent that it sent passengers on a recent LA to NY flight clawing at the emergency doors, clamoring for the relief that only a catastrophic drop in cabin pressure could afford. Luckily, quick-thinking flight attendants convinced Spears to return the offending podia to smell-dampening footwear, avoiding an air travel catastrophe that certainly would've resulted in every American airport adding specially trained, toe-sniffing dogs and foot-washing equipment to their already onerous security procedures. Disaster averted!
Last night, a spy heroically (i.e., drunkenly) tapped out this brief account of Kathy Griffin's Christmas party. This strange menagerie of Hollywood's lesser lights immediately reminds us why Griffin's comedy show is called "The D-List." (We'll blame the booze for the spy's alphabetical upgrade of the attendees.)
· Lindsay Lohan, more than a little defensive: "AP: What is with people's obsession with your breasts? Lohan: God. I don't know. They're real though." Make sure you read the whole exchange, it's chock full of some real howlers.
· RIP Dimebag Darrell, nee Diamond Darrell. May you shred in Heaven, sweet cowboy from Hell.
· Tara Reid tears at her clothing and cries to the heavens, futilely begging for some relief from her crushing fame: "[The tabloids] will write anything they can and always in a derogatory way. You can't do anything about it." [second item]
· "This time, a sobbing Spears had to be carried out of the Hard Rock Hotel and ended up getting sick in the parking lot."
The events that transpired at last night's DVD release party for Princess Diaries 2 may reveal that Vanessa Bryant still might be carrying around wounds that even a new, huge Lakers contract for hubby Kobe couldn't heal. Act out much, Mrs. Bryant?
Last night's Billboard Music Awards in Las Vegas was a rollicking-yet-practical celebration of the recording industry, where artistic achievement is measured by the only important criterion: commercial success. No different than any other second-tier awards show, the event was littered with Hollywood's B- and C-listers, whose endearing antics are dutifully reported by one of our operatives:
· Dick Clark suffers a stroke, imperiling America's ability to remain at the top of the New Years Rockin' industry. OR, Somewhere, a portrait in Dick Clark's attic suddenly got 30 years younger.
· Angelina Jolie and Colin Farrell used to play the cutest game on the set of Alexander. And by cute we mean "involving his penis nearly being yanked off by Jolie." But not a sexual kind of yanking, mind you.
· How could anyone want to sue the man who put the words "That's what I love about these high school girls, man. I get older, they stay the same age" into his mouth?
· Hollywood's cults should all chip in for a gigantic fruit basket thanking Mischa Barton for not being a joiner.
· To paraphrase a reader, "Soon to be starring Tim Allen."
As if the Olsen Twins don't already scare the living shit out of you, we've heard a rumor that Mary-Kate and Ashley are in talks to get an adult movie career going by starring in the American remake of the Korean horror flick A Tale of Two Sisters. We think a documentary of their lives at NYU (Oh my God, they're going to THE DINING HALL ON CHILI NIGHT! and Hey, isn't that guy Ash is sucking face with, like, 40 years old?!? etc etc) would've more than filled the public quota for Olsen-related terror, but we'd never try and tell the little chipmunks how to use their summer vacation.
Just in case anyone is still arguing about the authenticity of the "scans" of Lindsay Lohan's "lost" driver's license and black AmEx card that were circulating yesterday, an update: One anonymous reader ran the driver's license number and found that it's about as real as Lohan's...let's just say it didn't check out and be done with this nastiness, shall we? Another concerned citizen informed us that one of the black AmEx's most endearing features is that the cardholder's name isn't printed on it.* Obviously, we wouldn't know anything about that; we've always found the plain, green model to be perfectly adequate for being cut up at drinking establishments all over town. We now return you to your everyday, non-Lohan-related activities.
A funny thing happened while we were checking on director Bryan Singer's supposed profile on the Australian gay personals site Gaydar: It disappeared! Luckily, we were able to stitch it back together from some screen-captures (click the picture to see it). We may never know if it's a prank profile or if Singer was conducting due diligence on his social possibilities while he shoots Superman in Sydney, but we've heard he's already Down Under doing some preproduction work.
· Tea Leoni beats the crap out of Adam Sandler during a sex scene in Spanglish. Just like the famous Heath and Jake lovebrawl, but without the chaps and spurs!
· The sage and magical Julia Roberts cures the bloated John Travolta of a troubling night-urination problem. [via goldenfiddle]
· Oh, those crazy Brits and their celebrity worship! [via Towleroad]
· For a company that's always laying people off, Miramax sure does a lot of hiring.
· Yesterday, we noted an amusing discussion of Colin Farrell's penis. Today, creepily knothole-obsessed sister site Fleshbot minds the stepchildren.
