Last night, some of Hollywood's brightest stars showed up at the L.A. Free Clinic to show their support for maintaining our town's amazing diversity of STDs. OK, they didn't go to the actual Free Clinic at all (celebrities get house calls for their private health matters, then kill the doctors to make sure their gonorrhea stays a secret, silly). Instead, they turned out for a charity dinner at the Regent Beverly Wilshire to benefit the Clinic and honor NBC head Kevin Reilly. Unfortunately, there is absolutely no way to introduce our operative's report of the gala without mentioning that no free clinic event could be complete without a visit from Paris Hilton.

An e-mail purporting to be from the lucky person who found Lindsay Lohan's purse in a NYC club (as presented in today's Page Six story) is burning up the internets, with these "scans" of her "lost" black AmEx card and driver's license attached. We thought we'd check the CA license number through the DMV to prove it's a fake (both items and the e-mail certainly are), but reading the fine print made us realize that's—how do you say?—illegal. More importantly, it costs 30 bucks, and that credit card number ain't gonna go through. For the time being, the authenticity of these cards will remain an article of faith, standing as our generation's Shroud of Turin.

Hollywood PrivacyWatch sightings are sent in by our readers. Send yours to tips@defamer.com and let Nicole Kidman know you find it strange that she never eats her asparagus.

Get excited! Up until now, Paris has always insisted on skipping directly to showing everyone her vagina.

Lindsay Lohan, always ahead of the curve in all of her endeavors, wasted no time in getting herself embroiled in a lip-syncing controversy, "mouthing' her way through a couple songs from her new album on Good Morning America yesterday. Did a hangover make her sleep through her record label's preparatory seminar, "Backing Vocals 101: You're Supposed To Sing Over Them A Little"? This latest incident, probably staged for publicity once Lohan's people discovered that no one actually lynched Ashlee Simpson, immediately sent her reps into "damage control" mode:

· Bad news for fanboys: Justin Timblerlake may play Iron Man. Your rage is understandable; after all, he's too young to have had Iron Man Underoos. Also, he's Justin Timberlake.
· If a nipple slips and there are no cameras around to capture it, did it ever make a sound? No, it most certainly did not. [fourth item]
· A supposed screen-capture of Colin Farrell's penis in Tigerland elicits the following reactions from LiveJournal users: "Ewwwwww," "::vomits::," and our personal favorite, "I think I just died a little inside."
· Depending on how close you're willing to put your face to your computer monitor, this picture of Paris Hilton may or may not be safe for work. [via cityrag]

At the IFPIFP/New York's Gotham Awards, maverick director David O. Russell uses an amused Jim Carrey to demonstrate exactly how he will sneak up on George Clooney to apply a deadly headlock should the two ever cross paths again. Mark Wahlberg takes notes to alert Clooney of Russell's improved technique.

Are you starting to get the feeling that a large chunk of Paris Hilton's day is budgeted for driving around Los Angeles, looking for opportunities to be photographed next to her image or her name? It's only a matter of time before this becomes a full-time gig, with Paris driving from boutique to boutique in a Hummer airbrushed with her likeness, stopping only to conspicuously have sex with whatever celebrities she bumps into at the stores. Someone call Fox, we think we've just stumbled onto a premise for The Simple Life 4.

When David O. Russell, the headlockin'est,newspaper-feudin'est director in town, ventured to Pixar's NorCal campus for a public chat with The Incredibles' Brad Bird on Friday, he obviously didn't spend too much time familiarizing himself with the studio's work. Russell made the mistake of invoking The Green Ogre That Shall Not Be Named, but somehow avoided being lynched by the crowd of animators. An attendee reports:

· Fresh from getting canned by Pat "The Iron Flack" Kingsley, former PMK/HBH No.2 Leslee Dart opens her own company—with a nice stable of her former PMK clients. [Variety, sub. req'd.]
· Ashton Kutcher looks to star in the drama Random Acts of Kindness, about a suicidal young man who is rescued by a reclusive novelist. The "rescued" in the logline suggest that the novelist doesn't fail in thwarting a Kutcher suicide, so interest in the project should immediately wane. [THR]
· Peter Sarsgaard joins Jake Gyllenhaal and Jamie Foxx in the Sam Mendes Gulf War project, Jarhead. Sarsgaard probably won't get the opportunity for any on-screen Kinsey-style full-frontal antics, but then again, don't ask, don't tell, etc etc. [Variety]
· Touchstone Television rewards Desperate Housewives creator Marc Cherry with a three-year, seven-figure overall deal. What does ABC owe him for saving their network? [THR]
· Renny Harlin will develop and direct a film based the graphic novel Full Moon Fever, in which workers on the moon who are attacked by werewolves. The producers should probably double-check that Harlin is still alive before they start casting those werewolves. [Variety]

Blog Vividblurry obtains an advance (read: illegally downloaded) copy of Lindsay Lohan's first album and offers a review of the inevitable pop phase of her career. Naturally, it's impossible to consider Lohan's talents without invoking the work of the other giants of her entertainment peer group:

Paris Hilton once again nearly shreds the fabric of the self-love continuum. Luckily, a quick-thinking salesgirl narrowly stopped Hilton from stepping between two opposing mirrors, which would have allowed the heiress to gaze upon infinite images of her admiring her own image on the shopping bag, instantly causing the universe to implode. Isn't it chilling to think about how close we are to annihilation each time Hilton goes to the mall?

MTV announced yesterday that they've signed up Nick Lachey and Jessica Simpson for another season of Newlyweds, but maybe they're just trying to make sure they get the relationship-ending murder-suicide on tape. Sister site Gawker has an e-mail from a PA working the Rockefeller Center's tree-lighting show that shows a marriage on its last legs—it looks like it's all over except for the flying china and attempts to invalidate the pre-nup. Here's Lachey's response to a request for extending his intro for his lovely wife:

Nick Nolte, the beloved, quirky actor you may know from his work in The Prince of Tides, 48 Hrs, or the world's greatest mugshot, is being sued by the parents of a teenage girl who was drugged and sexually assaulted at a party held at Nolte's Malibu house. Nolte's people claim that he wasn't even around for the party, but this suit has wide-ranging implications for the local industry party scene. If Nolte's found liable, it could bring down the entire underage-girl-doped-on-GHB-so-a-producer-can-have-sex-with-her-at-a-star's-mansion system, and the town's nightclubs can't handle the massive overflow from a potential house-party shutdown—they're already packed to capacity with mickey-wielding entertainment types.

When we heard about the epidemic of Val Kilmer graffiti breaking out across Toronto, we dared to hope that the pranksters responsible were Oliver Stone and Kilmer himself, trying to build some viral buzz before our neighbors to the north learned the awful truth about Alexander. The real story behind the graffiti is somewhat less magical than our dreams of Val and Oliver, clutching bags full of stickers and cans of black Krylon, leaving their mark on a sleeping city. And yes, they're wearing togas.

We've heard that at least one network has put its affiliates on notice that Elizabeth Taylor is on her deathbed, giving them the heads-up that those creepy, sepia-toned special reports may soon be coming through. Let the major media deathwatch begin. Ghouls, all of them!

A lone voice from the Desert of Truth that is the anonymous Craiglist post, a Britney Spears pregnancy rumor we can all believe in:

As we bring yet another installment of the Blind Item Guessing Game to a close, we'd like to pause, lightly punch our readers in the arm, and tell them how much we love them. Yes, we're quite drunk, and typing is exquisitely difficult at the moment, but we mean it this time. Quickly review One Useless Blind Vice before moving on to your answers:

Robert Evans Day continues here at Defamer, as the NYT reports that the legendary producer, not nearly satisfied that his life has been the subject of a documentary, a memoir, and a cartoon, will write and star in a Broadway show about his life. And while Evans has undoubtedly seen some truly frightening shit throughout a lifetime tearing through Hollywood, he realizes that putting himself on stage might be chilling for all involved:

It's been way too long since we've had any Andy Dick news to report. As far as we can tell, he hasn't been spotted crawling around on all fours and begging for drugs in clubs on either coast (or he's been much more discreet about it). Perhaps Dick's only been partying with his muse, because he's recently finished a script aimed at giving big-screen birth to his alter-ego, Daphne Aguilera, Christina's trashier sister.