A reader, concerned that a certain mass-impaired A-list actress might seriously injure herself while partaking in a vigorous exercise fad, sends us this note in hopes that the celeb might take her cardio program down a notch:
The Defamer Special Correspondent on Decor in Celebrity-Backed Restaurants files this special sneak peak at Geisha House, the new Hollywood eatery backed by the same gang of That 70's Show cronies that brought you Dolce.
Hollywood PrivacyWatch celebrity sightings are sent in by our readers. Send yours to tips@defamer.com and make sure you let Bruce Willis know you saw him chew with his mouth open.
Free of the cast-iron muzzle that superflack Pat Kingsley used to prevent him from babbling about Scientology every time a writer put a tape recorder under his chin, Tom Cruise once again holds forth about his religion's finer points in this month's GQ. Remember those old werewolf movies, where the afflicted man would ask his friends to lock him in a room before the full moon appeared, begging them not to let him out no matter what he said? Now that his sister/fellow Scientologist LeAnne Devette is running the show, there's no one left to keep him locked up until the moon passes. Predictably, the unleashed Cruise attacks Scientology's mortal enemy, science psychiatry:
The American Music Awards might have had a chemically incapacitated Anna Nicole Smith stealing the show, but last night's Vibe awards in Santa Monica had Dr. Dre in a fistfight, violent chaos, and a stabbing. Advantage: Vibe (But only a slight one until it's conclusively proven that Anna Nicole didn't have a beef with Dre and was nowhere near Santa Monica.) The LAT reports that the stabbing victim is in stable condition, so the possibility of a paranoid Nick Broomfield documentary remains comfortably remote.
—Page Six sets its gossip-ray to "righteous indignation" and blasts "fork-tongued flack" Robert Garlock for a pattern of dishonesty. We're shocked—shocked—that a publicist might not be totally forthcoming with a reporter. What's next, agents lying about offers from rival studios? Waitresses taking acting classes? The Weinsteins ordering dessert?
—Lindsay Lohan shakes off the whole Fez breakup thing by learning a neat trick. The link's safe for work, but relatively unsafe for our sense of personal worth. [via Fleshbot]
—LAist interviews Heather Havrilesky, Rabbit blogger and Salon's resident boob-tube savant. She loves her some Tyra Banks.
—Yet another actor is digitally exhumed and made to dance a little jig(metaphorically speaking) in the name of advertising.
—We're well aware that OBD/Dirt McGirt/Big Baby Jesus died this weekend, but now it looks like it's going to require a census taker to account for all of his kids.
Jake Gyllenhaal tells Elle magazine that Brokeback Mountain's cowboy-on-cowboy action wasn't all stolen glances on horseback or lightly-strummed prairie ballads around the campfire. He reckons that sometimes a man's gotta put on the chaps and the six-shooters and get down to the dirty business of cowpoke love:
With the Alexander the Great action figure, you can bring all of the fun of Oliver Stone's Alexander home before the film hits theaters on November 24th. The toy's a little pricey (a reported $150 million, without accounting for studio budgetary trickery), and early reviews indicate that it falls apart after about an hour and a half of play. Note: Even if you order it now, they can't guarantee that the shipping won't be delayed for two weeks as the designers tinker with his skirt, fearing that the "adventurous" Alexander will try to play with both your Barbie and Ken dolls. (They wouldn't want to turn off toy collectors in the red states or hurt their chances at awards time.)
As the folks at LA.comfidential reported last night, it looks like Lindsay Lohan and Wilmer "Fez" Valderrama have indeed split up, ending their roughly six-month romantic odyssey. The break-up further cements Valderrama's place as this generation's Scott Baio; he'll almost certainly tie a bandana around his thigh and drown his sorrows with a three-week orgy at the Playboy Mansion. Meanwhile, Lohan is now free to chase her first love, the emotionally-distant-yet-darkly-smoldering Captain Morgan.
Rumors that Britney Spears is indeed incubating the Baby of Truth in her popstar womb are still flying, and not even publicist/human denial machine Leslie Sloane Zelnick can shoot them down. She meekly offers Page Six a defeated "I don't know" about the status of Britney's uterus and claims that Spears isn't returning her calls. Because it's her job to cloud the minds of the press, we must entertain the possibility that LSZ isn't giving us all of the facts and was just having a bad day. After another cup of coffee, she might have come up with something like, "Not only is Britney Spears not pregnant, she's never even seen a background dancer's penis." We're confident she'll do better next time.
If still photography of Tara Reid's epic boob slip or the resulting discussion about the skill of her plastic surgeon weren't enough to turn you off to the whole sordid affair, there is now video available of Reid's infamous red carpet moment. Watch as the strap of her dress tumbles off her shoulder! Cringe as wave upon wave of flashbulbs snap away, capturing the moment forever! Sigh with relief as a publicist finally rectifies the wardrobe failure! Cringe as Reid fruitlessly appeals to see exactly what the photographic firing squad caught on film, knowing that pictures did indeed escape into the outside world! But don't watch the video more than once—no matter how many times you go back, you never get to see the other breast.
Is there anything better on a Friday afternoon than a crazy rumor that we can't confirm? Now this might be the Glade-and-Sharpie cocktail we just huffed talking, but the plastic pumpkin left over from Halloween told us a rumor that Mischa Barton and Lindsay Lohan are going on vacation together. No word on where they're going, but they should be back in 28 days or so. We know! Totally nuts, right? Didn't Lohan just get back to work on Herbie: Fully Loaded after her hospital stay? Isn't Barton shooting The O.C.? And what are the odds they'd both take trips at the same time with their crazy schedules? Never mind. This Sharpie is spent and Mr. Pumpkin is threatening to eat our soul if we don't run out to the Office Depot for a refill. That crazy devil pun'kin!
Britney Spears has really caught the writing bug, huh? We like to imagine her peacefully lying in bed, then awakening bolt upright when inspiration strikes, scrambling for her bedside quill and parchment, clamoring to record her thoughts as spent cans of Red Bull clatter to the floor. It appears her peculiar muse has struck again:
Usually, in red carpet photography lineups, the best the gawking class can do is hope that a fraction of a nipple breaks loose of its couture prison, or that a flashbulb renders a sheer dress temporarily translucent. But at P. Diddy's birthday party, Tara Reid's loose garment forever upped the ante in the slippage game, revealing all as the cameras happily snapped away. Next week, look for Paris Hilton to accept the challenge and "accidentally" detonate her panties at a press conference as a family of hairless beavers "coincidentally" parades through the melee. (Uncovered, NSFW version after the jump.)
Perhaps the only news that's become more mundane than rumors of new Paris Hilton sex tapes are stories involving molestation lawsuits against Michael Jackson. Celebrity Justice has court papers with fresh allegations (well, fresh from 1984) of inappropriate uses of a rhinestone glove and an cuddly team of llamas. (Wouldn't it be easier if there were some kind of clearinghouse that issued a weekly report of Jackson lawsuits, or an "all clear" message in accusation-light weeks?) We definitely don't recommend reading the documents, unless you want your dreams haunted by visualizations of phrases like "Jackson swallowing the semen" or "Jackson engaging in anal touching" which are peppered through Item 6 of the complaint. You've been warned.
In hopes that we can stop the responses you're firing into our inbox like ads for penis-enlargement pills (btw, they don't work. we're still hung like a gerbil emerging from the December surf), let us wrap up this latest installment of the Blind Item Guessing Game. But first, remind yourself of the linguistic nuances of One Blackmailed Blind Vice:
Wherein we invite our readers to untie the merit badge-worthy prose-knots proffered by humpy E! gossip Scout Troop Leader Ted Casablanca and guess the identity of his weekly blind item. This time, there's no mention of overdoses or publicist-unfriendly man-on-man action from a straight star, but Ted does drop the orgy bomb. Marinate in One Blackmailed Blind Vice:
When Britney Spears told her fans that she was "going to take some time off to enjoy life" in her much-ballyhooed, but incredibly disappointing Letter of Truth, we thought that sounded like code for "I want to take some time to let my unemployed background-dancing soulmate's demon seed grow inside my uterus."
