Fox spies tell us that Method & Red's writing staff was sent home yesterday. And the only way that sitcom writers can be separated from their room full of Nerf toys, junk food, and scripts with penis doodles on them and returned to their neglected families is cancellation. M&R recently received an extension from 12 to 15 episodes, but now they've been cut off at the knees and are shooting their 12th and final show tonight. Our sources don't know how many of these episodes will eventually air or are destined to become unseen artifacts of hip-hop-stoner history, but it looks like they're headed for the dreaded "Indefinite Hiatus" of TV oblivion.

With the looming Miramax layoffs stubbornly delaying sweet relief for a huge chunk of Harvey Weinstein's staff, the mood at the 'Max is somewhere between "West Bank dynamite vest model" and "Tel Aviv car bomb delivery guy." But a mole says Those About to be Downsized won't ever feel free from Harvey:

We know that August is death for gossip (Exhibit A: we're writing some bastard form of meta-gossip right now), but is Page Six so desperate for filler that they're giving out free plugs to mactresses?

According to the AP, burglars broke into Paris and Nicky Hilton's home in the Hollywood Hills Wednesday and helped themselves to some of their fine, designer items. A source told US Weekly, bastion of celebrity criminal reporting, that the thieves made off with "a laptop computer, several designer purses, video tapes and photographs of Paris Hilton...with ex-boyfriend Nick Carter." That list sounds about one camcorder short of the "Official Paris Hilton Make Your Own Amateur Sex Video Kit," but maybe that was left behind. Everyone should immediately begin monitoring the internet for video evidence of Nick Carter's vaunted staying power, so ably publicized today in the NY Daily News.

Again, we put out the challenge, and you responded in such numbers that we would encourage your bosses to filter out this site if it wouldn't put us back on the Boulevard in a plastic skirt and see-through heels. And now, your much-anticipated guesses to Ted Casablanca's One Career-Curdling Blind Vice.

We heard a rumor that Bryan Singer, whose Bad Hat Harry Productions is was on a two-year overall deal at Fox, got an unceremonious heave-ho from the Fox lot once the trades announced he'd signed on to do the new Superman for Warner Brothers. Indeed, we indulged in something akin to "reporting" (i.e. picked up a phone) and called Fox looking for Bad Hat Harry's offices, which became mysteriously unreachable. (Yes, we know that studio switchboard operators are not the most reliable of workers, so we tried more than once.)

Wherein we invite you, readers with a great facility for translating gibberish back into gossip, to send in your thoughts on the identity of humpy E! dirt-monger Ted Casablanca's weekly blind items. This week: One Career-Curdling Blind Vice, featuring the phrase "sex addiction" in relation to a young actress:

We're numb to the usual Hollywood birthday party—the candy dishes full of pills, a couple of dead hookers in the bathroom, and Andy Dick on the bottom of a gender-blind grope-pile—so we were pleasantly surprised by Page Six's report about Hilary Swank's 30th at the Argyle Tuesday night. Partying like a five-year-old is the new post-party mugshot on The Smoking Gun. Swank and Oscar-acceptance-speech-cutout/hubby Chad Lowe rang in the post-30, decline phase of Swank's career surrounded by (actual) clowns, magicians, and the remembrance of youth. There's nothing like a finely-crafted balloon poodle to make you momentarily forget that you're about to start losing parts to Brittany Murphy and Kate Hudson. And maybe the clown-assisted appearance of youthfulness will be enough to tack on another year before she has to start subsisting on roles as Lindsay Lohan's sassy mom.

Since the Star and National Enquirer have dropped the whole publicist/lawyer-unfriendly "cocaine" angle on Mary-Kate's rehab, we'll update you on her public progress in her battle with "anorexia." She's been spotted in a restaurant again, with Fat Twin/food-sponsor Ashley at her side. We're not sure we're going to endorse going out for sushi as progress in her recovery, and our spy didn't actually see MK putting any food in her mouth or swallowing, so color us somewhat unconvinced. Next time, someone will check the napkins for a half-chewed tuna roll.

Sure, we've been going a bit crazy with labeling things lately, but this time it's genuinely instructive. Here's where we stand with the things recently noticed on Paris Hilton's body:

Page Six gives a shout-out to its (probably outraged) readers for pointing out a little boo-boo that potentially could have ruined Beverly Hills Chinese joint Mr. Chow's health rating:

The bloodthirsty gossips at the Data Lounge are aflame with debate about accused Catherine Zeta Jones stalker Dawnette Knight. Is she the Beverly Hills "high class ho" with "college degrees" that "speaks three languages" and whose lawyer is secretly being paid for by Michael Douglas? Or is she a "Diamond Caliber Penthouse Panther skank HO" who's as "insane as Charles Manson"? Who knows, but the Data Lounge boards make for some truly great reading. We'll just have to trust the justice system to get to the bottom of the "high class ho" versus "skank ho" flap, once Knight wakes up from her nap and her trial continues.

Submitted for your examination: The June 2004 cover of celebrity reciprocal-handjob rag Interview, and the cover of the Aug. 19th issue of Rolling Stone, where she's looking a lot less chesty. Did Lindsay Lohan get—gasp gasp—a breast reduction? OK, maybe not. But she did tell RS that "if you say you're a Democrat, that'll turn off Republicans, and that's half of your fan base," so maybe she's trying to be everything to everybody. Give the breast men something one month, and then throw a bone to fans that like their teen queens with a little less on top. So savvy at such a young age, but God, those new, small breasts are totally fake!

Defamer is committed to bringing you the minute-to-minute status of Jake Gyllenhaal and Kirsten Dunst's recently-disintegrated relationship and then feeling vaguely dirty about it afterward. The ex-couple were just spotted at Joan's on Third and briefly discussed their love life with the restaurant's owner. Jake was overheard saying that "Things are constantly changing. We love each other very much."

The Superficial has a couple of sets of photos of Paris Hilton's mystery bruises, which the NY Post reports she suffered at the hands of recently dumped boy-bander Nick Carter. Only Paris, Nick, a possible roomful of bystanders, and whatever minor demon to whom Carter signed over his pretty soul for brief fame really know what happened. We'd just like to note that the little patch on her ass (birth control, we're assured) was a brilliant distraction from the unsightly bruises. A lesser celebutante would have spackled on some concealer and walled herself inside the mansion until she healed.

Usually we're more interested in what stars are putting up their noses, veins, or anuses, but this rear-view picture of Paris Hilton leaving a Hollywood club has us wondering what's on the outside of her ass for a change. Is she trying to keep cigarettes out of her mouth or babies out of her skinny womb? Nicoderm or Ortho-Evra? Or is the pharmaceutical industry testing an anti-skank patch? If so, doesn't seem to be working. Maybe we can slap a few on Britney and increase the study's sample size.

The Defamer correspondent on Rabble-Rousing, Slovenly Directors Dining Out in Hollywood checks in with this brief report starring everyone's favorite man of the people, Michael Moore:

How exactly do the offspring of ex-Disney executives continue to land high-profile actress bed-buddies? It would be cynical to insist that it's only because the moglets have all of Daddy's golden-parachute money to throw around. Previously, we had David Katzenberg (son of miniature DreamWorks head Jeffrey, who was famously let go by Disney) rocking the bony world of a jailbait-y, pre-rehab Mary-Kate. Now People reports that UCLA undergrad Chris Ovitz, spawn of erstwhile uberagent (and Disney-fired) Michael Ovitz, is shacking up with Eliza Dushku. Michael Eisner's three sons are gonna get so laid once he gets canned!

How do you know when a publicist is lying? She's not flat on her back in an open casket. Page Six reports that Elektra star Jennifer Garner returned from the spoiled world of movie stars to the somewhat less spoiled world of TV stars and demanded a bigger, bling-ier trailer with a satellite dish on the Alias set. Naturally, her rep, Nicole King, issued a string of denials and explanations. Defamer translates and analyzes this latest instance of publicist-speak.

We issued the challenge and you responded with (somewhat frightening) enthusiasm. We further thank you for decoding Ted's prose on your own, as he was pretty tough on the mother tongue today. We're still looking for that secret "randomize" function in Microsoft Word that gives The Awful Truth its particular flair.