In the Girls Gone Wild Tour, Joe Francis' rack-flashing sideshow boards a giant bus, prowling America's highways and byways in search of a new crop of coeds willing to sacrifice just a few seconds of their own exposed, jiggling dignity in exchange for being part of something much bigger. Unfortunately, their titty vision quest was set off course when it hit a soft, cyclist-sized bump in the road:
It's been a big week for celebrity-stalking, lunatic sex-worker Dessarae Bradford, who's reached new levels of notoriety since bumrushing Colin Farrell in the midst of a Tonight Show interview. Bradford explained in a statement that the accosting was necessary in order to properly serve her latest lawsuit, and promised even more clarification at a press conference to be held yesterday at noon. NY Daily News JV gossip Lloyd Grove offers a report from the scene:
Dessarae Bradford, the woman who ambushed Colin Farrell on Thursday night's taping of The Tonight Show, has released a statement regarding the incident, and promises further deranged ramblings at a press conference downtown at noon today. As it turns out, Bradford insists she isn't a crazy stalker at all—she simply wanted to ensure Farrell was duly prepped for the court papers her "private pi guy / process server doug" would be delivering a few hours later. (Her insane suit, dismissed once already, claims that Farrell harrassed her with dirty phone calls and text messages, and, worst of all, failed to show up for a sex date, a blatant breach of make-believe contract for which he owes her $4,750.) From a statement released to the media and on her website:
Celebrity/stalker disagreements are almost always precarious matters—usually he-said/ she-screamed-incoherently affairs, with the truth lying somewhere in the gray area in between. In the case of John Cusack's alleged obsessor, Jennifer Leatherman, the actor filed and won a restraining order against the homeless 31-year-old, claiming she threw "long letters of interest over my fence in bags with rocks and screwdrivers inside." In an interview with the AP, however, Leatherman denied having catapulted the care packages into Cusack's yard, and resents the implication:
There's no use trying to make heads or tails out the living arrangements of Hollywood's rich and famous, where on any given Beverly Hills estate, you may find an aging trophy wife kissing her ex-husband hello just before she strolls over to the new life she's built in the guest house with the poolboy. For example, Jon Peters' ex-wife, Christine Forsyth Peters, has been living rent-free in his Bel Air mansion since their 1987 separation, after only two months of marriage. (They divorced in 1993.) Presumably, the arrangement had its "3 a.m. knock on the door" benefits, but Peters has decided the time has come for Christine and her adopted daughters to hit the road:
A Tennessee couple is convinced that Shadow, one of the furry stars of Disney dogsledding movie Eight Below, is actually Kolby, an Alaskan Malamute who went missing from their yard in 2004. It sounds like a crackpot accusation, until you consider that Shadow was found at a nearby Knoxville animal shelter by Sled Dog Rescue of Tennessee, who groomed him for the audition that led to his big break. (The entire story is recounted at the Rescue's website.) Kolby's owners are suing everyone they feel is responsible, including Disney, for conspiring to spirit away their beloved pooch and throw him onto a starmaking conveyor belt that turns good doggies into Hollywood assholes:
It seems every generation is cursed to its own iteration of the Black Dahlia nightmare: starry-eyed Midwestern girl steps off a bus with big hopes, but through a toxic combination of naivete and bad luck, falls victim in the worst possible way to the Hollywood dream machine. On February 16, 2003, "churchoing Michigan native" Kristi Johnson told her roommates that she was on her way to an audition; someone had approached her at Century City and promised her a role in the next James Bond movie. Her body was found 16 days later by hikers in a Hollywood Ravine, bound by shoelaces and covered with a sleeping bag. Police already had their prime suspect in custody:
We're not even going to pretend we've been keeping up with The Real World, having lost touch with the grandaddy of all drunken, jacuzzi-based documentary social experiments somewhere around New Orleans. Apparently, the current season is set in Key West, and cast member Paula Meronek (according to official materials, she's "a corporate slave by day, but makes up for it by partying relentlessly at night," and "still connected to her abusive ex-boyfriend." Fun!) has been arrested for allegedly having "bit her boyfriend several times when he refused to let her into their home early Sunday morning." The optimist in us can't help but feel that Meronek's cannibalistic crime suggests a baby step towards overcoming her anorexia, while Bunim/Murray productions must be at least partially thrilled to know that their aging, flagship series still carries enough weight to get the psychotic antics of their crazy bitch stars coverage on the national stage.
As if his life-altering run-in with a pink dildo-wielding lunatic weren't karmic payback enough, Girls Gone Wild visionary/rack-flashing videographer Joe Francis recently found himself on the receiving end of a punch to the face at a party in the Hills. The alleged assailant was an unidentified female partygoer, though the motives remain unknown. (We're thinking less violent, feminist Grrrl uprising, more, "Hey, you said if I showed you my tits and blew you, you'd introduce me to Leo!") In X17's video footage of the events immediately following the attack, a cavalry consisting of K-9 units and a firetruck arrive on the scene, as an outraged Francis points to his eye-level wounds and demands the woman and her companion be arrested. (We have no clue whether or not the assailants in question are the flustered, blonde duo scurrying away at the start of the video.) By the end, cooler heads prevail: Francis says to the gathered paparazzi that the event was "a misunderstanding," and drives off into the night. Never one to shy away from a golden guerrilla video opportunity, however, look for Francis' latest brainstorm, Girls Gone Wild: Fighting Mad to soon grace late night informercials, marrying the best of Gone Wild's drunken exhibitionism to the blood-and-bruise excitement of the burgeoning backyard wrestling and bum fight genres.
Any legal fracas involving Michael Jackson would be incomplete if it didn't quickly veer off into way-creepy territory, and the lawsuit brought against the entertainer by former business partner Marc Schaffel is no exception. Schaffel, a one-time gay porn producer, is suing Jackson for $3.8 million; during his testimony Friday, he blurted out something about Jackson putting in an order for some Brazilian orphans. Jackson's defense quickly denied the allegations, thought Fox 411's Roger Friedman claims there's a recording of the request:
Angela Borlaza, Marlon Brando's longtime nurse and companion, is suing his will's co-executors, claiming she was kept outside the room as a signature was coerced from his deathbed—perhaps even forged. That document gave full control of his estate to producer Mike Medavoy, who has plans to develop Brando's Tahitian island into a profitable resort. To help make sense of the complex legal wranglings, we thought we'd illustrate using the obvious parallels to a certain blockbuster currently in theaters and starring a digitally disinterred Brando, Superman Returns: Borlaza's story paints Brando as the frail, wealthy window Gertrude Vanderworth, while the alliteratively named Mike Medavoy comes off like a conniving Lex Luthor, guiding the actor's limp, pen-clutching hand across the signature line, only to rush off moments later to enact his maniacal offshore real estate development schemes.
The family of a teenage girl who claimed she had been drugged and raped at Nick Nolte's notorious Malibu home—an alleged mini Sin City that hosted days-long, drug-and-alcohol-fueled underage parties presided over by his son Brawley—has settled with the actor just days before their civil suit was supposed to go to trial:
Boy George's most notable achievement of late was his ill-advised move of calling the NYPD to his Manhattan apartment for a burglary, upon which he was immediately arrested for having 13 bags of blow sitting around in the open. George was offered a plea bargain that would only charge him with false robbery; he was then required to do five days of community service. It was a cushy arrangement, though not cushy enough, as he refused to involve himself in embarrassing, public leaf-gathering duties:
In what must be mortgage-payment time around the law offices of Lavely & Singer, the firm has issued their second celebrity vs. gossip industry lawsuit of the week. The copiously worded, 14-page document, made available for download by TMZ.com, basically boils down to the following sentiment: "Dear Star Magazine: How dare you say I look fat enough to be pregnant?! I'm suing you! Love, Reese Witherspoon."
In a courageous legal action that may once and for all deliver the famous from being preyed upon by opportunistic paparazzi loitering outside trendy La Cienega starfucker eateries, Bruce Willis is suing the photographer who claimed the actor "stiff-armed" him on his way inside Koi on June 13. Anthony Goodrich, the paparazzo in question, offered a videotaped testimonial of his version of the events to TMZ.com. Days later, video of the actual event surfaced, revealing the "stiff-arming" to be more of an "accidental arm brushing," followed by a profuse apology from Willis. The suit, available on The Smoking Gun, claims Willis "merely raised his hands to shield his eyes from the flash of the cameras of the stalker-paparazzi," that Goodrich's claims were "false and defamatory," and that Willis is seeking damages in the amount of "no less than One Million Dollars." Or, in paparazzi terms, two clear pictures of proud daddy Brad Pitt dipping the Chosen One's footsies in the Pacific Ocean, or one photo of Teri Hatcher caught mid-bite in the act of cannibalism.
When celebrity smut peddler, David Hans "Sultan of Sleaze" Schmidt, stumbled upon his ultimate score—ownership of a repossessed storage locker full of Paris Hilton's personal crap—the affable kingpin was happy to share his plan to turn her stacks of childhood photographs, multi-volume bedroom conquest journals, and worn-out toys (sex and otherwise) into millions of dollars. It would appear Schmidt has no takers yet, however, as the NY Daily News reports that he ambushed Hilton recently by waiting in line at a Macy's to buy an $80 bottle of her Skank de Toilette and get an autographed photo. It was all a pretense, however, to give him the opportunity to offer to sell her the booty back:
