In case you hadn't heard, momager extraordinaire Dina Lohan's new reality show was sadly slammed in the ratings by Sheen Sperm-aversive blabbermouth Denise Richards in the ratings. But before weeping for the runner-up, don't forget: Dina still officially wears the crown of Mother of the Year! They gave her a trophy and everything! Yes, "they" are a group of cleavage-baring Long Island moms with fake tans and nails as long as their list of ex-husbands, but a title is a title. Which is why Defamer Video Vixen Molly McAleer has put together a rather inspiring series of moments from last night's second episode, in which we learn three very important lessons on parenting from, that's right, the Mother of the Year. Our favorite and most valuable parenting rules as taught to us by Dina herself:

When she's not busy winning over the likes of Verne Troyer, Molly McAleer is hard at work bringing you each evening's To Do's. For tonight's installment, she decided to go back to a well that still has plenty of water left in it. That's right, back by popular demand, it's another Harryhausen-meets-Hepburn stop motion classic. Enjoy!

What would happen if Hollywood’s most boy-crazy, sex-obsessed serial dater hooked up with Hollywood’s most lady-loving, satin-sheet-sex-obsessed player of all players? Well, for one thing we’d write about it. For another thing, the couple in question would most likely spend a sample evening locked in a private New York bar’s room, lorded over by a bodyguard just because they were so frisky they needed 20 minutes to themselves...that very second. Something else they might do? At a private concert thrown by Prince at his infamous party palace, they might escape immediately after feeding each other that always seductive aphrodisiac, bread pudding, into the “labyrinthe corridors leading to [Prince’s] basement” and do, well, what these two stars in question apparently do best: the dirty. Join us after the jump to put some faces to these places:

Sunday LAT magazine readers were treated to a personal essay penned by none other than Sex and the City writer/director/inner-gay Michael Patrick King. The point of his story, we think, is how being true to oneself in show business often comes at the expense of being shitcanned by a superior who'd rather you be true to them. But we came away with another message entirely: That even the Man Who Toppled Spielberg can still harbor the kinds of career insecurities that would cause them to omit all the satisfying name-naming from their tale of comeuppance:

There's a nifty collection of work gathering over at The Hollywood Temp Diaries, a new-ish blog that is pretty much exactly what it says it is. And while it's not quite the instant party promised by loathetastic blogging neophyte Peter Bart, we've taken to anticipating author "Temp X"'s weekly blind-item quizzes — the best of which has us furiously parsing out the TV exec dumb enough to give away ignorance about one of his/her own network's biggest hits. We hate to give away the real blind item from the writer's multiple-choice query, but curiosity wins out 10 times out of 10; follow the jump and place your bets:

With every passing week, the developing relationship between John Mayer and Jennifer Aniston begins to feel like one of those soap operas we used to watch before vowing never to watch another soap opera again. In the pilot, we viewers were hooked and enticed by Aniston’s fembot nipples and Mayer’s tattooed tricep, the beachside love affair reeling us in just like the first episode of Paradise Island. The sophomore effort’s plot involved the first climactic turn of events: John was “bored”! Jen was “clingy!” In this week’s episode, the relationship has reached that rosy point in which the new-ish couple begins introducing each other to their Friends. Literally. As the Daily Mail reports, Mayer has become part of that fun little sixsome we’ve loved, hated and grown indifferent towards, inducted by Aniston into bosom buddy Courteney Cox’s strict evaluation system. See how John’s infamous O-face fared with Cox after the jump.

So how does a reliable wombsource like Entertainment Tonight get a story as important as Angelina Jolie's impending delivery so wrong, they become the laughingstock of the entire celebrity-birth-exclusives circuit? In the days since misreporting that Jolie had birthed twin girls named Isla and Amelie, the entire company has been subjected to a non-stop barrage of finger pointing and snickers. But how could they have made such a gaffe? Jossip explains how the disgraced celebrity news outlet was played by a savvy assistant impostor:

[Photo Credit: Splash Pics]

OK, everybody! Raise a glass and extend a warm blogospheric welcome to Peter Bart, the notoriously blogophobic Variety editor in chief who finally succumbed to the medium yesterday at PeterBart.com. We're not sure why he decided to jump in on a summer Sunday of all days, but thankfully, as bloggers, we're free to pass judgment without even asking. We just think of his pleasant column from last September ("[T]he new lexicon of blogdom is all about traffic, not about ideas. ... Here are all these folks sitting at home on their computers, and what's the biggest thing on their mind? Traffic. By the way, I don't have a blog. Not that I know of, anyway") and then his comments last week to Portfolio's Jeff Bercovici:

While the broadcast portion of yesterday's MTV Movie Awards was short on thrills, the same cannot be said for the red yellow carpet. Armed only with a laptop, an iPhone and a video camera, Molly McAleer and your Uncle Grambo did our darndest to bring you a sense of the hustle and bustle as a gaggle of celebs — which ran the gamut from A to Z-List — strolled and sprinted by us on their way into the Gibson Ampitheater at the still smoldering Universal Studios. The following video, culled together by our magical pixie of a videographer, conveniently boils down the two hours we spent baking in the hot California sun into two short minutes. From Rainn Wilson's special message to you, the loyal Defamer audience, to a horrifying closeup of the veins that punctuate Verne Troyer's bald dome, kick back and relax with our SPF 100 recap of last evening's pre-show festivities. [MTV Movie Awards]

When the Count and Countess of Scientology throw a party, they do not set out plastic lawn chairs and serve crustless honey-drenched finger sandwiches. No, when TomKat decide to invite all of their friends and frenemies (and even some enemies!) over for a daytime soirée, the Knights of Hubbard throw the kind of party that puts everyone from the Royal Family to Donatella Versace to shame. On Saturday afternoon, TomKat decided to congratulate themselves on purchasing yet another of their many torture chambers loving households in Beverly Hills by hosting the likes of Kirstie “I Should Be Dead” Alley, Oprah “Never Forget” Winfrey, Victoria “Posher Than Katie” Beckham, and Jennifer “Marc Is Sick Again” Lopez. And putting aside Suri’s adorably Croc-like sandals and her ongoing tendency to appear just as frightened of her father as the rest of the world, this A-list party’s most impressive attributes were the pimped out rides. After the jump, a collection of the invitees in their modes of transportations, and a sampling of just how much security goes into protecting their Friends and Foes from Xenu’s ominous Orwellian eye:

[Photo Credit: Getty Images]

·Family Guy figured out a way around the Emmy policy that has always forced them to identify their show as either an animated or comedy series: They've classified their hour-long Star Wars parody episode as a "special," allowing them to now lose in both categories. [Variety]
· Overblown U.S. summer movie product continues to dominate the planet, as Indy 4 and SATC pull in $71.5 million and $39.2 million, respectively, and European boys and girls start showing up to school emulating Greaser LaBeouf and oversexed, 40-something fashion-whores. Oops—never mind. They always dressed like that. [Variety]
· Rob Marshall bid adieu to ICM, and headed directly into CAA's jazz-hand-shaking embrace, a deal consummated over a delicious babies, lox, and cream cheese brunch. [Variety]
· The Simpsons' cast met Fox half-way, accepting $400,000 per episode for the next four seasons. We'd like to take this moment to remind you that money doesn't always buy happiness, however, as evidenced by the unmistakable sadness behind Dan Castellaneta's eyes. [THR]
· Bryce Dallas Howard is close to signing on as John Connor's wife in Terminator Salvation: The Future Begins, a role vacated by Charlotte Gainsbourg due to a "scheduling conflict"—a loose translation of a French idiom literally meaning "to wake up to the stench of a money-lined outhouse and finally come to your senses." [THR]

The once-in-a-generation inferno that conveniently cleared Universal's backlot on Sunday wasn't without its share of withering casualties; as noted here this morning, the New York street exterior, Back to the Future courthouse and the studio tour's King Kong exhibit were among the most lamentable (and well-insured) studio features to burn to the ground. Potentially worse yet was Universal's "video vault," which was responsible for no small part of the billowing black plumes welcoming movie-loving tourists to Hollywood, and which got us hoping — or praying, rather, on our knees, crying and everything — that maybe The Sting II or Ghost Dad might be lost to the happiest high flames of Hell we'd ever seen.

There's one person apart from shareholder John Malone who stands to lose when IAC is broken up: Alex von Furstenberg, adopted son of the internet conglomerate's boss, Barry Diller. The shaved-headed socialite, Diane von Furstenberg's son by her first gay husband, will still inherit a large part of his adoring stepfather's fortune. But after IAC is divided into five, Alex von Furstenberg may have trouble securing the front-row seats at Lakers games that are such a mark of social status in Los Angeles, where von Furstenberg has lived since 2005. He's been relying on Diller's office to cadge tickets to the bastketball games from Ticketmaster, the online ticketing service which IAC is spinning off. The IAC boss will remain chairman of Ticketmaster after the split, but one peons still hopes Diller and his relatives will no longer be able to use the service as a personal favor bank.

Primetime inevitability Kelsey Grammer's hard-partying past has finally caught up with him, as the 53-year-old actor suffered a "mild heart attack" while vacationing at his Hawaiian home. According to Star magazine, the actor was swimming in Kona (by contrast, ETOnline claims he was paddleboating at the time, then gave birth to twins) when his "heart stopped for a few seconds." He was later airlifted to Honolulu for tests and observation, and will be released soon: "Kelsey is doing fine now and he will be going home tomorrow," [flack Stan Rosenfield] said. Not since the Grammers were paid by Glaxo Wellcome to promote awareness of Irritable Bowel Syndrome—only to later learn the drug they were promoting made symptoms worse and could sometimes prove fatal—has the couple been so energized by a medical cause. Let the Lipitor-shilling commence! [Star]

What is it about MTV awards ceremonies that brings out so many female celebrities' inner hooker? Normally demurely dressed stars like good girl Anne Hathaway and Charlize Theron both showed up on the red carpet looking like a dominatrix-for-hire and a Heidi Fleiss escort circa 1990, respectively. Megan Fox stepped outside her rep as being a poor girl's Angelina Jolie by attempting to dress like a cupcake, but the frilly underskirt just said Little Pink Ride Your Hood, and The Hills resident scandalista Audrina Patridge donned a skin-tight, midnight blue satin one-strap number paired with ironed black hair that looked eerily like what we suspect Marilyn Manson wears in drag. So why pick last night to debut their diaper-length hemlines and S&M costumes? Look no further than a closer peek of Lindsay Lohan's totally unintentional panty-flash for answers, and the rest of these ladies of the night after the jump:

Two years after Disney executives nudged Brittany Murphy before a roomful of gathered press, then detonated a confetti-filled landmine which left one Reuters photographer legless from the knees down, comes news that the once white-hot Hollywood Was-Girl has been replaced by order of Disney animation head John Lasseter as the voice of Tinker Bell in that sprite's direct-to-video adventures. Explains hollywood-newsroom.com:

As if the indie film climate wasn't poisonous enough with Picturehouse and Warner Independent biting the dust last month, another recent Oscar-winner is on life-support after a pair of lawsuits crashed down on it in the last week. Troubled distributor ThinkFilm, whose owner David Bergstein and corporate sibling Capitol Films have faced an infamous series of production stoppages over the last month, is now ensnared in a pair of lawsuits from ad media buyers claiming they're owed $4.5 million in outstanding fees. A troubling breakdown of the debts follows after the jump.

[Photo Credit: Splash Pics]