Before a flawlessly put-together mob of angry Gays storms the courtyard of the 8000 Sunset shopping complex to topple the 68-foot statue of Jennifer Hudson they have erected in her honor, the star of Dreamgirls has released several statements intended to counter remarks attributed to her yesterday in a Dallas gay newspaper in which she allegedly called homosexuality "a sin." Her MySpace blog entry puts her current mood at "depressed," and goes on to say that "some paper is saying that I have a problem with gay people. Its just mean and wrong... Anybody that knows me, knows that just ain't true." A second statement, sent to The Advocate (whose current cover features Hudson) and forwarded to us, had this to say:

Lindsay Lohan's recent penchant for unedited, rambling, Blackberry-distributed manifestos has given us a newfound appreciation for succinct publicist-authored statements trying to minimize the harm that certain club-haunting, infant-neglecting, panty-eschewing clients are doing to their images. Take, for example, this note posted to BritneySpears.com last night: In an efficient six sentences, fans learn that sure, Spears might be overdoing it with the partying, but she's just stretching her legs after a two-year imprisonment by screaming babies and a deadbeat househusband, and is now ready to calm down a bit and rediscover the joys of mass-market, lacy underthings, all without the intervention of the Clinton Administration. She's back, ya'll, at least until she undoes the whole thing by getting caught leaving one of her kids on the bar at Area while she heads off to the bathroom with Paris Hilton for half an hour of nose-powdering.

Lindsay Lohan's managed to stay out of Page Six for nearly an entire week (we imagine their office is so crowded with fruit baskets and bottles of high-end booze from publicist Leslie Sloane Zelnick that staffers can hardly move), but the troubled actress/non-sober AA spectator makes a triumphant return in today's edition, with excerpts from an e-mail in which Lohan calls out for high-powered help (Al Gore, the Clintons) in shifting the media's attention from her own, tabloid-attracting misadventures to unspecified "real issues." (Which we imagine would not include things she may have shouted at a former assistant at an open-bar event, unless they were somehow misdirected, angry expressions of her vague frustration with poverty in Africa.). Following so closely on the heels of Lohan's liberally circulated, tragically misunderstood eulogy for Robert Altman, Zelnick might have to take more proactive preventative measures to stop her suddenly prolific client from issuing future, image-damaging missives like this Fully Adequite Blackberry Manifesto without her supervision; at this point, simply confiscating Lohan's mobile communication devices probably won't get the job done, so a more drastic solution, like completely incapacitating the starlet's troublemaking, tiny-keyboard-tapping thumbs (whether by injected muscle paralyzers or a series of "accidents" with slamming car doors) is probably necessary. On to the e-mail:

· TVGasm has an exclusive! photo! essay! of the upstate New York scene of Rip Torn's DWI arrest, which resulted in one of the greatest celebrity mugshots ever taken.
Kevin Federline's "lack of public self-pity in the face of a lifetime to be spent as a punchline" game is ridiculous.
Paris Hilton wants kids, Britney doesn't seem to want hers anymore—we think there's a two-babies-for-a-bag-of-strawberry-blow exchange waiting to be made here.
The Office's Jenna Fischer's lack of mastery of an "I'm A Star In Public" Voice does nothing to diminish our love. We're glad she got more water, that's always an excellent choice, but she should ditch the husband. We're just sayin'.
· Gridskipper's Nazi Santa Tracker didn't have to look past Monday night's Studio 60 for its first Hitler Claus sighting.

When a representative from the Junior Hollywood Radio & Television Society (motto: "Biding our time until we get the call to join the Senior Hollywood Radio & Television Society") got in touch to invite us to the organization's annual holiday party, we jumped at the chance to send staff photographer Amy Rodrigue to cover the event, knowing that she might capture a memory card's worth of images that could be used for blackmail once the event's attendees achieve positions of power within the industry. We're saving the truly compromising ones for when we need a favor, but we're happy to share the rest of them with you now. Click here to view the gallery.

After Andy Dick's inevitable attempt at cashing in on the Michael Richards N-word controversy—by screaming it at a crowd at The Improv and proceeding to outrage precisely no one—comes the further inevitability of the apology that no one asked for or wanted, but which nevertheless serves a valuable purpose through its headline-generating properties alone:

There exists in all of Gaydom perhaps no greater paradox than the one represented by the inner struggle of the Bible-thumping diva, who would have no career if not for the Gays who idolize them, but whose strict religious upbringing teaches them that God looks unkindly on the shirtless, sodomizing hordes gazing worshipfully up at them from the dancefloors below. No, not even Jennifer Hudson, recently anointed Gay Man's Messiah for her up-from-the-American-Idol-ashes, Beyoncé-upstaging turn as Effie in Dreamgirls, is immune from the fanbase-alienating phenomenon. The Dallas Voice recently interviewed Hudson—who until now has expressed a very pro-Gay attitude in the media—and found the Next Big Thing still carries with her some old-fashioned attitudes:

· Music round-up: Primus at the Palladium; The Colour at the Troubadour; Jim Noir at Spaceland; Bloc Party and Panic! at the Disco at Long Beach Arena.
· Catch the Goethe Institute screening of the doc Darwin's Nightmare, which explores how a Nile Perch dumped into Lake Victoria wreaked havoc on Tanzania, before DreamWorks Animation snaps up the rights for a feature about a misunderstood CGI fish who eventually makes peace with his new neighbors.
· It's once again National Lampoon and CollegeHumor.com night with Ben Glieb at the Improv, where you can enjoy a evening of topical comedy without having to worry about a potentially explosive Michael Richards drop-in.

Radar has dug up the blog of alleged Vince Vaughn cuddle-buddy Mallory Lane, the Texas sorority girl who Star speculated broke up Vaughn and Jennifer Aniston's relationship, inconsiderately ignoring the vital input of a team of very well-remunerated publicists and managers who undoubtedly helped the couple decide it might be time to seek their own paths. While Lane has so far resisted the impulse to yank down her blog in the midst of this controversy and rob the world of a travelogue of her European wanderings, it does appear that she removed a single sentence from a Monday entry indicating that she met Vaughn (pictured above) in Budapest, a piece of writing considerably more discreet than the CC: All Gamma Chi Deltas Sisters masterwork of shared cigarettes, Hungarian sunrise, and celebrity heavy petting Star previously shared with us.

PrivacyWatch celebrity sightings are submitted by our readers, and are now posted several times a week—so send them in before attending to other basic human needs. Submit yours to tips[AT]defamer.com (please put "sighting" or "PrivacyWatch" in the subject line) and let everyone know about the time you saw a Mac attack a burrito.

Tonight on Extra: Dozens of paparazzi are disappointed when a Rolls Royce piloted by blonde wild-child Sharon Stone pulls up to Hyde, the passenger door slowly opens, and new partner-in-crime Better Midler pauses to spread her legs for the eager photographers as she prepares to exit the vehicle...revealing that her sexagenarian nether-regions are more than adequately covered by age-appropriate underthings. The duo is rudely turned away by the hotspot's disapproving doorman, who cites Midler's unacceptable modesty for denying them entry, and remains unmoved even by Stone's desperate promises that the pair will "totally make out and flash our tits" while dancing atop the venue's leather banquettes if allowed inside.

Two people have been arrested for stealing an Academy member's awards screeners and illegally posting them online. The DA has yet to file charges, but is expected to ultimately deny the MPAA's request that the pirates be summarily stabbed in the kidneys and left to bleed to death on the sidewalk in front of the Kodak Theatre. [Variety]
ABC shuffles its Wednesday schedule, sacrificing new comedies Knights of Prosperity and In Case of Emergency to the Nielsen gods by putting them up against the return of American Idol, hoping that better-loved hit Lost might be spared their wrath in its new 10 pm timeslot. [THR]
George Clooney's production company tries to help re-ignite Hollywood's stalled love affair with legal thriller typist John Grisham, buying the movie rights to produce the book The Innocent Man: Murder and Justice in a Small Town for Warner Independent. [Variety]
The IATSE/WGA feud over reality jobs heats up, as IATSE president Thomas Short accuses the WGA of "irresponsibility and incompetence" for delaying producer talks. Only nine more months left of bickering over accusations of Guild posturing and de facto studio work stoppages! Enjoy them while they last. [THR]
The week in ratings: NBC takes the weekly 18-49 demo victory, The CW posts its strongest numbers yet, ABC has the week's most watched show, CBS remains the overall most watched network, and Fox is just happy they're not being beaten by Telemundo. [Variety]

• Santa Loses It by aweekofkindness.com [YouTube via BestWeekEver.tv]

At yesterday's breakfast and sash-and-tiara fitting to celebrate THR's naming of resilient Sony Pictures co-chairman Amy Pascal as this year's Most Powerful Non-Penised Individual in Show Business, talk quickly turned from grand, mimosa-fueled plans of rising up and slaying the male oppressors who own the multimedia conglomerates for whom they thanklessly toil to a discussion of matters of much greater import to the Hollywood power-gal on the go:

When Lane Garrison's attorney announced that his client had consumed a single drink at the high school party he stumbled into Saturday night after randomly befriending three teenagers—then offered a Variety Pak of defenses for the ensuing fatal crash—surely he must have known that it wouldn't be long before the many party attendees would come forward with their own, eyewitness accounts of events. And short of developing a "they all drank from the same hallucinogen-laced punchbowl!" tactic, it seems that his One Drink Defense is not going to hold up:

Sorting through the fallout of yesterday's announced reorganization at Yahoo! is a job best left to tech-dirt-shovelling sister site Valleywag (we could never hope to equal our boss's facility with neon green arrows), but we've seen corporate reshuffling victim and former ABC bigwig Lloyd "Ever Hear Of 'Desperate Housewives' And 'Lost'? Yeah, Those Were Mine Before They Fired Me'" Braun's headshot enough times this morning to seek out what he had to say about leaving the internet company that hired him in an ill-conceived attempt to make their operation more "Hollywoody." Reports the LAT:

This (admittedly grainy) still comes from the most recent episode of Aaron Sorkin's No-Fun-Time Heavy-Handed Liberal Moralizing Hour — er, Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip. Not content with merely spouting his self-righteous decaffeinated Mametisms in ludicrous dialogue, he's also decided to provide "characterization" through a cast member's choice of reading material. Look closely and you'll see that D.L. Hughley, the name of whose character we would know if we watched the show, which we don't, because, you know, fuck Aaron Sorkin, is reading Harper's, that bible of liberal certainty favored by those who find the fast-paced delivery of NPR reporters to be too agitating. While we're sorry for Mother Jones that they failed to make the cut, we want to give props for Hughley, who somewho manages to actually look at a page of Harper's without immediately drifting into a deep slumber. That, friends, is acting!

Our sleep last night was fitful and feverish, so tormented were we by the queasy feeling that we would awake this morning to discover that Vince Vaughn and Jennifer Aniston's publicists had released a joint statement assuring their fans that despite the fact the two lovers would never again be seen in each other's company and forever maintain separate residences in different time zones, they were still very much committed to being a couple, robbing us of the sweet closure we desperately and naively hoped we'd achieved with yesterday afternoon's Page Six report of their break-up. Mercifully, Vaughn and Aniston's flacks have reached detente on the dissolution of their clients' relationship, confirming—exclusively!—to People that while the duo will presumably no longer engage in the strange acts of pantomimed intimacy they enjoyed during their year-long, tabloid-attracting association, they remain "good friends." Perhaps sleep will come more easily tonight.

· Good news! A military coup in Fiji hasn't interfered with the shooting of the next Survivor installment. Jeff Probst is going to be OK!
· Our pals at Deadspin have angered Lucious Pusey. Never anger Lucious Pusey.
Open your Christmas presents early, go to jail.
While lighting a match to disguise your flatulence problem is a considerate thing to do at home, it's not the way to mask your gaseous emissions while trapped in an aluminum tube 30,000 feet in the air. [via BWE]
If you're going to pretend to be retarded for 20 years, don't blow your cover on something like fighting a traffic ticket.
We apologize if you've already seen this video of a dog humping a cat's head, but we're duty bound to pass it along, as it was new to us.

As Hollywood Jewry continues to debate the prospects of Mel Gibson's Apocalypto at the box office and the awards season beyond, another ancient culture with a vested stake in the director's vision—Mayan descendants—are themselves torn over the prospect of the movie's release. Would Gibson's brutal interpretation of their civilization at its most violent serve to raise cultural awareness, or would it send the world scurrying, convinced that all relatives of the characters on the screen must also by association be members of a severed-head bowling league? The AP takes a look at yet another little known people on the brink of their own Hollywood coming party: