"Look, we both know that no one's buying into our relationship. Oprah was a fucking disaster. Would it have been so hard for you to come on stage without me putting you in a half-nelson and marching you on stage like you were about to face a firing squad? Well, now we're both fucked. I'm invoking the emergency clause, and as you're well aware, you're contractually obligated to go along with me as we step it up another notch. Yes, moving in together. Yes, engagement. And yes, Scientology. All of it. And I'll set you up with some bigger people at CAA, but first you've got to show a little enthusiasm, OK? I don't like all this making out stuff any more than you do, but you've gotta lose the condom on your tongue. Sooner or later, some paparazzi's gonna catch that on film, it's gonna wind up on the internet, and then we're gonna need to have that little scuba-diving accident we talked about. Oh, for L.Ron's sake! I hate thinly-veiled death threats. I have to get back to the Centre and knock out some Thetans. And yes, you're coming with me."

He's an Oscar-winning director whose mega-budget historical epic flopped, and now recently popped in Beverly Hills for a DUI and drug possession.

The world has now been made aware that Paris Hilton, the closest thing we'll ever see to a being made of pure, uncut fame, is engaged to Greek shipping heir and Hilton self-love franchisee Paris Latsis. And you know what?

We've heard that Tom Cruise is a very hands-on star and producer, but does he really need to bother with things like one-sheet design?

Lindsay Lohan's father was sentenced to prison today in New York, receiving 1 1/3 to 4 years for a medley of crimes, including the highly entertaining (though, sadly, highly illegal) footwear-based assault of his brother-in-law. Lohan's publicist is secretly thrilled, knowing that she can now abandon her usual arsenal of fake illness-based excuses for the actress's antics in favor of ones rooted in the stresses of having her father in jail.

Just days after transforming his body into kinetic poetry on Oprah to express his supposed ardor for Katie Holmes, Tom Cruise sat down with Access Hollywood's Billy Bush to discuss the object of his love that no one questions: the Church of Scientology. The half-hour long special, "Tom Cruise: Man on a Mission," (which included the actor's now-famous takedown of Brooke "Look At Her Life" Shields), featured the fun-loving, furniture-abusing Cruise taking a back seat to a freakishly intense, psychiatry-hating zealot. Cruise on the evils of psychiatry:

We don't have the heart to do another side-by-side, but you all probably remember what she looked like in a bikini before she shed all of that troublesome "baby fat." Whoever does her next movie's going to need to digitally restore her rack to avoid scaring the children.

Perhaps your flood of guesses will finally help us put the Mystery of Toothy Tile behind us. Check in with One Multimedia Blind Vice before going on to your answers:

We're getting an uneasy feeling that not enough of you are taking a moment in your busy days to Do The Cruise. To help get the blood flowing, why not take a look at TVGasm's full-motion video montage, complete with subtitles and jaunty soundtrack by Guster?

A reader dumps out the contents of the gift bag from a certain author/A-list war bride's book party for the whole internets to see. Unsurprisingly, the gratis knickknacks blur the line between the sublimely ridiculous must-have accoutrements of Hollywood wifehood and objects of ironic, yet somewhat conflicted, roman a clef writer scorn:

Wherein we invite our readers to grab their pick-axes and hack away at the blind item rocks strewn along the dusty highways of humpy E! gossip taskmaster Ted Casablanca. This week, a special treat: Ted returns to Toothy Tile Country, the site of his greatest gossip triumphs. Boomerang your way through One Multimedia Blind Vice:

An operative informs us that at last night's special preview of The Island, suited agent and studio exec-types were seen "falling to one knee and pulling in their arms and punching the ground and/or doing the two-handed arm grab with one another—all in imitation of Cruise on Oprah." You heard it here: Everyone's doing the Cruise! Engage your closest cubicle-mate in some two-handed wrestling, throw your arms in the air (pretending that you just don't care is optional) and yelp about the intensity of your feelings for each other, jump up and down on your boss's couch—hell, go fucking nuts and pin your assistant's hands behind her back and march her around the office like a grudging love-slave. You won't want to be left out of the new sensation Cruising across the Hollywood nation!

Yesterday, MTV posted a story about Dave Chappelle's quiet return to the country that drove him to crack crazy to intentions-checking (making it prehistoric in blog time, so please excuse us for finally getting around to reading it tattooed on the ass of a triceratops), but this is the first we're hearing about it:

Yes, we know that Burt Reynolds slapped a dude for admitting he hadn't seen the original The Longest Yard. (You've probably already seen this elsewhere by now, but we keep getting e-mail about it, so there it is.) Here's our proposition: We will pay a ten dollar bounty (or "honorarium," if you want to get fancy or should a bounty prove illegal) to anyone who can induce Reynolds to kick them in the ass by telling him that Stroker Ace was easily his best work. Visual proof will be required, but hey: ten bucks.

Having blatantly ignored our exhortations to pay better attention to contemporary fashion and napalm the 80s out of his walk-in closet, hacky The Island director/amateur philosopher Michael Bay is once again forced to walk the sartorial plank of the Fauxteur Fashion Minute:

· Michelle "Who?" Monaghan signs on to star in Mission: Impossible 3 as Tom Cruise's love interest. Put on your tinfoil helmets, kids, we're going for a quick ride: Is it just us, or does she look a wee bit like Katie Holmes? (The brunette one in the pics, duh.) [THR]
· Half of the legendary, classy-movie producing duo Merchant & Ivory died suddenly in London today. Hint: It wasn't Ivory. Statements to follow. [THR]
· Sopranos creator David Chase admits to the New Yorker that he might be able to squeeze a seventh season out of his lovable mobsters—and, of course, many more millions out of HBO. [Variety]
· Fox takes the season's ratings title in the 18-49 demo, CBS dominates overall and those watching on the community TV in the nursing home, ABC makes a heroic comeback, and NBC...well, let's just say that Les Moonves has just messengered Jeff Zucker a tape of Deliverance with Zucker's face superimposed on Ned Beatty's squealing mug. [Variety]
· SAG/AFTRA members voting on strike against video game companies, which do not pay "residuals for the use of actors' voices, likeness and performance in video games." Also, they have shitty craft service. [THR]

When we first read in today's Rush & Molloy column that US Weekly reports in its new issue that Disney's paid a million bucks to make Lindsay Lohan's then-jiggletastic rack more family-friendly in Herbie: Fully Loaded through the magic of digital alteration, we thought that maybe someone had taken our Herbie previewer's joke about the necessity of downsizing and ran with it. But after comparing (click the above picture to see two side-by-side treatments) some stills of old shots from the Herbie set left laying around the internets and the new, official ones on Disney's movie site, the case can be made that the starlet has been digitally debazoomed. Were our spy's feelings on Lohan's chest indicative of other test screenings, prompting Disney to childproof her rack? We don't have time to find out, we're on our way to Church to see if our priest has any insight about where our life went so horribly awry.

Not even testifying in a child molestation trial is enough to flip Jay Leno's "off" switch, as the gloriously bechinned talk show host cracked wise as a defense witness for Michael Jackson:

Finally, some closure.

· We really hate doing this, but if we don't slap Page Six's wrist once in a while, they'll keep touching us in the naughty place without leaving five bucks on the nightstand: Where do you suppose the Sixies heard about the Patrick Whitesell wedding? At least sign our name to the card if you send them some napkin holders.
· By now you've certainly seen this (we didn't want to post an animated GIF and get blamed for anyone's seizures), but just in case: Do no attempt to pet the Cruise [via goldenfiddle]
· Dear Peter Mehlman: Crash was awful. Those people who talked through the whole movie did you a favor. Send them a fruitbasket. [via LAObserved]
·Hollywood Interrupted's Mark Ebner unearths the Norah Jones-Charlie Brown connection.