A reader obliged us with some scans from the National Enquirer's Cameron-Diaz-Supposedly-Making-Out-With-Her-Producer spread (click image for a larger version). Our verdict: As wildly inconclusive as we hoped feared knew they'd be! If you look really closely at the one on the left, you can sorta kinda make out the silhouette of a nose and lips...but that would be really easy to Photoshop in...and her face could easily be on his shoulder instead of leaning in for a....[Sound of shotgun delivering blog editor sweet, sweet relief from having to look at questionable, blurry tabloid photography ever again]

Yesterday, we posted a report about the suspect parking habits of our favorite fauxteur, Brett Ratner, who seems to think that his lack of a natural-born facility with a camera constitutes a "handicap." Shortly thereafter, another report highlighting Ratner's questionable parking ethics promptly rolled in:

The issue of the National Enquirer that hits the stands today features pictures of Cameron Diaz allegedly making out with a man that is not boyfriend/finace/lifepartner/whatever Justin Timberlake. Here's the thing: The NE identifies the guy as Shane Nickerson, a producer on Diaz's better-world-through-bungee-jumping show Trippin'. And, conveniently for those of us with internet access, Nickerson has a blog where he defends himself and recounts how a reporter from the NE showed up at his front door to confront him with the story (make sure you read the whole post to get his side):

The Drudge Report, your source for incremental updates in the inappropriate sexual relationships of American Idol judge Paul Adbul, offers a new nugget: contestant Corey Clark claims he can ID a "distinguishing characteristic" on Abdul's body. Given the nature of his allegations, we're going to assume he's talking about the standard stuff: a third (or fourth) nipple, a vestigial tail, or an "Emilio Forever" tattoo in the vicinity of the pubis—but we're going to ignore that and offer our own wild guess (especially since Gawker already whipped out the barber pole joke). Abdul's lower abdomen contains a cassette deck, and when a lover inserts a cassingle of one of her top 40 hits, she spends the next three minutes involuntarily lip-syncing to the sounds of her past like a possessed Teddy Ruxpin. Hey, everyone's idea of foreplay is different. Don't judge.

We think that we've finally figured out what caused the tragic rift between Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie. Richie felt that she and the naturally skinny Paris were drifting apart; she needs a friend who can better relate to the experience of having one's internal organs devour themselves in a desperate search for nutrition. Lindsay just gets her, ya know?

The morning of Day Three at the Ariannaville Times-Picayune showcases a profound breakthrough, as Huffington drags waterbedridden producing legend Robert Evans into the blogosphere by his gold chains and chest hair:

· Today on the Ariannaville Times-Picayune: Adam McKay (you know him as Will Ferrell's personal writer) on Talladega, subtly plugging Talladega Nights but never outright saying the title, David Rees cheekily wonders when he gets to meet Gwyneth and slip Larry David his screenplay, and King Tut looks alarmingly like a bald version of Jaye Davidson in Stargate.
· Bloggers: The Sitcom: Naturally,"No pay, but DVD provided."
· Morgan Freeman wins the rights to morganfreeman.com, thus freeing him from the inevitable indignity of having his identity hijacked by Golden Palace
· Scientology Losing Ground to New Fictionology
· Ben Stiller: "the best-looking Jew in showbiz." Oh, don't worry, the guy who said this was just kidding.

Another piece of Brett Ratner's weekend, which was capped when he helped consecrate a nightclub in the new Wynn hotel in Vegas by grinding his private parts against an attractive woman as photographers snapped away, falls into place as a reader reports on the fauxteur's Friday whereabouts:

We really don't know what to say about Liquid Generation's latest ripped-from-the-headlines Flash opus, which features a tighty-whitey clad Tom Cruise musing about his sexuality while wooing Katie Holmes with 50 Cent's "Candy Shop." How about this? Guys, even if your bones wind up ground into an omelet at the Celebrity Centre's Sunday brunch and devoured by lawyers, it was all worth it for the padlock on Holmes' panties.

Before everyone flips out about how inappropriate this headline is, they need to realize that Chocolate Hole's favorite couple met at a tsunami telethon. It's not tasteless, it's adorable! Also, it's perfectly apt: When we heard the news about the secret wedding, we instantly wished that our village would be wiped out by a tidal wave before we had to see them on the cover of People.

Despite our crushing apathy (picture a decommissioned battleship resting atop of our chest, if you need the visual) regarding the news that Renee Zellweger secretly married a country music personage we'd never even heard of, it's no less annoying to roll over in the morning and nudge a pile of twigs and a black cowboy hat. The rumors are already flying, and one reader pointed out this passage in the NY Post that contains a possible clue to unlocking the secrets of the shock-nuptials:

In a bit of news that you won't be able to avoid without locking yourself in a sensory deprivation chamber outside of a primitive village in the jungles of Papau New Guinea (nearby cannibal tribe optional), Renee Zellweger has secretly married a country music star whom we've never heard of. From what we gather, he looks good in a cowboy hat (if you're into that sort of thing) and is almost certainly not Jack White in a clever disguise designed to fuck with the tabloids.

· "As the minstrel-accented pixie, he kept busting up the crew with his profane ad-libs over footage of Woods attempting a putt. ('Show 'em how n——r you are! Stick your d—k in the hole!')" Newsweek attempts to find out what's wrong with Dave Chappelle (pressure? drugs?), but only succeeds in making us miss his show even more than we already do.
· The LA Weekly's Nikki Finke pens a love note to the Huffington Post...if your idea of a love note involves having the recipient's heart ripped from their body and mailed to them in a box with a note that says, "Fuck you."
· Steven Spielberg weeps at a Star Wars screening, probably because he wished his summer blockbuster had docile actors and CGI characters instead of a star that's trying to convert his crew to Scientology.
· Doing voiceover in The Incredibles: just like fighting apartheid, but with better craft service!
· Angelina Jolie is headed back to Africa. This time, however, she's on a mission of peace, not a mission of noisy sex-making. [second item]

Lost in all the excitement over Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie's public sex tour through the jungles of Africa and Moroccan bazaars is the psychological effect a single mother's relationship can have on a child, especially one who's been saved from a Cambodian orphanage and transported to the fast-paced world of Hollywood. If young Maddox doesn't one day wind up clutching a sniper rifle atop the Paramount water tower, consider it a miracle.

Thanks to a ubiquitous ad campaign, everyone knows the maxim "What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas." Less well-known is its corollary, "If you allow Brett Ratner to dry-hump you at the opening of a Vegas club, the world will know."

Call off the Jennifer Garner WombWatch! While we were rolling on Saturday and hugging tourists on the Third Street Promenade, one kind stranger escaped our chemically-induced love-clinch and asked if we were so happy because Ben Affleck and Jennifer Garner announced that they've created another human life deep underneath her Alias-toned abs. So now that we're finally hugged out and back in front of the internets: Huzzah! We're especially elated that the couple's canny PR team observed the Order of Operations for a celebrity knocking-up: engagement first, fertilized eggs second.

· OC Idiots catches Nick Carter in some drunken Cinco de Mayo antics. A Mexican wrestling mask is involved.
· If these celebrity Scientologist types spent half as much time getting deprogrammed as they do defending Scientology, well, they'd probably be disappeared before any real progress was made. Nevermind.
· Ring-a-ding-ding, a woman accuses Sinatra of being a rapist.
· Paula Abdul drops in on SNL tomorrow night, will probably make out with Fred Armisen in a bad Corey Clark wig.
· Of course, it was only a matter of time before former lovers Abdul and Clark miraculously manifested themselves on food.

Picking up where she left off on the sets of Herbie: Fully Loaded and Just My Luck, Lindsay Lohan is once again demonstrating her professionalism and dedication to craft. This time, she's winning friends and influencing people on a video shoot for the Herbie soundtrack. A spy from the set reports:

"Hey, you got your incredibly hilarious, yet stereotype-riddled portrayal of a developmentally-disabled person in my coke and hookers!

"Listen, lady, neither of us is too excited about this arrangement, OK? You're an actress. Just fucking smile for the cameras, pretend that you can't keep your hands off me, and my associates in the cute, little sailor suits won't burn down your parents' house in Toledo. Are we clear? Oh, and my Church has the most effective non-pharmacological solution for oral herpes in the world. We're headed straight to the Centre once these shutter-monkeys have had their fill. Until then, I'm only kissing your ear."