Demi Moore's publicist is still denying that Ashton Kutcher put his penis inside Moore, ejaculated, and that the sperm from said ejaculation then fertilized Moore's egg, resulting in a pregnancy. And, quite frankly, the rep is a little tired of denying it, OK? He snaps at Rush & Molloy:

· The world has officially gone three different flavors of batshit insane: Showtime will rush the Fat Actress Season One DVD into stores, presumably accompanied by a tour of video stores where Kirstie Alley will be challenged to eat and/or have sex with anything you put in front of her, emitting her trademark high-pitched whine the entire time.
· Hey, look, another one of those animated GIFs where Paris Hilton/Lindsay Lohan/Brad Pitt/small dogs pretend to talk on the phone!
· New Calcanis blogging fiefdom TV Squad argues that Arrested Development should be canceled, but in an ironic way that suggests that it shouldn't actually be canceled. No need to go burn down their blog, AD fans.
· Why is this so funny to us? Oh, probably because Wonkette is down in Austin, having parties thrown for her at SXSW, and we're about to go find out how much money we owe the government.
· Finally, you now have the opportunity to buy crap at JC Penney inspired by the crap you've long admired on Cribs!
· Oh, we nearly forgot: Bijou Phillips has at least one nipple.

Query Letters I Love, the blog that anonymously posts the ill-conceived pitch letters of the unhinged for all to see, presents a screenplay we'd like to see get made (although it's possible we've been blinded the brilliance of the title):

After finding out that Page Six has retracted its story about her alleged mixed-age grope-fest with actor/father-figure Bruce Willis, Lindsay Lohan tore at her clothes, yanked her own hair, and dove into a mud puddle to cleanse herself of the non-memories of the brief, ill-fated liason that never was.

According to People, Demi Moore's flack is already denying the pregnancy rumors: "Although having another child is something Demi would like to do, unfortunately she can't at this time say she is pregnant." That, dear readers, is about the weakest denial you will ever read. Better get to the Kabbalah Centre quickly, before they run out of blessed baby booties with one of God's 72 names on them. More interesting, however, is Ashton Kutcher's sleight of hand in deflecting the rumors by endorsing our pet theory about Mario Vazquez's mysterious American Idol exit:

It would be really easy to see these pictures of Nicole Richie having a quick tete-a-tete with a Porsche-driving pal in the middle of a curiously quiet street and have less-than-charitable thoughts about what's going on. There are many things Richie and her pal could be doing: discussing the Lakers game, commiserating about Paris Hilton's Sidekick disaster, trying to unravel the mysteries of Lost, whatever. Get your mind out of the gutter.

Star magazine is reporting that Demi Moore and Ashton Kutcher are going halfsies on a Kabbalah Bastard of Light™. The report says that she's eight weeks pregnant, but won't announce it officially until the third month—which leaves us with a good four weeks of half-hearted publicist denials. Since Star's report sounds like it might be the real deal this time (remember the other pregnancy rumors from back in June?), we really hope the flacks get creative this time. In fact, we'll even lend them a hand with a freebee. "The rumors that Demi is pregnant are completely unfounded. She's 42. Additionally, Ashton lacks the male reproductive system necessary to inseminate Demi; if you pull down his pants, he's smooth like a Ken doll."

· Everyone's naked! Come on, we've all seen Sharon Stone's breasts before. But not Sheryl Crow's. [Both links NSFW]
· Now starring: every actor in Hollywood as...Woody Allen!
· The NYT's Sharon Waxman digs through Tim Burton's Totally Unauthorized Garage Sale and finds...well, mostly the kind of crap you'd find at a garage sale. Predictably, some of the crap is starting to surface on eBay.
· Today's scary thought: Musclebound versions of Colin Farrell and Jamie Foxx will soon be unleashed on Miami's unsuspecting nightclubs. We suggest all clubbing women in the area start carrying tasers. [third item]

In this week's New Yorker, Tad Friend submerges himself in the William Morris shark tank to profile president Dave Wirtschafter, "exemplar of a new breed of Hollywood agent." The magazine's website features a Q & A where Friend discusses his harrowing journey amongst the bloodthirsty tenpercenters with writer Ben Greenman. Here, Friend breaks down the time-honored poaching ritual:

Despite initial appearances and a bedeviling name, the Blue Tights Adventure Network is not a gay dating website. Still, Superman director Bryan Singer takes an interest and sends in some video from Sydney, featuring the superhero auteur himself fixing his hair, talking about his interests, and men flying around in harnesses. How clever of him to send a video that can easily be repurposed for that other kind of site!

The press has been following breathlessly all of the post-Oscar comings and goings of everyone's favorite up-from-Camaros-on-blocks, two-time winner Hilary Swank: her victory meal, her vacation plans, and now, her fruit-smuggling and subsequent protest of fruit-smuggling fines. All of this attention has resulted in a wave of SwankLash which has become so pervasive that even Katie Couric is taking shots at her on the Today Show. Notes a reader:

The rumor placing Lindsay Lohan and Bruce Willis in a "mixed-age" grope at a screening of Hostage has already passed through the publicist denial phase, but does it seem like Willis is trying to rationalize something?

A reader catches recently-split, unbearably adorable couple Chris Klein and Katie Holmes reenacting a scene from the Aniston-Pitt mindfucking handbook:

Before you start wondering how Michael Jackson snuck a gun into the courtroom in his pajamas (come on, there's hardly room for a gun and the boys choir in there!) and instigated a bloody, Tarantino-style standoff, please, don't fret—Jackson and the jury have the day off while their lawyers argue about lawyer stuff. In the absence of fresh Jacko news, Drudge is hyperventillating about something else entirely.

Yesterday's report about the alleged "mixed-age grope" between Lindsay Lohan and fading action star/father stand-in Bruce Willis was a lock for a swift publicist denial. From Page Six:

· Cameron Diaz fall down, go boom? She really should wear a helmet when using that sex swing.
· A former development VP is suing Madonna and the film arm of her entertainment empire for sexual harassment. Exactly how many cone bras and cases of Kabbalah water is it going to take to settle this out of court? She should hold out for cash, we're going to guess the bras have some mileage on them.
· The battle over Deep Throat's box office rages on. And on. [reg. req'd.]
· Fun fact: When TV people sit down to answer questions about their show, harping on the fact that no one watches it isn't considered very polite.

Once again, the incredible volume of your responses has completely overwhelmed our inbox, so it's time to end the game and post your guesses. Quickly, run naked down the halls of One Adorable Blind Vice:

In case you were worried that Michael Jackson was going to have his $3 million bail revoked and get tossed in the clink, he finally showed up to court minutes after his arrest grace-period expired (with an appropriately dramatic, hobbling entrance), and the trial resumed. Pictured: An umbrella protects a pajama-clad Jackson from the sun's harsh rays, which would have cooked the infirm, Crisco-basted pop-star like a turkey.

Wherein we invite our readers to pour themselves a pint of the fermented prose of humpy E! gossip brewmeister Ted Casablanca and chug the fine, handcrafted ale that is his weekly blind item. This week, Casablanca abandons the hot, gay sex that's a staple of the item and replaces it with hot, gay hand-holding. Oh yeah, the hand-holder in question is supposedly a straight dude, but you knew that already, didn't you? Pinch the cheeks of One Adorable Blind Vice:

Sounds pretty sensational, doesn't it? But this is exactly why you have to click through to the actual story, not just read Drudge's headline, stare at his hypnotic siren, and succumb to the impulse to leap from your desk chair while making WOO WOO WOO noises.