As we all know by now, five-year lame duck Tonight Show host Jay Leno is among the all-star roster subpoened to be witnesses in the Michael Jackson child molestation trial. Realizing that the gag order imposed on people involved in the trial might impair Leno's ability to harmlessly jab at the legal circus in his monologue, his lawyers are asking for a clarification about what Leno can and cannot say; it appears that his first-hand knowledge from participating the trial will be off limits. For example:

Wherein we invite our readers to print out a copy of humpy E! gossip medium Ted Casablanca's online column, soak the page in a bubbling cauldron, and deeply inhale the resulting dishy vapors to divine the identity of his weekly blind item. Toil and trouble over One Derailed Diva Blind Vice:

Here's a story we just can't get excited about: Denise Richards is divorcing Charlie Sheen. (Does this smell like a preemptive publicity strike to anyone else?) After the water-tower-full-of-napalm that was the Pitt-Aniston split (and subsequent mindfucking of the public), this celebrity decoupling is hardly a fart in the bathtub of matrimonial disintegration.

We don't know what our operative was talking about—Vin Diesel had a, um, fine old time at his premiere party.

Media-stalking sister site Gawker's been talking to their monkey again, who's been whispering sweet monkey-nothings in their ear about the strange comings and goings of the on-again-off-again, super-non-couple Jennifer Aniston and Brad Pitt.

You'd think that after the photos of her bluntastic Thanksgiving celebration were scattered all over the internets, Lindsay Lohan might learn to avoid people who have websites. This Marquis Deja Du Livejournal entry claims that Lohan and her co-stars from Just My Luck crashed a party down in New Orleans, and everyone's favorite Barbie doll was allegedly caught engaging in some good, clean bathroom sex:

The NY Daily News's Rush & Molloy lead today's column with a healthy salad-tossing for the salad-impaired Kirstie Alley and her upcoming show:

The NYT profiles Edward Moss, the faux Jacko who'll star in E!'s dramatic reenactments of the Michael Jackson child molestation trial. And lest you think that things are a non-stop party for the world's preeminent MJ impersonator, the "life" can wear on a guy:

A quick round-up of selected gossip column coverage of Oscar party carnage:

We know that Nordic cultures have a fairly liberal attitude towards sex, but this morning, John Stamos's lawyer is feverishly searching for information about the statute of limitations on Finnish sexual assault laws, or at the very least, some kind of legal precedent allowing for the old "swap and fuck" maneuver. From Page Six:

To help prolong his career in the face of a failing marriage, Newlywed Nick Lachey took his publicist's advice to replicate wife Jessica Simpson from the DNA in a loose strand of hair and bring the resulting clone to the Vanity Fair post-Oscar party at Morton's. Unfortunately for Lachey, a raccoon and a basted turkey crawled into the incubator vat while he was growing his tabloid-baiting party date, and the results from the hybrid DNA were somewhat less than convincing.

We don't know where a supposedly "hacked" Sidekick sex tape of rap-rock afterthought Fred Durst came from, or whether it has anything to do with Sidekicks (as alleged), hacks, or Paris Hilton Sidekick hacks (it probably doesn't), but we know this: If we could, we'd uninvent the internet if it would put this particular genie back in the proverbial genie container, just so we would never have had to hear Durst urge his partner to "touch my balls and my ass," or to see the resulting reacharound*. Or Durst's "O" face (pictured). These psychic scars will never fade.

It took us days to finally push thoughts of Marcia Cross, Teri Hatcher, and Eva Longoria wrapped in the ultimate Desperate Housewives subplot (not to get too graphic here, but it involved a borrowed cup of flour, a Costco-sized tub of baby oil, and tiny-to-the-point-of-impracticality aprons), but then we got this glimpse of the Advocate cover that had originally kicked off the rumor binge, and we're forced to ponder Cross's sexual preference anew. Moving at the speed of magazine-light (and, we suspect, cheating by using a time machine), the Advocate has managed to splash a story about the rumor about Cross coming out in their pages on the cover of the very same issue that supposedly contained the story that spawned the rumor. Yes, we have a headache. And please, don't even consider the possibility that a savvy viral marketer from the Advocate planted the original rumor at the Data Lounge, lest your brain leak out of your ear.

· Finding a love interest for Will Smith in Hitch wasn't easy: Go black, and the Euro's won't buy tickets; go white, and red staters would burn down the multiplex or propose some kind of constitutional amendment. Apparently, Eva Mendes was exactly the right shade, since the constitution seems to be relatively intact.
· Note to Michael Lohan: Comparing yourself to OJ Simpson might help you sell your reality show to Fox (threatening murder really is the final frontier), but it probably won't help in court.
· Demi Moore as Summer's stepmom on The OC? TVGasm makes good use of IMDb.
· "Ultra-Orthodox Jews" aren't thrilled by Natalie Portman's movie makeout session. Join the club. We weren't thrilled that they edited all of her nude scenes out of Closer.

Forgive us, Lord, for it is late in the day and we are so very, very weak. And realize that we are trying, for we spent the last ten minutes debating whether or not to go with the title above or, "Whoa! I know reverse peristalsis."

Gigi Levangie Grazer, screenwriter, novelist, and Hollywood war bride of Imagine's Brian Grazer, offers the Rocky Mountain News a helpful guide to the intensive, potentially year-long beauty regimen that should be undertaken by any Oscar-quality arm candy worth the limo ride. A taste:

In the interest of reclaiming Defamer's inbox from the unprecedented deluge of completely unimpressed, nearly-unanimous responses, it's time to get to your blind item guesses. Hook up again with One Tanked Titty Blind Vice:

In a development so meta that it threatens to tear the very fabric of the celebutante-blogging continuum and suck all of Los Angeles into the darkest recesses of Tara Reid's reproductive system, several readers have pointed out that a Defamer post had appeared in Paris Hilton's hacked Sidekick e-mail—and, just to make sure that the heavens split and the Creator himself vomits lightning of disapproval from his Godhead, the post in question was an account of Hilton in a T-Mobile store after her Sidekick was stolen. We know, it's a lot to wrap your head around; the strain of trying to work out all the angles has left us unable to speak without a stutter for the last fifteen minutes. And forgive us for even calling attention to this story, but we haven't basked in this kind of reflected glory since we used our cameraphone to snap a picture of our manhood as mirrored by the side of a highly polished toaster.

Wherein we invite our readers to unlearn everything they every thought they knew about the English language, fully surrender to the prose Rapture of humpy E! gossip savior Ted Casablanca, and guess the identity of his weekly blind item. Ted's back on his game after nearly boring the gossip collective unconscious into Jungian annihilation last week, offering up a tale of a starlet who's down for anything after a drink or twelve. Chug from the bottle of One Tanked Titty Blind Vice:

Breaking! Robert Evans gets out of bed!