The always-reliable British tabloids are reporting that a nude, pill-popping Lara Flynn Boyle recently terrorized fellow passengers on a flight from L.A. to London, roaming the first-class cabin halfway through the trip, waking a man, and trying to get into bed with him as she told him to prepare for landing. As much as we'd love to believe these tales of airborne, drug-addled celebrity antics, there's usually a logical explanation. In this case, the accosted man probably fell asleep watching Attack of the Undead, Anorexic, Former Jack Nicholson Bangers and mistook his inevitable nightmares for a midair encounter with Boyle.

Oh, how we love it when web ad-serving software has a sense of humor. (Click through and you can see that all of the "related link" ads are for eating disorders.) One day, the technology will be sophisticated enough to insert something like Google's "Did you mean: narcotic rehabilitation centers?" in those boxes. Of course we'd then be out of a job, but such is the cost of progress.

Shortly after we started yesterday's blind item guessing game, a reader noticed that the last line of the item changed:

The Olsen Twins are splitting with their longtime business partner, Robert Thorne, who helped them build the empire that has permanently melted the prefrontal lobes of a generation of 'tweens:

· Entourage shuts down Main Street in Park City. Looks like there will be a Sundance plot in the second season.
· Breaking news! Paris Hilton buys a bigger dog! Next week, People will cover the first time it takes a dump in Fred Segal. [second item]
· Blogger Matthew Tobey compiles a list of the 500 Best Songs Ever, Sort Of. For some reason, he thought we know something about music and asked us to contribute. We have to admit, we went a little heavy on the DeBarge.
· Chris Rock already has the press eating out of his hand as he prepares for Oscar night. On not being in the Academy: "If you're darker than a paper bag, you can't get in." Also, he dropped only one F-bomb during the press conference. He's ready.

Before moving on to your guesses, do some last minute cramming with One Rock Hudson Blind Vice:

Wherein we invite our readers to throw away everything they've ever known about the English language and be reborn into the grammar-free linguistic paradise offered by humpy E! gossipist Ted Casablanca, then take a stab at his weekly blind item. This week, we think Ted's talking closeted lesbians. Traipse through the poppy fields of One Rock Hudson Blind Vice:

Porn star Tera Patrick's lost her dog at the mall (in the Valley, natch) and is recruiting the public to help her find him. We're glad to help out, especially because this is no ordinary pooch—Page Six says Chopper appears in her upcoming movie, Reign of Tera. Before you get any disgusting ideas, we're sure the dog's just an extra and not part of the action. Sickies, all of you.

How can Tara Reid's publicist continue to let her talk to the NY Post? Here's some free advice for her irresponsible flack: Steal her cell phone, chain her to the bed, and tell her that newspapers no longer exist. Even lab rats eventually learn to stop pushing the lever that electrocutes them.

· Courtney: So when’s the fat thing going to end?
Dave: When you stop eating.
Courtney: I’ve never been this fat in my life.
Dave: You need to stop eating. [via cityrag]
· Sharon Waxman and David O. Russell finally bury the hatchet, presumably with a minimum of fisiticuffs.
· Half-Blackface and Hanging Jokes: Two Johnny Carson Clips You Won't See on CNN This Week
· Yes, we did wind up quite minty fresh, thank you very much.
· The AP throws movie publicists a pity party after the Oscar noms were announced.
· No Shit Department: Jennifer Garner knew Elektra was going to suck and only did the movie because her contract said she had to.

A Defamer operative gathers empirical evidence that John Goodman was indeed alive and well (though with one less sitcom paycheck coming in) at Sundance:

A reader scolded us for missing this story (we were drunk, etc etc) about Brian Grazer's potentially fatal flight to Sundance:

From her bunker in Park City, NY Times film reporter Sharon Waxman gives the New York Observer a little perspective on the unexlpoded-landmine-and-mass-grave-riddled Hollywood beat:

We are constitutionally averse to blind items, but due to an extremely drunken (again with the booze, we know) promise, this is the only way we can deliver the goods. A little snow birdie told us that when a very well-known television actress couldn't find the driver of her chauffeured car, she, er, "appropriated" the vehicle so that she could make it to a movie premiere party on time. We have no idea what happened when the driver discovered that his car was missing. Happily, the actress did make her party.

Johnny Carson's dead! It seems like just yesterday that he was feeding jokes to David Letterman. We don't want to get too macabre, but if we were in a dead pool, we'd put all our money on Ed McMahon to go next. Sidekicks never last too long after the top bananas pass on.

This hasn't been the best 24 hours for John Goodman. Yesterday, some pranksters spread a fake story that he died, which then raced through Hollywood like a glass of Mexican tap water thanks to some overzealous folks at Endeavor. Today, CBS announced that it's whacked his show Center of the Universe with extreme prejudice, wiping it off the schedule immediately. Hey, kids from Endeavor: this story's solid. Feel free to forward it to everyone you know.

· Original Michael Jackson Bad album art leaked to Craigslist!
· Beware: Kicking your drug habit might make you fat. But you'll get your kid back, so carefully weigh the pros and cons before attempting.
· Why else would anyone freeze their ass off outside the inauguration other than to swear loudly within earshot of a CNN camera?
· Say what you will about Christian conservative groups issuing a "gay alert" for SpongeBob, but we've always felt he was a little light in the cartoon loafers. Someone's going to catch him at the bathhouse with Tinky Winky, and then all hell's going to break loose in the Bible Belt.

Hello, internet surfers! If you've heard the rumor that John Goodman died today, or were sent a link to this story (or try this link), well, it's time to pull your commemorative plates of the 100th Roseanne episode off of eBay, because they aren't going to spike in value like you'd hoped. The story is clearly a hoax (not even the AP can mangle grammar or spelling like that), and if you look closely at the URL, the story doesn't live on the MyWay.com servers. Some jokesters decided to punk the kids at the Oh No They Didn't Livejournal, where dozens of moving tributes to the not-dead-yet Goodman were instantly erected.

As always, your responses were frequent, enthusiastic, and lawyer-baiting. Before you view the reader guesses, get in your wayback machine and relive One Blind Blind Vice:

It's been a while since we've received a cry for help from deep inside Miramax; we'd assumed that after months of slow torture, their staffers' tear ducts became desiccated from abuse. But now we know it's probably because they're too crippled by stress headaches to tap out pleas for help. The Weinsteins have all but packed their golden cardboard boxes, and it looks like they're raiding the medicine cabinet on the way out. A spy ignores the pain just long enough to squeeze out an e-mail: