A D-list actress best known for her publicity-whoring, red-carpet ubiquity and a flack desperate to generate any kind of buzz for his bottom-feeding clients are a potentially explosive combination. Toss in a minor on-set accident on a movie that no one will see, and now you're playing with a flamethrower at a gas station:
Wherein we invite our readers to break the verbal 128-bit encryption protecting the identity of humpy E! gossip-hacker Ted Casablanca's weekly blind item. This week, Ted offers a drug abuse appetizer before moving on to the main course, a tale of on-set diva behavior followed by a dash of drunken, public exhibitionism. Inhale One Blind Blind Vice:
When we first heard that Paris Hilton nabbed a copy of her sex video from a WeHo newsstand, we said, "Wow, that wacky Paris is at it again!" and tucked away a link to the story in a Short Ends post, thinking that was the end of it. After all, what's a little petty theft between publicity-hungry celebutantes and hapless newsstand owners? But here's the thing:The newsstand owner has videotape of Paris (oh! the irony is crippling!) and the LA County sheriff wants to throw the book at her. As much as the public might salivate over another Winona Ryder-style witch-hunt, The Beverly Hills DA probably won't want to play into Hilton's porno-stained hands. Think about how many copies the hot, lesbian, weave-yanking action of 1 Night in Prison would sell.
· Jesus, it's almost too easy. Lindsay Lohan has problems swallowing. [via Fleshbot]
· Also, Lohan's mom finally files for divorce from her restrain' order violatin', rehabbin', time servin' husband.
· Hey kids! Too young to hop a plane and help with the tsunami clean-up? Just hop on the Web and you can clean up your very own decimated beach in between episodes of Blue's Clues, courtesy of FEMA!
· What's wrong with Sundance? Hint: it runs deeper than the $50,000 celebrity gift bags.
· Johnny Carson has been sending jokes to David Letterman from his secret retirement bunker. Jay Leno, however, only receives the occasional flaming bag of dog shit.
With Topher Grace and Ashton Kutcher bolting That 70s Show for the show's final season, Fox and/or Carsey-Werner might be desperate to wring the series for all it's worth. How desperate are they? There's chatter that Fez might get his own spin-off after strutting his stuff in the goodbye year. Since even a show anchored by a talent like Wilmer Valderrama can't get off the ground without a winning concept, we're going to donate some pitches to the Fox gang:
· An anonymous source talks to MSNBC's Jeanette Walls about a hacker that's been reading Paris Hilton's e-mail.“She was pretty upset about it. It’s one thing to have people looking at your sex tapes, but having people reading your personal e-mails is a real invasion of privacy.” The whole doggystyling-in-nightvision thing obviously can't hold a candle to what she's been sharing over her Sidekick.
· Of all the fat, naked, gay, millionaires sitting in trees on highly-rated reality TV shows, the IRS chooses to pick on Richard Hatch. It's a conspiracy, I tells ya!
· From the acclaimed author of I Fucked Alec Baldwin in the Ass comes the potboiler sequel, Colin Farrell: A Dark, Twisted Puppy. Michiko Kakutani of The New York Times sez "Get yours now before the restaining order kicks in!"
· A Very Brief Open Letter To The Network Schedulers Who Insist On Fucking Up My TiVo'd Recordings By Adding A Minute To The Beginning Or End Of The Program: Fuck all of you, I will never buy any product advertised on your networks, whether or not I blast through the commercials during playback. You made me miss the last scene of Lost last week, and I'm not going to forget about it.
As we present this addition to our Lindsay Lohan photo essay, which put the viewer right in the shit during her night out in New Orleans last week, we're reminded of her publicist's mantra in Page Six: "She was just there with some castmates checking out the local scene. There was no 'partying.' She had one cranberry and soda." Our photographer (a different one this time) informs us that it was fifty-cent drink night, which means that Lohan's paycheck for Just My Luck would buy 14 million drinks (not including tip). Economics practically demanded that she buy at least half that many. More photos after the jump.
When you hear that Teri Polo posed for the February issue of Playboy, you might wonder to yourself, Now why would she do something like that? Meet the Fockers is a huge hit! She's written her ticket to the A-list! But then perhaps you navigate over to her IMDb page and look at the projects that came in the four years between blockbuster Meet the Parents and its sequel: a handful of TV movies, Beyond Borders, the short-lived sitcom I'm With Her. She's been to enough casting sessions where she was mistaken for some other peroxide It-Girl to know exactly how disposable the "pretty, long-suffering blonde significant other" role is in this town. A gal's gotta set herself apart. And that's when Hef rolls out of bed to make his pitch, three hours into a priapic Viagra session with seven women who thought they'd do Playboy *before* the acting career. No one will ever mistake you for Gretchen Mol again.
Some might say that the internet exists solely to streamline the distribution of porn and t-shirts that capitalize on the celebrity scandal du jour. Submitted for your approval: The "I Stole Brad" t-shirt, available for purchase before Jennifer Aniston has even unpacked a box at her hairdresser's house, and soon to appear by the dozens at a nightclub near you. The line also includes "The New Mrs. Pitt" and the wordier, far less effective "Brad Left Jen For Me." We won't be happy until the corresponding male shirt is availaible: "Of COURSE I fucked Angelina!"
·Natchiliagniaqtuguk Aapagalu and other movies from Sundance you're never going to pronounce correctly.
· Can't get enough of Owen Wilson Life Aquatic dick talk? Then the Datalounge has just the discussion thread for you.
· Even the make-up artist that J. Lo canned for leaking gossip cares about tsunami disaster relief.
· The Jennifer Aniston MySpace blog responds to our earlier link by pulling down "Jennifer Aniston's" statement about the break-up. That kind of authentic hissyfit totally makes us think the blog is real!
We promise that this is the last thing you'll hear about Cameron Diaz's new reality show, the insouciantly titled Trippin', until Monday at the earliest. As much as we hate to see a report like this disappear into the late Friday afternoon ether, this update deserves a posting before we disappear for the long weekend.
While some were busy downing cocktails at the Friars Club on Wednesday night, others with access to a slightly more glamorous crowd were being entertained at the Variety V Life party at ne plus ultra hack director Brett Ratner's newly-renovated home. (Ratner, you may or may not remember, "guest edited" a recent V Life issue.) While our correspondent doesn't mention if things in the house explode for no reason, the place is equipped with a nifty photo booth—but thinking about acts that the booth has probably captured on its strip-film makes us instantly queasy.
The least dangerous rumble in the history of the world may be brewing in front of the E! building. A reader informs us about some potentially nasty red carpet-related shenigans:
A reader was so taken aback by something he thought he saw in Owen Wilson's Speedo in this hot tub scene from The Life Aquatic With Steve Zissou that he tracked down an Academy screener to get a screen-grab. (If you can't see what we're talking about, look under his right elbow.) Are Wilson and director Wes Anderson trying to stir up a new Loch Ness monster legend with a Boogie Nights-style prosthetic? Real or not, Wilson's going to have no problems finding a date for the Oscars, whether or not he winds up disappointing her at the end of the night.
Word on the street is that VH1 will announce today that they've snagged Cameron Diaz for a reality series. Yes, the same Cameron Diaz that was the second-highest paid actress last year, the one that gets $20 million a movie to karate-chop shit, do ogre-voiceovers, or pretend to be the chick that's hot, but still just one of the guys. Still no details on what the show's actually going to be about, but we'd be entertained if cameras follow her around as she confronts women in various Hollywood clubs and asks them if they've ever fucked Justin Timberlake. We're not going to get our hopes up, though. We've been hurt before.
With so much rumor and innuendo swirling around in the wake of Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston's celebrity-marriage-paradigm-shifting break-up, there's only one place we can turn for reliable information: Jennifer Aniston's MySpace blog. While the couple has refrained from talking to the media, virtual Jen (449 friends in her network, a celebrity even in cyberspace) is candid about the dissolution of their relationship and their plans for the future:
