"And right over there is where Fox is setting up the 'Pin the Tail on the Gipper' booth, and over there will be the coffin-shaped porta-pottys draped in the American flag, with urinal cakes in the shape of Reagan's head."

Towleroad gets a report from the set of gay cowboy flick Brokeback Mountain. They've finally shot the scene where the characters played by Heath Ledger and dreamy-eyed boat of eye-dreams Jake Gyllenhaal kiss. Says their spy, "the boys were a bit nervous at first, but eventually got into it and turned in a great scene." Maybe too great? Studio execs and director Ang Lee are wringing their hands over how graphic to get in the depiction of hott cowboy love, and may panic in the cutting room. To wit, Towleroad prints an excerpt from the script, where things get significantly more chaps-and-spurs:

And we thought we had way too much time on our hands. Local, eerily appropriately named blog lowexpectations has assembled what has to be the canonical list of celebrity attendees at the two Fahrenheit 9/11 screenings Monday night. One quick quibble with the list: Patrick Whitesell, Ben Affleck's agent, is listed. Let's not start giving agents the idea that they're famous, important, or even human beings. They're already impossible enough to deal with.

A reader, seeing the Low Culture post about I, Robot's apparent debt to a Bjork video, asks, "Am I the only one that thinks the robots in the new Will Smith movie, I,Robot look a lot like the Wayans Bros. in their new film White Chicks?" We'd be a lot more threatened by an invasion of Wayanses in drag and whiteface. As a matter of fact, taking a drive down certain parts of Santa Monica Blvd might make you paranoid an attack is forthcoming.

As long as we're talking about seemingly incredible coincidences... Low Culture notices that I, Robot director Alex Proyas just might have been watching some Bjork videos before shooting his film.

Another attendee of last night's Fahrenheit 9/11 screening supplements our earlier post with some extra celebrity sightings, the quote of the night, and a partial menu from the event:

Republicans missed yet another chance to take out nearly all of liberal Hollywood with one well-placed bomb, as half the town crammed into Laemmle's Music Hall theater on Wilshire for a screening of Fahrenheit 9/11. Cinemocracy was there, contraband camera in hand, to document the orgy:

A local Miami/Ft. Lauderdale station says that some Floridians are up in arms over the use of Hillary Clinton's and Condoleezza Rice's images in a commercial for Paramount's The Stepford Wives. The spot shows Hillary and a (topless!) Condi morphing into Stepford-ized versions of themselves. Somewhere, a 20th Century Fox marketing director is kicking himself. If they weren't generating enough buzz by holding the line on Garfield's premiere on the National Day of Mourning, they could have digitally sandwiched the controversy-courting cat into a three-way with Hill and Condi. Not that either of them likes pussy.

The political documentary The Hunting of the President, about the Republicans' attempt to "systematically destroy the political legacy of the Clintons," has pushed back its release in deference to dead GOP symbol of light Ronald Reagan, saying it would be wrong "during a week of mourning to be throwing a party."

Hollywood's smiles will be a little less sparkling on Friday, and its stylists will go unfeted, at least during the National Day of Mourning for Ronald Reagan. The Crest Whitestrips Style Awards have been postponed to an unspecified date.

It looks like the only X-rays coming out of Jake Gyllenhaal's eyes will be of the metaphorical, dreamy variety. A spy tells us that Jake's "not even on the list" for potential Supermen. We know that it's very hard to believe, but in their rush to declare the Super-Exclusive, Star magazine might have fallen prey to a publicist's ruse [Ed. note—Publicists! Drats!] to boost the young dreamy-eye delivery mechanism's stock after the critical ass-ripping that The Day After Tomorrow received.

Tech-dork sister blog Gizmodo unearths yet another celebrity eBay auction. This time, Kuffs fans can go bid on Star Wars toys from Christian Slater's collection (Slater's snow speeder: current bid: $5.50). It would probably just be easier to sign up Slater for food stamps by proxy. We hear that you can redeem them at the Ivy for five minutes in the dumpster.

The always-reliable Star says they have the mega-, extra-, ultra-exclusive scoop that dreamy-eyed The Day After Tomorrow eye-dreamboat Jake Gyllenhaal will be the Man of Steel in the next Superman flick. It all smells a little Tobey from here, but that seemed to work out pretty well. Unfortunately for those with visually-triggered seizure issues, Star says that McG is going to direct. Even in the middle of a McG-induced grand mal, we have a feeling you'll still be pierced by Jake's dreamy-eyed X-ray vision. Did we mention Jake's eyes recently? We're told they're dreamy.

Waxy.org says that Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban has already hit the file-trading wire, literally moments after the first East Coast shows ended. Maybe Warner Bros. should have shipped some of those new-fangled night-vision goggles to New York instead of London? (Here's the highly amusing image that's being distributed with the pirated movie online.) Jack Valenti's hardly going to be able to keep his Metamucil down when he gets wind of this.

Entertainment Weekly is renaming its annual, storied pop-culture barometer "The IT List: The 100 Most Creative People in Entertainment," to the "The Must List: The 100 People We Love This Summer." Most of the salads that EW tosses in the issue wilt with the summer heat and are begging for slots on I'm A Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here! by the time the leaves turn, so putting a half-life on it seems like a reasonable move. Does this mean we'll get a "Should, If You're Not Doing Anything Else List" in the Fall? Maybe slap Brittany Murphy on the cover and call it an issue?

Lindsay Lohan just auctioned one of her signed bras on eBay. The winning bid was $10,001, and even though the proceeds nobly go to a woman's heart disease charity, we think someone egregiously overpaid. The item's a fake—everyone knows that Lindsay doesn't wear bras (NSFW).

Now available on eBay: The Barbra Streisand Custom Transportation Vehicle, an RV which the seller promises is "owned and used by Barbra in lieu of limousine or car service. It has also been used by her for additional privacy on several film locations. Currently, she is using it on the set of Meet the Fockers."

Blogging layabout Jim Treacher watches a scad of online trailers and then writes "a bunch of stupid snotty unfair crap about them." Also, pretty accurate. And, unlike David Cross, he is unlikely to supply the voice of a talking dog in any of them.

USA Networks issues the most explicit "fuck you" to America's ad-zapping TiVos yet. "You want to blast through the commercials in our new Dennis Hopper TV movie, motherfucker?" they seem to say. "Go ahead and try! Because the movie is the commercial! You dig?" Tonight's The Last Ride was written for no reason other than to advertise Pontiac's new [model redacted so as to not give them free advertising, but you know we'd blog them up a car chase for little more than a hot sandwich]. Defamer suggests your DVR's handy "delete program" function to counteract this latest attempt at advertainment. Then as soon as it's erased from the hard drive, spend the next hour and forty-five minutes looking at our banner ads and fight the power!

Blogging.la has this screenshot from the original Die Hard. Note the 1988 gas prices in front of "Nakatomi Towers" (better known as Fox Plaza in Century City). 74. Fucking. Cents. And we weren't even occupying any oil-rich countries.