Last night the media clusterfuck that is Manhattan got even incestuous-er when Glamour magazine hosted a book party for Page Six's Paula Froelich and her new book, It! 9 Secrets Of The Rich And Famous That Will Take You To The Top (inevitable Learning Annex class coming to a fluorescently-lit room near you). The party was held in the same townhouse from Real World: Back To NY, our cameras were verboten, and the crowd was less literary than Bungalow 8 at 3:30 in the morning. Special correspondent Noelle Hancock was on hand to find out what happens when gossip reporters stop being polite and start getting drunk...

Paula Froelich's book party is like Thornton Mellon's triple lindy dive in the movie, Back to School totally unbelievable and absurd, yet perfectly executed. The only exception is when I arrive and a waiter offers me a glass of "chambull" aka: champagne and Red Bull. (Um, is this the 40/40 club? Because I left my pimp cup at Lil' Kim's house.) Initially, everyone is stuffing their filthy mouths with food by bad boy chef Anthony Bourdain, who is relishing restaurateur Charlie Trotter's current embroilment in Foie Gras-Gate. "Did you see his quote in the Tribune today saying he's going to 'open up a can of whup-ass' on someone?" he asks. "That's like Millhouse from The Simpsons threatening to open up a can of whup-ass." [cackles]

Upstairs, Paula is being interviewed by Access-Insider-Entertainment-Hollywood-Tonight crews, while performance weirdo "Mangina" is milling about with a plastic boobie protruding from his forehead. Jonathan Cheban and Lizzie Grubman (can we truncate this to "Chebzzie" already?) show up in Olsen-like fashion in a black SUV and, yes, she looks even more like a photo negative in person. Soon after there's an appearance by Sean P. Diddy Combs, who has taken his white party rules to the next level and is now traveling with a posse of honkeys. At one point, the rapper is fanning himself and his honktastic assistant reaches over and - I shit you not — blots Diddy's forehead with a napkin. "Can I just get one question Mr. Combs?" I ask. "Sure," he says and then walks away.

Highlight of the evening: John Stamos shows up with a bodyguard. I repeat, John Stamos has a bodyguard. Remember Uncle Jesse? He of the fedoras, the impromptu Beach Boys jam sessions, the beginning of Full House where he's riding in the red convertible to the song: "Everywhere you look (everywhere you go) There's a heart, (There's a heart) A hand to hold oooooon tooooo !"

A bodyguard. Jesucristo.

Fellow Sixer scribe Chris Wilson is leaning against a wall with his arm around his girlfriend, designer Nicole Romano. So where's your book, Chris? "Do you know HOW many times I've been asked that tonight?" he growls. No, Chris. Tell us.

At this point, I'm surrounded by Alexandra Kerry, Lisa Ling, Jermaine Dupri, Harvey Weinstein, Monica Lewinsky, and LA Reid. It is raining outside, hot as fucking hell inside, and there's no escape. [Hands over eyes: "Go to your happy place, Noelle! Find your happy place!"] Lewinsky gallops over to Paula and mutual squealing commences. "Thanks so much for coming!" She takes Paula's hands and starts kissing them. "I love you I love you I love you!"

Lindsay Lohan's mom shows up and my head explodes like one of the Nazis at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark. [I feel compelled to add that, when introduced to Dina Lohan on my way out, I was told to "Get home safely." Thank you, Dina, but do you know where your daughter is? — JC]

"Paula has a very loud voice that carries over into the next room and, often, neighboring states," says Page 6 poobah Richard Johnson. "For instance, I know from her phone conversations this week that she was having some nipple concerns with that see-through dress she's wearing tonight. She's wearing band-aids over them or something."

Is that true, P-Fro?

"Yes, and I'm wearing nude boyshorts. I was going to wear a g-string but I knew I'd be taking pictures with Col Allen and you just can't have thong lines in a photo with your boss." Thongs and Col Allen. Thanks for the visual.

So why did she write the book? "Because after five-and-a-half years I got tired of people asking me the same damn questions."