Behold an EXCLUSIVE! MUG SHOT! EXCLUSIVE! of Girls Gone Wild founder Joe Francis, freshly booked after his arrest this morning in the Panama City airport on contempt of court charges. In it, the titty-flashing tycoon courageously demonstrates his high threshold for the Panama City authorities' coercive interrogation tactics, managing, despite the cruel and unusual deprivation of maximum-hold hair product, to confidently bare all 72 teeth for the camera, in a smile that all but says, "Just try and make it stick, Smoaky." The details, courtesy of People.com:

TMZ is reporting an "all systems go" for the Big Daddy Reveal tomorrow, with major players in the Dannielynn Smith paternity case descending upon Nassau, including the expert from Ohio who oversaw the testing, and frontrunner Larry "Bullseye" Birkhead, seen here excitedly boarding an American Airlines flight, daydreaming about which terrifyingly oversized stuffed animal he'll present his newly won daughter with first. As for Howard K. Stern, the site quotes "unimpeachable sources" who insist he won't challenge for custody if the baby isn't his:

If you thought Girls Gone Wild svengali Joe Francis would order his captain to redirect his good-times flotilla to Panama City so he could fulfill a contempt of court jail term, well, you were wrong:

The slippery film covering sleaze mogul Joe Francis, the mastermind behind the Girls Gone Wild co-ed tittie-flashing empire, may not be enough for him to slide out of the clutches of the law's long arm. Francis earned a judge's wrath by skipping out on Panama City for a NCAA Final Four game in Atlanta, when he was supposed to be negotiating a settlement in a 2003 lawsuit brought against him by seven minors captured in "sexual situations." Now he's been ordered to do hard time on contempt of court charges:

The nasty business surrounding local fashion designer and accused rapist Anand Jon (unbelievably cheesy official website here) until now has rested safely in the "we don't care" category, but with four more aspiring models having emerged to tell their frightening tales of go-see's turned forced-sex ugly, we must finally turn our attention to the increasingly not-so-nice-seeming man menacingly clutching a pair of fabric scissors:

The world waited with bated breath yesterday for a Bahamian judge to take a coin to a Scratch N' Win Paternity Lottery ticket and reveal the three matching babydaddy heads responsible for fathering Dannielynn Smith. But, as should surprise no one in this protracted case of slow-moving Caribbean justice, none such revelation occurred:

If I Did It, O.J. Simpson's memoir-cum- homicide-handbook, simply refuses to wander off quietly to the place where tastelessly conceived double-murder confessionals go to die. Fred Goldman won the auction rights to the cancelled project, and has been actively shopping the book around town, with the reasoning that the only way to really get back at the man he is convinced killed his son is to have him watch helplessly as the If I Did It-dollars roll in. Making matters even more bizarre, Simpson is now taking Goldman to court to block the auction:

Paris Hilton's fate has hung precariously in the balance since a speeding stop last month found America's Troubled Party Whorelet driving with a suspended license while on probation for a DUI. The D.A.'s office, perhaps having caught wind of past fracases in which Hilton slyly feigned idiocy for her own legal gain, are suggesting she knew very well of the status of her suspended license, and are requesting a revocation of her probation that could pave the way for hard time:

Britney Spears's camp (now down to her manager, a lawyer who bills by the nervous breakdown, and a single, overtaxed nanny knee deep in crap-filled Luvs) was determined to prevent the kinds of anonymously leaked, "Tales of the Rehab Crypt" stories that have littered the U.S. media landscape this past month from appearing in the British tabloid press. Why, we're not entirely sure, as the English have always looked sympathetically upon the struggles of Coke-addict Satanists and their ilk, but the injunction was nevertheless successful:

Rita Cosby, MSNBC's in-house champion for Anna Nicole Smith-related justice and any incidental ratings that might haphazardly come out of that crusade, reports (and TMZ instinctively regurgitates like a sparrow feeding its scoop-hungry young) that our national (not that one) might soon be over: Larry Birkhead and the baby he claims is his own both have had DNA samples extracted:

The onerous search to find an impartial jury to determine whether or not music producer/recent strategic lesbian makeover recipient Phil Spector shot actress Lana Clarkson in the face has begun, with over 100 prospective jurors being subjected to an 18-page questionnaire aimed at determining whether a candidate is either virulently prejudiced against the celebrity race or so naive about the widespread preferential treatment of the famous that their answers reveal a possible diminished mental capacity. We've excerpted the "Attitudes About Celebrities And High-Profile People" section of the questionnaire above (click here for a bigger version), allowing you to take an inventory of your own complicated feelings about your celebrated betters, a handy self-evaluation tool that could help you sail through the jury selection process should you ever be called upon to sit in judgment upon an actor you'd really like to see do some hard time.

An investigation is currently underway to get to the bottom of precisely what occurred last night in Palos Verdes, when "whoa"-intoning matinee idol Keanu Reeves peeled away from a curb in his Porsche and allegedly sideswiped a paparazzo lurking nearby:

We doubt we were the only ones anticipating that this headline referred to blubbery Judge Larry Seidlin, for whom a casual marijuana habit would make perfect sense—and Yahoo's accompanying photo served only to confirm that. Sadly, the busted Judge in question is Judge Lawrence Korda, who presided over the Dannielynn DNA test hearings, thereby denying us the opportunity to conjure up a hilarious scenario in which Seidlin, overcome by the emotional weight of an impending child custody ruling, took to a public park with some primo Kiwi Haze, hoping the potent spiritual clarity it imparts to its users would help guide him towards the path of justice.

Pictured is Phil Spector, showing up today for the first day of his murder trial jury selection not, as was widely expected, dressed in his trademark Dollytor style, but instead debuting a brand new look—the brainchild of Spector's savvy legal team, who strategized that it would be better for him to present himself as a harmless lesbian talk show host than a guy who would press a gun against a woman's face for objecting to his ashing on her dog.

Jury selection gets underway today for the Phil Spector murder trial, the visonary pop music producer (for the youngsters: he was the Timbaland of the 1960s!), who, in 2003, talked C-movie actress and House of Blues hostess Lana Clarkson into coming back with him to Pyrenees Castle, his French-château-inspired estate in Alhambra. Hours later, Clarkson would be found dead of a gunshot to the mouth:

It's difficult to imagine how anyone who experienced even a modicum of affection or encouragement in their youth could possibly want to become a Hollywood assistant, a vocation that marries the least gratifying job requirements of a telemarketer and animal control officer. Alas, the temptation to become a dry-cleaning-fetching cog in the machine proves irresistible to many, and some are willing to go so far as to pay for the opportunity: Canadian businessman Iaroslav Jivov alleges he paid Peter Bogdanovich $100,000 to hire his son as his assistant. He's now suing the director for accepting the money without living up to his end of the bargain, having not so much as thrown a single improperly prepared Starbucks latte into his son's face:

The cancelled O.J. Simpson confessional multimedia extravaganza, If I Did It, Here's How It Happened, may have cost Judith Regan her job and reputation, and News Corp. a great deal of embarrassment and unwanted press, but the exonerated subject ended up coming out mostly ahead: The show never aired, copies of the book were mostly destroyed save for a few on eBay, and Simpson claims his fee for the hypothetical mea culpa was quickly cashed and spent. Now, an L.A. superior court judge has ruled that the rights to the book—one of O.J.'s only remaining assets—must be put up for auction, with all proceeds paid to Fred Goldman, who's still owed the majority of a $33.5 million 1997 civil suit judgment:

Unlike fellow pretty-faced, effeminate American Idol top 12 finalist Sanjaya Malakar, Mario Vazquez legitimately seemed to belong there two seasons ago, and he shocked the world by pulling out just days before they were about to compete, citing "family reasons." Now, a scandalous lawsuit brought against the singer, FOX Entertainment, and Fremantle Media accuses Vazquez of having "sexually harrassed" the show's assistant accountant:

When a judge sent Courtney Love to rehab in the summer of 2005 after violating her probation with various drug and assault pleas, she chose Newport Beach's Beau Monde Programs, where she spent three months being pampered back to sobriety through a full immersion into its rigorous 12-step program. ("Step 1: Slip into this luxurious robe. Step 2: Choose Shiatsu or traditional Swedish..." etc.) Beau Monde is still waiting on payment for her $181,286 bill, and filed a complaint March 1, available for your perusal, in addition to a copy of her signed admission agreement, at The Smoking Gun. Addressed to Love's criminal lawyer, Howard Weitzman, and Warren Boyd, her "personal addiction counselor," it's now up to her overworked team to figure out the best way to settle this unpleasantness, short of forcing her to sell off the rights to "Rape Me" to Progressive Auto Insurance for their edgy new "Don't get raped. Choose Progressive." TV and print campaign.

Try as we might to hold on tight as the The Great American Anna Nicole Coaster takes us on its shriek-inducing journey, there really is no point, as there is always another 360° plunge lying ahead that you never quite saw coming. Case in point: this Phoenix New Times story about Marshall Soto, allegedly the 5-year-old product of an affair Smith had with Johnny Soto, a handyman from the Tohono O'odham Nation she met during a stay at the Sanctuary Resort and Spa on Camelback Mountain. To call the article a must-read is an understatement. An example: