Cinemocracy enlists Northeastern Univ. professor and author Alan Schroeder as a guest-essayist, and Schroeder takes a look at George W. Bush's stable of Hollywood endorsers, which increasingly looks like a VIP lounge after the free booze has run out. Indeed, it seems that Kerry's got most of the star power behind him, but it's probably closer to being a wash than most would like to admit: If the GOP didn't have Vincent Gallo making noise for conservatives between billboard orgasms, Ben Affleck's motor-mouthed, baby-eating activism might have negated some of the apparent Dem advantage.

Insecure that his tireless campaigning on behalf of John Kerry isn't properly demonstrating the strength of his loyalty, Ben Affleck resorts to eating a baby as proof of his allegiance to the Democratic candidate for President.

We're numb to the usual Hollywood birthday party—the candy dishes full of pills, a couple of dead hookers in the bathroom, and Andy Dick on the bottom of a gender-blind grope-pile—so we were pleasantly surprised by Page Six's report about Hilary Swank's 30th at the Argyle Tuesday night. Partying like a five-year-old is the new post-party mugshot on The Smoking Gun. Swank and Oscar-acceptance-speech-cutout/hubby Chad Lowe rang in the post-30, decline phase of Swank's career surrounded by (actual) clowns, magicians, and the remembrance of youth. There's nothing like a finely-crafted balloon poodle to make you momentarily forget that you're about to start losing parts to Brittany Murphy and Kate Hudson. And maybe the clown-assisted appearance of youthfulness will be enough to tack on another year before she has to start subsisting on roles as Lindsay Lohan's sassy mom.

While Madonna's been busy expanding to the Kabbalah Centre's empire by invading the New York City school system, Defamer readers are taking the fight to the streets. Well, they're taking it to happy, red-and-white draped family superstores through the internet. An "activist" was disturbed that Target was selling the Kabbalah Centre's red string bracelets on their website and sent them a disapproving e-mail. And the retailer folded like Michael Moore showed up in the Housewares aisle with a bullhorn and a copy of the Centre's plans for world domination—the Kabbalah Red String is no longer available for purchase at Target.com or sold in their stores.

Only slighlty scarier than celebrities making art is the thought of celebrities as art. The latest Worth1000 Photoshop contest imagines would it might look like if Picasso and others had the opportunity to be modern-day starfuckers. We bet that Brad Pitt's house is full of these, and if it isn't, it will be by the end of the week.

At left, Pamela Anderson finally completes her transformation into a life-size blow-up doll.

Boing Boing points us to this list of celebrity Scientologists. Surely you remember Scientology? It used to be the hot Hollywood "religion" until a Madonna-powered Kabbalah rolled up and rendered L. Ron's gang the mouth-breathing, red-headed stepchild of cults inclusionary spiritual inspiration societies. Now any wannabes looking to network through their cult-y contacts better rock the red string instead of open their wallets to chase away thetans.

The Defamer correspondent on Geeks Imitating Hollywood Pomp With D-List Fodder sends us this first-person account of G-phoria, the video game awards show held Saturday night at the Shrine. It's nice to see that gobbling enough Trimspa to down a pachyderm didn't drain away Anna Nicole Smith's (at left, merrily pictured in a staged "wardrobe malfunction") joie de vivre along with the excess pounds. That lady is a firecracker!

Polaroid Scene has pics of comedian/East Side patron saint David Cross giving his cred a little kick in the ass with a game of dodgeball. [Ed. note—We like him and realize everyone needs to eat, but nothing's making us forget about Dr. Dolittle 2.] Comedian Todd Barry is also among the red ball-flinging mob.

The convention's over, our stars are on their way home, and the THR sums it all up by telling us something painfully obvious: The Dems are down with starfucking. There's plenty of room in that big tent of theirs for Hollywood and its piles of cash. We'd say a "big rubber' that slips snugly over the entertainment industry would be a more apt metaphor, but the party's been riding Hollywood bareback for the duration of the DNC.

Local writer Kate Sullivan blogs about a nightmare interview she recently conducted with pneumatic self-abuse enabler Pamela Anderson and photographer David LaChappelle, Note to potential interviewers: Don't use the word "camp" around LaChappelle; he seems a tad sensitive about the belittling of his utterly non-campy recreations of scenes from Flashdance.

Every high-profile celebrity stalker trial needs a little comic relief from all of that dreary "the bitch will be shredded to pieces like Sharon Tate" and "See ya at the funeral" talk. The prosecutor in the Dawnette Knight case (she's the alleged stalker on trial for multiple death-threats to Catherine Zeta-Jones) throws in this laugh line to get some yuks from the jury box, which probably contains a couple of agents and producers looking to cast the lead in a Ally McBealish lawyer show:

The August issue of Details takes a look at the post-Fleiss era in Hollywood's prostitution game. The new hookers are hotter, nastier, much more expensive, internet-savvy (why would your agent risk getting popped by a vice cop on Sunset) and the johns largely drug-free. Less surprising: Many type-A power-players like to get beaten up and pissed on (sometimes at parties, in front of their friends), hire hookers to do things that make your typical credit-climbing mactress blush, and industry types sometimes sneak in a whirl with a call-girl during business hours. Whatever. If William Morris or CAA didn't want people fucking on the job, they'd lock the doors to the janitorial closets and take away everyone's expense accounts. We predict a backlash-fueled return to the sepia-toned days of crispy-haired pros, salad bowls full of blow, and guys who can't stop talking about their Ferraris long enough to get hard.

According to Fox 411's Roger Friedman, veteran character actor/political pundit Alec Baldwin offered his analysis of the geographic distribution of leadership in our nation: The vast wasteland between New York and Los Angeles is "flyover country, not leadership America."

Yesterday, we remaindered a link to this story on a Czech website about Elijah Wood's nights on the town in Prague, where he's shooting the movie adaptation of annoyingly precocious novel Everything Is Illuminated. A helpful reader translates the captions of the pictures accompanying the story. (Obviously, we have no idea which caption goes with which photo, but half the fun is figuring it out.) Young Hollywood really knows how to turn the motherfucking party out in former Soviet bloc cities! Photos here, here, and here.

Say what you want about Kabbalah's rampage through Hollywood, but ever since Britney got tossed into the back of the white van by Madonna, she's really turned her life around. She recovered from a knee injury with incredible speed, she's eating better, drinking better, she's got a great man in her life, she's tighter than ever with her family, and constantly exploring new business opportunities. Maybe we can all learn a lesson from Brit. Let's all pick up some red string bracelets, bone up on our Zohar, and enjoy the our new, improved selves as we strive toward immortality. See you all at the Target on LaBrea in ten minutes!

Here's some symmetry for you: Just one day after it was announced that Mary-Kate Olsen finished rehab for her "eating disorder," Courtney Love is sentenced to 18 months of rehab for "drugs." We don't actually need to use quotes around "drugs," since the judge wasn't trying to save that interesting reputation of hers by pretending she had a gambling or sex-addiction problem, but we're just so steeped in ironic punctuation over here that we can't stop. If she really wants to keep her nose clean, maybe she can tag along to NYU with the twins. Her only danger would be getting her "Twinkies" cut with some "Ding Dongs" by some small-time dorm "nutritionist" trying to earn a little extra "tuition money."

Ben Affleck is on the loose in his native Boston, serving as standard bearer for liberal Hollywood's largely ill-informed celebrities with a burning desire to share their political opinions with each and every camera pointed in their direction. The NYT quotes him as outraged that Bush's tax cuts have provided his burgeoning gambling career with ante money: "I saved more than $1 million in taxes last year."

We can't say for sure if handing out One. Tiny. Fucking. Burger. per person is going to make people go see Harold & Kumar Go To White Castle, but Sunset Boulevard freeloaders seem less than happy with the portions and quality of their gratis beef. If they gave out more than one burger, all of LA's regular and boring homeless would converge on The Strip, driving away the crowd of homeless actors and rock stars who have rightly claimed that turf as their own. A reader even points out that Harold & Kumar is at best going to stake out a place as only the second-greatest White Castle movie ever made:

It hasn't even been a week, but it looks like Lindsay Lohan's interest in Kabbalah hasn't waned. She's so dedicated to the mystical practice that she enlisted boyfriend Wilmer Valderrama (whose previous starlet conquests include Mandy Moore and Jennifer Love-Hewitt, for those keeping score) to test her red string bracelet's resiliency to the chlorine in swimming pool water. Looks like she's safe from the evil eye even when she throws on a bikini and goes for a dip. But how will the bracelet stand up to the unique pressures of the bathroom stall at Bliss or a menage in a mansion in the Hills? Obviously, more tests are needed.