Enjoy your box office numbers like a Ritalin pill crushed up in your Monday morning pumpkin latte.

· Tom Hanks joins the litany of A-listers who are fleeing Pat "The Iron Flack" Kingsley's PMK/HBH like her old-lady hair is on fire and she's holding an armload of dead puppies. Leslee Dart, it seems, holds only living, adorable puppies and uses a flame-retardant hair product.
· Beware! That Santa Claus in your crosswalk may be the fuzz! [via LA.comfidential]
· Craigslist never fails to provide creepy outlets for all of your on-camera ass-kicking impulses.
· A lawyer sues the Governator and Skeletor over some mold and tennis courts in a house he bought from them.
· For reasons we cannot possibly fathom, red-carpet-loving nutcase Bai Ling has knee bandages with Jude Law's picture on them.

Friday
· Enjoy some old school hip hop in Los Feliz, where local DJs Anti-Skating Device spin at Vida.
· The always excellent Earlimart will rawk you gently, then not so gently, and then gently again at the Troubadour.
Saturday
· Get some original re-issued rock vintage concert shirts at the Trunk LTD sample sale. Because nothing is cooler
than pretending you puked at a 1978 Bachman Turner Overdrive show and remembered to buy a t-shirt...when you were, like, three years old.
· Peter Bogdanovich, director and shrink-to-the-shrink on The Sopranos, hosts a book signing at the Grove.
Possible topic of discussion: what Cybil Shepard was like in the sack. Yes, sometimes we even disappoint ourselves.
Sunday
· Just in time to celebrate the birth of Jesus, Marilyn Manson performs the second night of a three-night stand of MTV-ready glam/goth/devil-in-eyeliner-and-fake-tits rock at the Wiltern. God, he's so transgressive.

A little birdie tipped us off that the casting people for the upcoming Judd Apatow/Steve Carell project 40 Year-Old Virgin (no explanation necessary) are trolling local porn production companies for talent. They weren't looking for porn stars to really stretch themselves in the craft; the part in question is a hooker that's supposed to devirginize Carell's character. A day after sending out some script pages, though, the porn companies were told the hooker part had been rewritten as a tranny (thereby ratcheting up the hilarity levels by at least 33 percent). We don't want to tell these professionals how to do their jobs, but why don't they just cut out the middleman by taking a slow drive down Santa Monica Boulevard in Hollywood after sundown? They'd have nearly limitless casting options, most of whom probably already have SAG cards.

We knew that Disney's diabolical marketing plan to drape the homeless in The Incredibles gear was going to catch on. In fact, it seems to be an ongoing effort. A reader spotted another human billboard earlier in the week:

We'd like to thank this week's sponsors, without whom we'd be doing awful, awful things to awful, awful people in horribly unfashionable parts of town, just to make the rent. If you'd like to advertise on Defamer and reach the world's hottest consumers, see our ad info page.

Treat yourself to the box office predictions that only taste indulgent. We promise they won't go to your thighs.

The third day of our Hollywood Holiday Cards feature spotlights what we consider to be the Mother of All Celebrity Season's Greetings: Tom Cruise's Scientology-pushing missive and "gift."

A reader notices what could be a brilliant breakthrough in movie marketing by the folks at Disney, who are apparently thinking out of the box...the cardboard box:

In January, after what will be about eight months of this site's existence, the Gawker Media mothership is attempting to throw a party for Defamer. This raises some interesting questions: Where the hell should we have this party? Do you own a nightclub, bar, or personal residence you're dying to have trashed? Do you own a liquor company that wants to sponsor us with a truckload (a small truckload, really, for about 150 alcoholics) of booze? Are we fucking insane to try and plan a party in four weeks? We're shooting for January 11, 12, or 13th as the date, right after the town settles in after the holidays and literally moments before the entire industry flees to Sundance. Send your pledges of help, your ideas, or offended comments to tips@defamer.com and we'll get the ball rolling. (Or the whole thing will blow up in our faces, but hey, that's almost as fun as a party.)

· Michael Ovitz will produce a feature version of the Tom Clancy videogame Splinter Cell for Paramount. Ovitz is back, baby! By the end of next week, he'll demand that Paramount make him president and erect a bronze statue in his likeness on top of their famous water tower. [Variety, sub. req'd.]
· Diane Keaton, Sarah Jessica Parker and Dermot Mulroney join Claire Danes, Rachel McAdams and Luke Wilson in the Fox 2000 romantic comedy formerly known as Hating Her, and now tentatively titled Kind of Like Meet the Parents Meets Anything That Meg Ryan Was In Before The Surgery. [THR]
· Working Title Productions has picked up the spec feature Suicide Squad, a caper where a suicide hotline operator "recruits a ragtag group of suicidal outcasts to help him knock over a horse track." You know what? We kind of love this idea, but it's only going to end in disaster when they cast Josh Hartnett. [THR]
· Fox hires former Golden Girls showrunner Mort Nathan to write the sitcom Spirit of America, which will mine endless laughs from the hilarious situation in Iraq. [Variety]
· Fox fails to learn the lessons of this TV season and keeps moving forward with the Fox Reality Channel, hiring David Lyle to run the network that will provide a new outlet for their low-rated reality show flops. [THR]

Breaking news from the William Morris board room: We've heard that an e-mail this morning informed the WMA staff that board members Sam Haskell and Richard Rosenberg are on their way out. Looks like they lost the intramural culture war that Nikki Finke reported on last week. But hey, nothing can wipe that smile off the face of official The Agent Dance mascot Ari Emanuel! As we say when we're short on details, developing...

Last night's second season Apprentice finale was a predictable, three-hour love note to Donald Trump and the hairpiece-shaped parasite that lives atop his head, pitching him ideas for new catch-phrases and ways that he can completely transform his apartment into the palace of a gay, French king. Still, we watched.

· If you're inviting boys over to the ranch to look at some harmless porno mags, always, always remember to wipe off the fingerprints. Off the magazine, sicky.
· A Stuff magazine web page inadvertently becomes a comparative study of Tara Reid's pre- and post-surgery breasts.
· The siren call of the Mystery Booty lures journalist Seth Mnookin to his eventual doom.
· We've never seen the show, but today's entry from the blog of two contestants seems to have a lot of people excited.
· "A Conversation Between Me and Pop Sensation Lindsay Lohan, In Which She Speaks In Song Titles From Her Latest Album."
· Don't judge: The holidays can be a very lonely time, and everyone deserves a little companionship. [via Screenhead]

· The LA Film Lab presents Dark, an "eclectic event that brings together musicians, painters, fashion designers and models in a party style setting" at Avalon, benefiting the Make A Wish Foundation. Best of all, it features two different levels of VIP pricing, so you can support a worthy charity and perhaps avoid your assistant at the same time.
· To do, if you're a Trojan (or just sleeping with one): The USC Alumni Club of Downtown & Hollywood hosts their Industry Networking Holiday Blowout at 1650 Schrader.
· It’s all about the locals tonight: Moving Units at the El Rey, Midnight Movies at the Silverlake Lounge. and Irving and Silversun Pick-ups at the Echo.

It's always an incredible relief to discover that one half of your favorite celebrity couple may be pregnant with the other half's offspring, but there's still this incredibly tense period between the publicist's denial of the pregnancy and that first Entertainment Tonight confirmation that they're expecting, when Hollywood holds its collective breath and cattily whispers to itself, "Jesus Fucking Christ, she's really let herself go. Hope she's not headed to rehab!' Let's all cross our fingers and hope that Jennifer Garner and Ben Affleck are having a baby, rather than the unsavory alternative.

Let's wrap up yet another scintillating edition of the Blind Item Guessing Game, before our inbox becomes any more laden with your enthusiastic replies. Bone up on One Helpful Blind Vice before moving on to the guesses:

And now for something completely different: A reader report from a party totally devoid of open-bar clogging, hors d'oeuvres gobbling, goodie-bag grabbing B-listers. Each December the studios will lay out some cold cuts, spin some records, and hire some booze-wielding cater-waiters for their employees, all in the name of averting a bloody end-of-the-year. burnout-induced revolt. Some might mistake this for goodwill, rather than a necessary evil rooted in self-preservation. Whatever the motive, a snout full of free vodka feels just as good:

Page Six reports that a disgruntled cameraman let loose on the lately-sainted Bill Murray during a recent screening of The Life Aquatic WIth Steve Zissou:

Defamer is delighted to present the second installment of Hollywood Holiday Cards, in which we share the season's greetings of the entertainment biz's biggest stars and most powerful players with the world. Today, actor Paul Reubens offers his glad tidings in-character.