—Team Fugly examines Cybill Shepherd's disturbing transformation from Little Red Riding Hood to a menopausal version of Yahoo Serious.
—LAVoice's Mack Reed wonders whether The Highlands would exist if not for the Hollywood premiere party circuit. Our guess: No, it would not.
—Our A Dirty Shame blog interviews Selma Blair, and there's no avoiding the giant, latex elephant in the room.
—Sure, she's personally worth tens of millions of dollars and her family owns a chain of hotels, so why wouldn't we believe that Paris Hilton has never heard of the Wall Street Journal? [third item]
—Disney's board of directors says it will find CEO Michael Eisner's replacement by June. If they expect to stick to that timetable, they'd better get to work right now disarming the elaborate network of booby-trap "checks and balances" meant to keep torch-wielding shareholder mobs at bay.
—Buy an Associate Producer credit on eBay and get started on your fake producing career today!

We are right near the bottom of the list of people that should be giving out fashion advice, as our job requires that we're at least partially disrobed and exposing threadbare underclothes at all times. (It's contractual, don't ask.) However, it seems obvious to us that dating a (much) older woman doesn't give Ashton Kutcher license to raid her teenage daughter's closet. A spy reveals Kutcher's latest sartorial breakthrough on the set of his new MTV show, You've Got a Friend:

1. Tonight's RES Film Screening at the Egyptian will focus on the very cool art of film title design. And they're also presenting new music videos from Air, Zero 7, and Prodigy, with DJs and drinking to follow. Go for the art, stay for the booze.
2. Get your Spicoli on, but keep your little Judge Reinhold in your pants: Fast Times at Ridgemont High plays at the ArcLight, followed by a Q&A with director Amy Heckerling.
3. Sure, you've seen Stars Wars no fewer than 35 times and you're about to buy the DVD. But it's showing at the Santa Monica Pier, and there's something really special about being able to celebrate the Death Star's destruction on the shores of the Pacific, with a bushel of carnies just a stone's throw away.

The Defamer correspondent on celebrity attendance at pre-awards-show gatherings checks in with a partial roll call from Entertainment Weekly's party at the Hollywood Athletic Club. Predictablt, among the revelers were budding executive-branch hopefuls Paris Hilton and Lindsay Lohan [Ed.note—Has someone invented a magical kind of vodka that caused these two to be cloned over and over again, allowing them to simultaneously attend every single event in Hollywood?], not doing anything to ruin their chances—unless they've hooked up sidekick Nicole Richie with a campaign gig. A PDA overdose isn't going to poll well in the red states.

We'd imagined that Britney Spears would spend her last, precious, unbetrothed hours trolling the Las Vegas Strip for lounging background dancers, arranging a final energy drink fueled, ad-hoc orgy of sweaty premarital sex, junk food consumption, and perhaps the odd quickly-annullable trip down the wedding chapel aisle. You know, just for old times' sake. Unfortunately, a reader disabuses us of this elaborate fantasy of ours, as she encounters Spears getting some cheese puff residue sandblasted off of her by a team of trained aestheticians at the spa:

Normally, our Agent Dance feature chronicles the moves of everyone's favorite ten-percenters and the companies that sign their paychecks. But today's Variety reports a different kind of agent movement, as former literary agent Marcie Wright, chucked in the pokey for embezzling a quarter of a million bucks from such clients as writers Marc "Desperate Housewives" Cherry and Robert "Mickey Blue Eyes" Kuhn, has been released after serving just 160 days of her one-year sentence to help alleviate the overcrowding of jails. What's more dangerous than an agent who's taken those last baby steps across the ethical line and completely given themselves over to the Dark Side? We can only hope that Wright has completed the necessary rehabilitation program during her abbreviated time served, receiving high-voltage corrections each time she was tempted to tell a fellow inmate that she had six other buyers ready to pounce with higher offers for her carton of Virginia Slims.

Hollywood PrivacyWatch celebrity sightings are sent in by our night-vision-goggled readers. Send yours to tips@defamer.com and let John Travolta know you've noticed how his hats have gone up three sizes since Lucky Numbers.

OK, we admit that when we joked about Paris Hilton playing the first female president, we'd already seen this picture. We like their chances, pesky election laws notwithstanding: They're a balanced team, with the Teflon Hilton ripe for a figurehead position at the top of the ticket, while Lohan steps in as behind-the-scenes mastermind. With Tara Reid ably performing campaign manager duties, nothing can stop their relentless write-in campaign except watered down drinks or cheap blow cut with baby laxatives.

· Universal will remake the British TV hit No Angels in America. The edgy drama follows nurses who "work hard by day and play hard by night." Anyone else remember Nightingales? Or Coupling? We look forward to savoring both episodes before the show is yanked. [THR]
· Samuel Goldwyn Films and 20th Century Fox team up for a remake of the French thriller, He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not. If it worked in France, there's absolutely no way it can be anything other than a huge hit here, right? Maybe they can throw in some naughty British nurses and admit we've given up on new ideas from America. [THR]
· The ratings are in, and the Emmys tanked like, well, an ABC show. They should demand a recount, just in case Garry Shandling's overflowing bile melted a few thousand Nielsen boxes. [THR]
· Rod "The Contender" Lurie signs a two-year deal with Touchstone TV with a two-script commitment, one of which will be the ABC drama pilot Commander In Chief, about the first woman president. Clearly, this will be the perfect opportunity for Paris Hilton to prove her acting chops. [THR]
· Dimension's Scary Movie 3 team of David Zucker, Criag Mazin, and Robert Weiss find yet another movie genre to lamely spoof with Superhero!. Expect endless jokes about wearing tights and the things that bulge when crammed into tights. At least it's not the Wayans Brothers on the job, or we'd really be in trouble with the dick jokes. [Variety, sub. req'd]

An enterprising capitalist has already placed his Emmy goodie bag for sale on eBay, claiming it's "the bag given to all of the celebrities attending" the awards. It seems that the bag is actually the one handed out at the ET Emmy Party, so maybe that's why there are still no bids. The seller might get more nibbles on the $800 bag (which, you know, are handed out for free) if he got more creative with the sales pitch: Why not claim that the bag was sown from pieces of Garry Shandling's old face?

Former FX VP of publicity Steve Webster pleaded no contest for continuing to secretly phone in to network conference calls after he'd been fired by FX, then sending faxes with the eavesdropped information to News Corp president Peter Chernin and THR. The LAT reports that Webster's lawyer told the court he was "unconditionally remorseful." This is an important test case—we already know that publicists are conditioned to lie, but can they feel remorse? Even if Webster is found to be really, really sorry by the legal system, further experiments will have to be conducted to see if flacks can be made to feel guilt without a judge or cop in the room. Failing that, perhaps the eventual autopsy will prove our pet theory that publicists lack the "remorse gland" that would drive normal people crazy from lying for a living.

—Even the NY Daily News disses the Valley: "Spears had told pals she wanted a 'storybook wedding,' but opted for the tiny gathering at a friend's home in the decidedly unglamorous Studio City neighborhood."
—It might be time to start praying for Rodney Dangerfield, who's slipped into a "light coma," but is starting to "show signs of awareness."
—A "flaky" stylist "loses" a million bucks' worth of jewelry in the parking lot of Staples Center, then offers to go on Extra and ET to beg for the jewel's safe return. We bet we know how this one turns out.
—Low Culture breaks down Garry Shandling's face. They're missing the hypodermic needle full of face-paralyzing toxins, but who are we to quibble?
—LA.com offers a close examination of Emmy bling, while blogger Spirit Fingers tries to reconstruct the Emmy goodie bag. In unrelated news, we ate Ramen noodles for our last three meals.
—Claire Danes and boyfriend/Mary-Louise Parker ditcher Billy Crudup take great pains to avoid seeming like a couple in Toronto.
—Do you ever wonder if the LAT ever gets embarrassed about how much better the NYT's coverage of Hollywood is? Just askin'.

When we first heard about the coming vehicular evil that is the CXT, we thought that ignoring it might make it go away. But, alas, it seems our roads will soon be clogged by a ridiculous truck niche-marketed to men with genitalia-inadequacy issues so severe they can't even be salved by driving a Hummer—call them the "innie crowd." A reader spots a CXT in the most conspicuous of locations, The Grove:

1. See incredibly prolific, crowd-baiting songsmith Ryan Adams at the Wiltern. There's a 50/50 chance he'll write a new album's worth of material as you drive to the venue, so expect that you might not recognize all of his songs. Also, he leaves awesome voicemails for contrarian journalists.
2. Admire the dazzling hair and inimitable vocal stylings of Christopher Walken at a preview of his upcoming film Around the Bend at the Egyptian tonight. Walken will hang around to discuss the movie, schedule permitting; we unofficially recommend you bar the theater door should the wily actor try to escape before the Q&A.
3. Reinvest what you would have spent on a cover charge in cheap beer as The High Speed Scene and The Futureheads take the stage at Spaceland's free Monday night show.

An attendee of Madonna's Kabballah Kiddiepalooza gala dinner in Tel Aviv writes to The View From Here blog about the experience of being in the presence of Queen Esther and her glassy-eyed, red-stringed subjects:

On Friday, we'd heard that the scrap at The Lot in Hollywood between crews on Jack & Bobby and Flightplan was a relatively minor dust-up between a punchy outsider and a pair of brothers who worked on those productions. A source assures us that story wasn't true, and that a J&B crew guy had himself a personal wrap party at the nearby Formosa before returning to the Lot and getting into a scrap with a Flightplan crew member in a shared work area. Supposedly the boozed-up J&B guy responded to getting his jaw broken by pulling a large utility knife, which understandably sent onlookers scrambling to call the cops. The report contained no instances of gun-fire, swordplay, or mother jokes, so hopefully no bad blood will linger between the the two productions when they run into each other on the soundstage or at the commissary. No one wants a rumble on Fried Chicken Day.

While Donald Trump seemingly obliges reporters with his one millionth utterance of his catchphrase, trophy fiancée Melania Knauss' dress recoils in embarrassment, temporarily drawing focus away from The Donald and his vaunted combover. The slightly NSFW, squint-and-you'll-miss-it version is after the jump.

We're not sure of what to make of this, but it appears that someone has hacked Miramax's website for Hero, replacing the page's central picture of Jet Li with a grainy picture of a teenage-looking girl. (The hacker's girlfriend? A still from a porno? The ghost of a former Miramax employee driven to suicide by Harvey Weinstein?) Very strange indeed. Developing...

While we were huddled in front of our tape-delayed broadcast of the Emmys, nearly everyone else in Hollywood was gathered at parties, watching the live satellite feed. A reader gives a brief account of Showtime's party, where all in attendance got to witness HBO's gay-crazed, paste-eating little brother get completely shut out.

· Sex and the City's Michael Patrick King unveils his anticipated comeback move for HBO, taking Lisa Kudrow and essentially recreates the Jason Alexander storyline from Curb Your Enthusiasm, where a former sitcom star tries to revive her career. Oh, and it's self-consciously/obviously named The Comeback. We can't wait for the recycled banter about shoes and spunk. [THR]
· NBC may hold boxing reality series The Contender until midseason. Hopefully, people will have forgotten that an eerily similar Fox boxing show tanked several months earlier, making their own failure seem refreshingly original. [THR]
· Sarah Jessica Parker says there will be no Sex and the City movie. While this is incredibly good news to us, the passers-by that have always wished her well will certainly not be pleased. [THR]
· Variety notes that "reality is now a legit member of the Emmy family." What tipped them off? Simon Cowell and Donald Trump woodenly tag-teaming an award presentation? Or the fact that nearly every presenter name-checked The Donald in between roughly eight-thousand Trump reaction shots? [Variety, sub. req'd]