Like a red ball hurtling towards your unprotected genital region, DodgeBall backlash whistles through the internet. An angry Craigslist NY poster rants against Ben Stiller and meaningless references to Scott Baio vehicles from long ago:

It's a well-known fact that everyone in Hollywood has a Cleavage Double. Sometimes it's someone you wouldn't expect. Click here or on the picture to see who could step in for a close-up should Brit Brit spring a leak or suffer a sucking chest wound.

The LAT recaps the Graydon Carter GraydonGate™ non-scandal, with a couple of mentions of future projects the Vanity Fair editor may or may not participate in. But it all starts with The Curiously Symbolic Story of the Oscar-Shaped Shrubbery:

Today's Lloyd Grove column in the NY Daily News reports that a mental retardation and developmental disabilities advocacy group has sent Mean Girls star/jailbait controversy magnet Lindsay Lohan a "stern letter" chastising her for her frequent, impolitic use of the phrase "That's so retarded." (Why do you hate 'tards, so much, Lindsay? Did the short bus drive by and ask if your breasts are fake?) We recommend that she lay off the retards and start making fun of the blind; their scolding letters are just bumpy.

Even with unhinged, decrepit mascot Jack Nicholson making the trip to Detroit, the Lakers were still unable to keep the Finals alive for one more game, putting off our city's championship riot dreams for at least another year. The game wasn't pretty (after all, this was Detroit), but a reader pinpoints the moment she knew it was really, really over for the purple and gold:

Earlier today, MSNBC's Jeanette Walls was spreading the rumor that Jennifer Aniston is pregnant with the heir to Brad Pitt's all-abs/no-act throne. A few hours ago, a reader emailed that CNN (the actual one on the television with the constantly talking, extremely boring people, not the pleasantly static web version) was reporting the same news. But we haven't seen or heard anything on it since then. Are all the publicists dead? Can't we at least get a denial out of one of them so that we can go back to not giving a shit until they slap some utterly retarded name on the poor baby?

Nothing good can follow in a story that begins thusly: "The scent of money was in the mountain air. Walt Disney Co. Chief Executive Michael Eisner had come to the resort town of Sun Valley, Idaho, with his company's wallet wide open — a risky move at a gathering of voracious moguls."

TVgasm thinks it's unearthed a fake-bake scandal that goes all the way to the top of Tanazon Charlize Theron's awards-show career. Using an obsessive, potentially vision-impairing investigative technique that surely required large stretches of free time, TVgasm's experts think they've determined that the Oscar-winning Miss Theron is fake-tanning her way to a basted turkey sheen—a golden brown that is being willfully obscured by a complicit tint-correcting, Photoshop-happy media. Disturbing. But can we return the discourse to an appropriately lofty level and get back to obsessing about Lindsay Lohan's rack?

Perhaps our favorite Craigslist post of all time, entitled "Need help selling celeb porn tape":

Are you tired of drinking all of your celebrity-inspired sparkling wines out of a box? Did you ever wonder how Sofia Coppola might have gotten over the disintegration of her marriage to Spike Jonze, when nights cuddled up with an Oscar statuette weren't cutting it? If your answer to either of these questions is a quivering yes, then you're ready for Sofia Mini canned sparkling wine, named for and inspired by everyone's favorite daddy's girl. (And distributed through his Napa vineyard.)

Female agents of CAA rival firms, watch out: If you insist on using your genitals in a literal screwing situation rather than in the classic, metaphorical agenting sense and find yourself pregnant, the Creative Artists may be sniffing around your clients. We hear that while you attend to your various prenatal concerns, the House That Ovitz Built is back to its leave-no-talent-unstolen ways, whispering in your meal-tickets' ears that when Junior arrives, New Mommy Agent won't have time to service their needs. (Especially if you're toiling at William Morris.) CAA, meanwhile, will gladly forgo any personal relationships that might interfere with the single-minded pursuit of their percentages and use their junk only for the kind of fucking Hollywood expects.

Blogger Boi From Troy reports that celeb-frequented West Hollywood gym Crunch is going to offer "DodgeBall 101" classes as a tie-in with the movie's Friday release. We can see that first game now...the gay team on one side, clutching their balls and comparing their biceps. And the celeb team...well, probably on the same side. Crunch is going to need to import some players for that second team. Maybe the marketing visionary at Fox that came up with this idea can convince a couple of the struggling actresses working out at the gym that getting smacked in the face with some balls will be good for their career.

On this morning's Howard Stern radio show, Ben Stiller phoned in to promote his new movie, DodgeBall: A True Underdog Story. Stern made him run through his entire sexual history with celebrity partners, nothing unusual there. [Ed. note—Calista Flockhart?] But notable among the rote movie-pluggery was Stiller's repeated invocation of the phrase "I stand behind this movie." Are those campaign reform laws that require political candidates to declare that they "approve this message" on their commercials creeping into Hollywood? Think of how many people could be saved from ill-advised ticket purchases if stars were required to give their explicit endorsement of their shitty movies—or the truth: "I'm Bill Murray, the voice of Garfield, and someone at Fox has video of me reenacting Behind The Green Door with five donkeys."

We do love our documents at Defamer. This email from Warner Music Group head Lyor Cohen announces that they've settled their lawsuit with Madonna's Maverick label—by buying her out. We're not sure why a settlement suddenly materialized, but we suspect someone at Kabbalah High Command pressed a button on their celebrity-control console, making Madonna's red string bracelet start vibrating and tell her it was time to sell.

Security guards on the Paramount lot in Hollywood turned away a homeless man from the studio's gates, then recognized him on a newscast about the slayings of a 91-year-old screenwriter and a 67-year-old physician neighbor. What we want to know: How quickly was Paramount head Sherry Lansing trying to lock up the rights to her security guards' story, so she can massage it into a $100 million buddy picture where the unassuming guards have to act quickly to thwart a serial killer on the loose in a big Hollywood studio? This could be just what Lansing needs to save her gig in the wake of the shake-ups at Paramount parent Viacom. But who are we kidding? It's a Paramount movie, it would totally bomb.

—The New York Post's plastic surgery experts blame Britney Spears and Lindsay Lohan for the bazooming of America's teenage girls.
—Meryl channels Hillary in Manchurian Candidate; Paramount supposedly reminds director Jonathan Demme to stick to the usual left-wing Hollywood conspiracy and lay off Hill.
—Guy Ritchie says that Kabbalah is A.O.K, and that Madonna's "never received any kind of bill from anyone." He also denies that he and his pals will one day drink son Rocco's blood from a gold chalice paid for by Madonna's Kabbalah Centre tithe.
—Even McDonald's hates Michael Eisner.

Yes, yes...as we noted on Friday, the Olsen Twins turned a barely-legal 18 this weekend. And, as we'd feared, America's perverts surely had all the anticlimaxes they could handle to file-shared versions of New York Minute, freed at last from the statutory masturbatory fantasy authorities. Luckily, Yankee Pot Roast's Josh Abraham commemorated the occasion aptly, with a mini passion-play starring the Twins and tiny thumbnails of their high school yearbook photos. We can't keep them straight, so the following excerpt runs without the proper dialogue attributions or line breaks; surprisingly, this adds a strange, lyrical quality to the proceedings:

Now that Viggo Mortensen is enjoying "substantial success as an actor," ex-wife (and former X lead singer) Christene Edge, is hitting up the actor for a bigger child support payment. Naturally, The Smoking Gun has the court document in which Edge wants Viggo's contribution to balloon from $3,000 to about $18,000 a month. Let this serve as a warning to all divorced actors who pine for "substantial success": You're probably better off getting your ass kicked by Demi Moore than becoming the king of Middle Earth.

Newsweek looks at next summer's attempted resuscitation of the Batman franchise, Batman Begins. Warner Bros. is anxious to finally revive the comic book hero, but without any of that troubling leather-and-rubber [Ed. note—Gay.] fetishism that director Joel Schumacher ladeled on Batman and Robin like hot fudge at a Robert Mapplethorpe photo shoot. New director Christopher Nolan has been charged with butching up the production, but the Newsweek article is sending some mixed signals about the Caped Crusader's de-sissyfication:

An alert reader sends us a link to this Brazilian site, where we found this picture of Ben Affleck, looking sleepy and apparently performing a much-needed genital adjustment. Was Ben caught by a lurking paparazzo, rendered sleepy and dazed by the news of J-Lo's secret wedding? We really don't know the context of the photo (and to be honest, we don't really care), but we put the page's text through Babelfish and got this: