Realizing the truth about his gay-stripping past had finally hit the mainstream media, American Idol finalist David Hernandez pulled one of the savviest moves in the competitive karaoke play book last night: He deflected the growing outrage with a booger-colored smokescreen. So repulsive was the tale of the flaky, walnut-sized (or was it pea-sized? It'll be the size of a wide-mouthed bass the next time he tells it!) snot-pellet plainly visible in the Celine Dion-interpreter's headshots, any connection in the minds of the American public between Hernandez and the notion of physical desirability was instantly nullified, offering him a clean slate with which to move into further rounds of competition.

While most of America has shown only a passing interest in Semi-Celebrity Apprentice (an interest that continues to fade each week), we have found it to be one of the few great small-screen joys of this strike-ravaged season. Not because the challenges are particularly interesting, mind you; our interest lies mainly in observing this pack of Type-A C-Listers trade on their varying levels of "fame" and hubris like social currency (see: Stephen Baldwin in the clip above). Rarely are the challenges on Donald Trump's resurrected show about who has a better grasp on the four Ps; rather, it's more about watching these fame-hungry jackals tear down their competitors' self-worth while attempting to build theirs up. As close-to-brilliant as the show is in its current incarnation, we can only imagine how subversively stupendous it could be if Cris Abrego and Mark Cronin were steering the ship instead of Mark Burnett. [NBC.com]

· Noted sci-fi author Kenneth Johnson, creator of the 1980s preeminent socialist parable cum mini-series V, will be at the Barnes & Noble in Encino signing copies of his newest book, V: The Second Generation. We always wondered what happened to that lizard baby, now we'll finally get to find out!
· A series of Charles Bukowski's ultra-rare films are screening tonight at 7 Dudley Cinema at Sponto Gallery.
· Los Angeles filmmaker Christina Parisi and local actors are gathering to screen and discuss several short films at the Robertson Branch Library. Free!

It's hard to believe it's taken six years for the Feds to bring their case against wiretapper-to-the-stars Anthony Pellicano to court. Along the way, the promise of dirt the likes of which Hollywood has never seen was dangled before us like a Sprinkles cupcake lowered by fishing line in front of Kirstie Alley, only to then be cruelly snapped away: The investigation turned up nothing juicier than some false statements made to the FBI by Die Hard director John McTiernan, regarding his hiring of Pellicano to tap his Rollerball producing partner's phone conversations. (He said he didn't, but it turns out he did. Oopsies!)

Here's how I imagine the greatest moment in the history of Vh1 will go down: One of those strippers on Rock of Love 2 will "accidentally" knock Bret Michaels' ten gallon hat from his melon just a split-second before a sudden gust from the Santa Ana's blows off his Real World-esque bandana, at which point the camera whip pans to finally reveal what lies beneath his formerly infallible do rag. Namely, a patch work of bald spots, hair plugs and horse hair extensions. Mama's fallen angel, indeed. End scene.

For the first time in recorded history, we actually felt sorry for poor chubster Kevin Federline yesterday. After all, as those golfing pictures revealed, that he's now sporting a Buddha big enough to hamper his golf swing. But apparently the slideshow-happy folks at Us Weekly didn't share our sympathies; in the wake of the revelation of Fat K-Fed, they've posted a slideshow featuring other formerly thin celebs who've gone from "hunk to chunk" in recent years. But being the stubborn argumentative types that we are, we're going to have to disagree with their take on all of these pound-packers' alleged downfalls. Sure, Clay Aiken's no prize these days (was he ever?), and Alec Baldwin certainly looked sexier in Glengarry Glen Ross than he currently does on 30 Rock, but a few members of Us' Fatso Club actually look far hotter with some extra meat on their bones. Our rebuttals, with pictorial evidence, after the jump.

While Hollywood has yet to spark to David Sedaris quite as enthusiastically as they have his sister Amy (why we've yet to see the movie based on that Barrel Fever story about the adopted Vietnamese hooker is beyond us. And they say there aren't enough great parts for women. Hmph!), we're certain the NPR-listening and book-reading factions among you are already familiar with his work.

Ah, Hollywood—you damned, dirty ape. Every time we're just about ready to throw in the towel, convinced the entire L.A. basin is nothing but a giant, detritus-clogged drainage pipe filtering humanity's run-off, you come along with a story so improbable, so life-affirming, so gosh darned wonderful, it makes us want to hop right in our cars and collide into the first motorist we see. Today, that story comes to us via Scriptland, LAT's love letter to Hollywood's hard-working Final Draft-miners, and stars a couple of Eastsiders, an ex-con, and a hole:

It was sad news indeed to find out that actor Patrick Swayze, suffering from pancreatic cancer, has been given a grim prognosis. Though faded from the limelight for a time, he's remained a mostly beloved actor, as liked for his rough-and-tumble fighting in Road House as his dancin' and romancin' in Dirty Dancing. A supremely talented physical performer, at the height of his career Swayze perfectly embodied, and perhaps helped create, a certain type of sensitive, maybe even thoughtful, machismo that could be seen as a direct precursor to today's better rounded, more casually masculine movie stars (Matthew McConaughey owes him a debt of gratitude.) He's had a lasting effect on cinema, and that's about as much as any actor can hope for. However he's done it, he's brought people joy. And for that, we're grateful. Clips of some of his notable work after the jump. Update: Reps for the actor say his status is better than some are reporting.

Top five answers on the board, people! We have a short survey that we would REALLY like you all to take. We don't know much, but we know we'll love you even more if you agree to take two minutes out of your day to help us out with this. Your entry will put you in the running for a $100 Gift Certificate from those young web upstarts over at Amazon.com; standard rules apply. If you don't want us to sick Richard Dawson on you, your best option is to take our quick and painless little survey. Kisses!

If you saw 2007's instant classic doc King Of Kong: A Fistful Of Quarters (which, btw, was totally hosed by those n00bs at the Academy), you'll certainly agree that Steve Wiebe is probably the greatest human being ever to walk the Earth. But if you saw the film when it was released on DVD about a month ago and poured through the extras as religiously as we did, you likely learned that Wiebe's Donkey Kong world record was broken by cinema's most dastardly villain, Billy Mitchell, in June of 2007. Well, to that end, our friends over at /Film are reporting that Steve Wiebe will be attempting to reclaim his rightful position as DK World Champ in Vegas tonight at some Microsoft sponsored nerdfest. Twin Galaxies kingpin / referee / stoner supreme Walter Day will there to oversee the event, so you can be assured no videotaped shenanigans will stand in the way of Wiebe this time. Break a leg barrel, Steve! [/Film]

Times must be tough for Wilmer Valderrama if he's second-guessing how much change he has to put into the meter. Why can't all parking be free and/or validated?

We suppose some might dispute Nasser Entertainment's bold claim that Anna Nicole is "the most anticipated motion picture of the year." Still, after watching Bad Girl of Pop Willa Ford's complete and uncompromising transformation into the nonagenarian-sexing bombshell, we will concede that the movie has just shot up our 2008 Must-See List. Something about the way Ford captures Anna's baby-gurgle voice in the line, "I wanna be the next Marilyn Monroehrmphuh," coupled with the movie's Showgirls-on-no-budget production values, makes us feel like the bigwigs at Nasser really nailed this one, producing the kind of instant camp-o-tainment Anna Nicole herself would have starred in had she not been taken from us too soon.

After turning their swarthy disdain for Jaffa Cake Knees into a full-out journalistic attack, the Brit tabloids are at it again, only now they've sunk their unmanicured claws into an affliction rampant in Hollywood they've dubbed "trout pouts." Known victims of said affliction, like Jenna Jameson and Heidi Fleiss, have long been injecting so much poison into their lips that kissing them might feel a bit like sucking on an well-inflated balloon. Angelina Jolie Pillow Lips, these are not. After singling out once-quite-pretty actress Saffron Burrows as the poster girl for T.P., they've unleashed their venomous pens on several other poufy-lipped ladies—and no group of newsies writes a meaner caption than the snarky Brits. NSFYH (that's Not Safe For Your Health) pics, along with their brush-offs, after the jump.

· It's official! E! has picked up eight episodes of Living Lohan, a realitainment showcasing the highs and lows of everyone's favorite momabler, Dina Lohan, as she moves the family from Long Island to Las Vegas for little Ali's career. Ali records an album, the two live in a suite at the Palms (coincidentally owned by exec producer Phil Maloof), and we get a shattering glimpse into the heart of momabling darkness. Be afraid. [Variety]
· Confused about what the hell the Warner Bros.-ingested New New Line is going to wind up looking like? Guess what—so is Warner Bros.! [Variety]

The Kutcher-Moores grace the pages of the April issue of Harper's Bazaar, in which the First Family of Cougardom weigh in on a number of topics, including how they manage to keep their Kabbalic faith after other celebrities have moved on to even trendier catalogue-order religions. But it's the subject of Moore's ex-husband and Rumer-fatherer Bruce Willis, who maintains an improbably cozy relationship with his Gen Y usurper, that repeatedly pops up:

Sure, Len Wiseman might be a big shot action movie director, but his greatest accomplishment will always be that he was one of the few, the chosen, the lucky who got to enter the Pharaoh's Tomb.

Is it possible that Lindsay Lohan has not only achieved sobriety but also a knack for irony to rival Jon Stewart? At a party celebrating her Paper Magazine cover yesterday (which features a sour-looking badass version of the Lindsay we once loved to hate), LiLo decided to show up wearing a "skirt" emblazoned with neon traffic signs (is it just us, or does that look less like a "skirt" and more like a tube top?). We hope that Eli Roth was in attendance at the party so he could exact revenge on the ageist nip-flasher by loudly muttering "too Spencer's" as she strutted by.

Dannielynn Hope Birkhead, now 18-months-old, has been named sole heir to the Anna Nicole Smith estate by an L.A. Superior Court judge yesterday, as well as the beneficiary of a newly established trust. Larry Birkhead and estate-executor Howard K. Stern are—you guessed it—the co-trustees, a new responsibility which we can only imagine will further prevent them from putting a fucking tombstone on Anna Nicole's grave. [usatoday.com]

Unlike other, more culturally acceptable Hollywood race-swapping depictions—say, Rob Schneider's exciting work in the ugly-Asian-caricature arts, or even the Wayans brothers' attempt to slip into the alabaster skin of two chihuahua-toting cruise line heiresses—blackface steadfastly remains as reviled and controversial as ever. Which brings us, courtesy EW.com, to this first glimpse of Ben Stiller's "epic action comedy" Tropic Thunder—a movie he first conceived of as a young extra on the set of Steven Spielberg's Empire of the Sun. (Why does that one detail suggest what we might be looking at here is Stiller's own Heaven's Gate?) In it, Robert Downey Jr. plays an actor so committed to craft, he becomes African American: