You know who wasn't going to stay home on the couch this Halloween, posting Flickr photos of herself gobbling fun-size Snickers bars by the handful while watching her old The View couchmates delight the daytime-TV-craving masses with their sassy flapperwear? Rosie O'Donnell, that's who! Trussed up in the most luxurious Elizabethan finery The Martha Stewart Show's wardrobe budget would allow, O'Donnell dropped by to liven up her old friend's oppressively dour chatfest with her signature brand of merrymaking; even the normally mirthless Stewart had to crack a smile when Rosie insisted on communicating only in the piercing upper register of a British monarch so constipated by queenly propriety that she hadn't moved her royal bowels for the entirety of her reign.

Regardless of what your Halloween plans might entail, chances are pretty good that you'll eventually come face to face with the compressed, Lycra-silhouetted junk of at least one dude dressed as a superhero. Pretty on the Outside decided to grade some of the shrink-wrapped celebrity shlong on display this haunting season, giving head-of-the-class marks to Brody "The Hills" Jenner's shapely, right-bending manhood.

Following a Savannah Film Festival event at which Brett Ratner was named Rush Hour Sequel Director of the Year by the fest's blue-ribbon panel, the flattered fauxteur decided to take the students in attendance out for a crash course on the only aspect of the cinematic arts he's truly mastered: the part where one hands over all of his footage to an editor, tells him, "Make a movie out of this, would ya, bro?," then embarks on a celebratory search for a titty bar: "Ratner wasn't finished answering the students' questions when the party ended, and led at least a dozen on a pub crawl which involved a caravan of cabs crossing the bridge to South Carolina in search of a topless bar open in the wee hours of Monday morning. It was a valiant, misguided quest, but the students won't soon forget their seminar with Ratner." [P6]

With not much else left to do but wait for news on the upshot of today's final bargaining session before the strike-enabling midnight expiration of the WGA's contract with the studios, at least one of the concerned Companies has decided that it's time to give its employees some easy-to-follow tips on what to do if they find themselves surrounded by a phalanx of red-shirted picketers when they arrive at work over the next few days. Thankfully, Warner Bros. heads Barry Meyer and Alan Horn urge—at least for now—a patient and nonconfrontational approach to dealing with potential strikers, realizing that the unwanted interference of their civilian workers could undermine their security personnel's attempts to disburse any traffic-impeding Guild protestors with the trusty combination of fire-hose-soakings, rubber bullet strafings, and tear gas clouds that effectively disburse even the most resolute of union members. A pair of WB memos detailing their strike instructions follow:

The Lane Garrison legal saga found a measure of closure today, a judge having decided that 40 months in jail was a suitable sentence for the Prison Break actor's cokey-boozy bender that ended in the death of Beverly Hills High School student Vahagn Setian. From the AP report:

We always eagerly anticipate Franklin Avenue's coverage of the annual pumpkin carve-off that pits the various media-related tenants of the Wilshire Courtyard office park (E!, The Weinstein Company, Variety, The Family Guy production headquarters, etc) in a thrilling exhibition of their impressive gourd-sculpting skills, an event that more often than not ends in a regrettable knife-fight in the companies' shared courtyard over perceived voting irregularities.

· In other strike-related news, post-production houses prepare for the hit they'd take during a work stoppage, while indie film companies could see "the labor mess as a potential silver lining." [Variety, Variety]
· IggyGate provided The Ellen DeGeneres Show with a nice ratings boost, leading producers to plan a monthly stunt in which Ellen generously gives away one of her recently rescued pets to a young audience member, only to suffer an emotional breakdown as the gift is immediately ripped from the arms of the bawling child by adoption agency shock troops. [THR]

In all the strike deadline hysteria, we've barely had a moment to acknowledge that today is an (egregiously not nationally recognized) holiday. It's Halloween, everyone—the spookiest, scariest celebration of the year! And on The View, that usually means stuffing Barbara Walters into some sort of sex-kitten outfit. This year's theme—which we think was Ill-Fitting Cotton Club Costume Rentals?—gave Walters an excuse to talk about her club impresario father Lou Walters, a touching, grandmotherly reminiscence about a simpler time, when you could get a steak, a sidecar, and an unobstructed view of a showgirl's rack all for a nickel.

Today's Variety offers a cornucopia of eye-popping advertisements meant to catch the attention of American Film Market buyers looking to find a B-lister-starring, low-budget diamond in the rough (David Boreanaz in Ghost Writer! Patrick Swayze's Jump! Treasure Raiders, with David Carradine! ) they can polish up for audiences hungry for any entertainment product featuring a semi-recognizable Hollywood name.

Perhaps still giddy from the raves earned by his recent tour de force journey through Tracy Morgan's troubled childhood, 30 Rock star Alec Baldwin stands upon his HuffPo soapbox to pledge his solidarity with the WGA's cause: "The not-so-secret truth is that everyone in show business, of those who live 'above-the-line,' are overpaid. The only ones above-the-line who usually are not are the writers. Let's hope there is no strike and let's hope the writers get a good contract." [HuffPo]

It wasn't just Kiefer Sutherland's merry, drunken joyride through life that came crashing to a halt when he was stopped for a parole-violating DUI last month—so too did the party end for the ranks of professional John Hancock-procurers depending on Kiefer's autograph to put food on the table for their little ones. Sutherland now refuses to sign for them, Page Six reports, since damning shots of the slosh-faced actor taken the night of his arrest made their way onto the internets:

Congratulations are in order for ABC, the network deemed marginally less lily-white than its borderline-albino broadcast rivals in a television diversity report just released by Multi-Ethnic Media Coalition. Behind the leadership of televisionary Steve McPherson—an executive unafraid to crack some skulls when his shows begin to lag behind their diversity benchmarks—and hits like Ugly Betty, ABC easily triumphed over competition that was either satisfied to maintain the Caucasian status quo or backslide further into the alabaster void:

The big day that everyone in Hollywood has been anticipating with a mixture of dread, fear and, well, a deeper kind of dread that chills to the very bone is finally here. At midnight tonight, the Writers Guild's contract with the studios expires, a development that could quickly lead to the potentially catastrophic strike that's been looming™ since the moment the expiring deal was signed. So where do things stand on Grab Your Ankles And Pray It Won't Hurt Too Much Day? A round-up:

· Recoil in horror as Ivanka Trump reveals to Oprah how her father refused to spoil her to the extent enjoyed by her cavalierly private-jet-appropriating peers. No credit cards? It's like she spent her childhood chained to a diamond-encrusted radiator with a pair of 24-karat gold handcuffs.
· NBC is boldly taking us into the future of intrusive, in-programming advertising.
· Take a guided, photographic tour of Hollywood's most fondly remembered strikes.
· Click here to find out what Rosie O'Donnell's watching on TV, right now!

On a day when she should be celebrating the release of her Fake Superman-endorsed new album, embattled part-time mother Britney Spears once again finds herself the victim of a California child-welfare system gone utterly mad with power, discovering anew that the oppressive institution steadfastly refuses to acknowledge that successful parenting involves more than "paying attention" to her kids or establishing freedom-smothering "routines" that create chaos-minimizing home environments.

We must now relay sad news, as crooner and showbiz veteran Robert Goulet has passed away today at the age of 73 while awaiting a lung transplant at Cedars Sinai. We know we recently highlighted his short-lived sitcom achievements, but for a more fitting tribute, we guide you to this medley of the buttery baritone's considerable vocal talents, as well as to his more recent self-parodying work in the memorable Super Bowl spot above. Sadly, it will no longer take just the "natural energy of Emerald nuts" to keep a mischief-making office-gremlin Goulet away.

In case you're still waiting for your invite to the private beta version of Hulu, the new, YouTubes-killing online distribution channel for NBC Universal and News Corp's intellectual property, some bloggers have collected the URLs that will allow you to start watching episodes of The A-Team or Airwolf (as well as TV series and movies produced more recently than 1987, but we have no idea why you'd bother with those when you can be reliving George Peppard and Jan-Michael Vincent's glory days) right away. [Buzzfeed via Hurty Elbow]

· Music round-up: Ted Leo and the Pharmacists at the El Rey; Regina Spektor at the Wiltern; Thurston Moore at Echoplex; Neil Young at the Nokia Theatre; Sondre Lerche at Amoeba Records.
· The always-funny Brody Stevens gives away his comedy-love (and that of his fellow comics) for free tonight at the UCB Theatre.
· As if a screening of scary-doll-slaughtering-people classic Seed of Chucky wouldn't be enough to get you over to the Egyptian Theatre on its own, it'll be followed by a discussion with star Jennifer Tilly and director Don Mancini.

Always on the lookout for a hotly anticipated videogame-launch soirée at which to ply herself with complimentary libations and mingle with the stars of major network television series, undaunted Defamer PartyWatcher Ann penetrated the Guitar Hero III party Saturday night. Located on the roof of a Pico Blvd. Best Buy—soon to rival Les Deux as Hollywood's most aggressively selective social destination—photographer Maggie Serrano tagged along to capture all facets of the decadent, shredding-for-dummies proceedings. Ann's report, and a photo gallery, follow after the jump:

In the unlikely event that it's slipped your mind, today marks the official release of the most anticipated comeback in the history of music, Britney Spears' Blackout, a record that the erstwhile pop-star, her label, and the intermittently estranged children who want their momma to start earning a living again desperately need to make the public forget about the vagina-flashing, VMA-trainwrecking desperation of her post-In The Zone life.