Last night's edition of The Insider gave its audience a brief respite from incremental updates on who might be awarded the fatter, juicier part of Dannielynn Smith following a Bahamian judge's inevitable, Solomonic order to cleave the disputed infant in twain to share the fascinating story of the so-called Wolf Whisperer, star of National Geographic's documentary A Man Among Wolves. That this Whisperer was pragmatic enough, unlike Werner Herzog's ill-fated Grizzly Man hero, to choose an object of obsession that can't kill him with a single swipe of its paw bodes well for his future Hollywood prospects; if he'd met a tragic end chasing his feral dreams, his chances of having his story eventually adapted into a feel-good Friday night drama for CBS (starring Billy Ray Cyrus, red-hot off his Dancing with the Stars revival) would probably have died with him.

Defamer readers might recall a post from late last July regarding a NY Daily News sighting, which put Most Powerful Gay in the Universe David Geffen on the arm of Seann William Scott, aka That Dude Who Managed To Spin Stiffler Into A Reasonably Successful Movie Career That Peaked Two Years Ago, at an L.A. gay bar. A mere nine months later, Page Six is happy to offer the real scoop on the actor, with a clarifying item that doesn't at all feel like a publicist-planted tip about the hyper-heterosexual, Victoria's Secret-model-fucking habits of their not at all gay—but entirely comfortable with the concept!—client:

The tabloids are once again pushing the Scientology panic button on Jennifer Lopez, who was caught dropping some Hubbardian jargon into her attempts to soothe the feelings of vulnerable American Idol contestants following judge Simon Cowell's litany of enturbulating put-downs. Notes Rush & Molloy:

· We really were hoping to find a YouTube clip of Kurt Vonnegut, maybe our all-time favorite writer, making his cameo in Back to School. But this will have to do for now.
· If Lowermybills.com waits a couple of weeks, they can probably get the real deal to do their ads.
· $75,000 was a small price to pay for raising local veterans' awareness of M:i:III.
· Madonna swears she's not in Malawi to adopt another child, but hasn't explicitly ruled out the possibility of just buying one straight-up this time around.

As far as major milestones on the great playing board of the Celebrity Game of Life go, nothing quite matches the divorce in terms of pure, spectator deathsport value. Forbes, always at the ready with some variation of a list of famous people and their mindboggling fortunes, now presents the Most Expensive Celebrity Divorces. A drumroll, please, as we reveal the top ten:

[*Which, we're told, changes into a twenty-foot-tall robot that shoots lasers out of his tailpipe/schlong! Nice!]

Joe Francis, the Pied Piper of busty, barely legal co-eds with a taste for the handicam spotlight, has been having—to put it mildly—a bitch of a week. Currently doing hard, Panama City jail time for a contempt of court charge related to his photographing of underage girls in sexual situations, he was also served yesterday with a federal indictment for tax evasion, which carries with it a maximum potential sentence of ten years in a Camp Cupcake-like facility for boys. Now, like the cherry upon this glutonous, schadenfreude sundae, comes this report of a bribe he probably wishes he could take back:

· A decidedly kick-ass music round-up: Robyn Hitchcock & the Venus 3 at Spaceland; Ted Leo and the Pharmacists at the El Rey; Say Hi To Your Mom at the Knitting Factory.
· Dean Pitchford, who wrote the lyrics for Fame and the lyrics and screenplay for Footloose, reads from The Big One-Oh, his first novel, at Book Soup.
· Rosanna Arquette (of Hollywood's directing Arquettes) screens her documentary Searching for Debra Winger at the Aero. She'll be on hand with unspecified "other actresses" to discuss the film and let you know if she succeeding in finding the elusive Urban Cowboy star.

We sometimes forget that the streets of Los Angeles are a uniquely treacherous place, patrolled by glassy-eyed celebrities in hulking SUVs, waiting for an opportunity to ram their vehicles into unwitting civilians just so they can feel the elusive human connection denied them by their insulating, soul-deadening fame. A story in the LA Weekly reminds about this chilling aspect of life in our fine city, as well as the fact that Mischa Barton is apparently not as skilled a driver as her paparazzi-evading peers. Above, you can see the Saab devoured by the erstwhile Marissa Cooper's hunger to connect; below, an excerpt from the LAW writer's account of what it's like when one's father gets into a fender-bender with someone who used to be sort of famous, until they wrote her off that show or whatever:

Yesterday, we linked to a photo of the skeleton of the 360 Sunset building getting wrapped in a gargantuan, four-sided ad touting Michael Bay's latest make-shit-go-boom masterwork, Transformers. Well, as anyone who has ventured outside the office today (or caught a glimpse an airborne valet sailing past their window) already knows, gusty conditions have beset the accident-prone building with yet another small-scale epic disaster, stunningly captured by an intrepid Defamer operative and citizen photojournalist. Is it merely a random and destructive act of nature, or possibly a harbinger of ominous things to come, as prophesied in a sacred, anonymously authored verse? Only time will tell.

For those of you unable to concentrate on your jobs, family, or the heartbreaking news that Angelina Jolie seems unable to love her lone biological child because you've been sick with worry about this Don Imus situation, relief: He's been shitcanned by CBS, and shitcanned good. Our east-coasted siblings at Gawker have smiling CBS Corp. despot Les Moonves' announcement of the firing, who is no doubt a little annoyed that sworn NBC enemy Jeff Zucker beat him to the kill yesterday; he hates being the guy to fire the second bullet at a public execution.

Did this morning's tale of the former assistant who was once driven to vomit by her boss's cruelty hit a little too close to home, dredging up painful, bile-flavored memories of your own? Then you need a new job! The Defamer Job Board is here just in time to save you from future esophageal erosion with this week's highlights:

· Brendan Fraser is happy to cash a huge paycheck for yet another Mummy sequel, but heroine Rachel Weisz abandons the franchise, realizing that her Oscar affords her the chance to do some projects that don't involve her screaming at a tennis ball at the end of a stick representing the giant scarab that will be added months later by an effects house. [Variety]

· Tom Hanks and Ron Howard are in "final negotiations" to return for the Da Vinci Code prequel Angels and Demons, presumably for amounts of money so staggering you would instantly become incontinent upon seeing them discussed in print. [THR]

· Forest Whitaker and Denzel Washington will star in The Great Debaters (think Pride, but with debaters and two Oscar winners instead of swimmers and Terence Howard), which Washington will also direct. [Variety]

· 27.9 million viewers tune in for their last glimpse of Haley Scarnato's legs on Idol; Phil Stacey gets one more week to try and escape elimination by hiding his batlike ears and strangely shaped, clean-shaven cranium under a silly hat. [THR]

· Nielsen discovers a discovers a hidden community of Lost fans who screw up their weekly viewer-tabulation efforts by catching up with the show on the weekends via DVR. [Variety]

Blades of Glory's handsome showing has only solidified what everyone by now has long suspected—that Will Ferrell can create box office heat starring in just about anything, so long as the Ferrellian archetype of a pompous chauvinist in a high-profile profession that requires the donning of a silly uniform and the keeping of a semi-retarded sidekick are firmly in place. With that in mind, a resourceful mind at CollegeHumor.com has devised an ingenious "Will Ferrell Movie Generator," which, through the use of complex, proven-Hollywood-formula algorithms that Google will eventually pay in the low ten-figures for, spits out surefire hits like a Krispy Kreme conveyor belt spits out warm donuts. For example:

The jilted celebrity weeklies' coordinated attacks on exclusive People collaborator Angelina Jolie continue in this week's Life & Style, with the second-tier glossy accusing the once-beatified orphan collector of being unable to love the overprivileged, tragically bland blob whose unparalleled genetic advantages may have robbed it of a personality compelling enough to hold Jolie's fickle attention, especially when she's constantly distracted by her hand-picked trio of fascinating refugees. If this anti-Jolie offensive drags on in the coming weeks, the actress may be forced to turn on Pitt, who's lately been cast as the put-upon partner of a selfish adoption addict in search of her next toddler-fix by her sensationalist nemeses, turning to her reliable public relations instrument in a shocking, retaliatory People exposé claiming "sources very close to the family" who reveal that Pitt is a "narcissist only able to love his biological baby" and who frequently refers to his adoptive family as "the fake kids."

As Neverland Ranch sits abandoned and in disrepair, the ghostly sounds of splashing and boys' laughter from a spirited round of Johnny Quest Underwater Hottub Adventure still echoing through its halls, its former, debt-afflicted occupant is reportedly becoming increasingly desperate in his search for a buyer. From Page Six:

Today's LAT profiles TV's most celebrated Gaysian (a title he'll hold until the Heroes producers allow that guy who can stop time to teleport himself out of the closet), Entourage's Lloyd (Rex Lee), whose weekly struggles with an abusive boss provide a template for how to suffer through a thankless job with scene-stealing dignity for the entertainment industry's thousands of oppressed assistants. The Times explains how Lee—fun fact: once an assistant himself—has made the role his own, and notes his ascension to icon of the call-rolling class:

While you might have held out secret hopes that the first American Idol-related sex tape would be Taylor Hicks: Silver-Haired Manslut, or, if your taste in amateur pornography runs towards the disturbing and kitschy, William's Hung Like A Horse, you had to suspect that the first foray into the Idolporn genre would star one of the competition's more obscure contestants, if for no other reason than Simon Cowell's production company owns all the double-penetration/ATM rights for anyone cracking the show's rarefied Top Ten. This morning, Vivid Entertainment, the company that so recently redefined the idea of the celebrity sex tape with Kim Kardashian: Remind Me Why We're Watching This Person Fuck Again?, has announced it's going forward with the sale of Olivia Mojica: Hard Core Idol, a video filled with all the steamy, person-who-didn't-get-very-far-on-Idol-on-her-boyfriend-at-the-time action you can handle. As even repeated viewings of the Vivid site's preview materials didn't jog our memories about Mojica's brief appearance on the show, we think we're going to sit this one out and wait for an Antonella Barba or Kellie Pickler-level also-ran to get desperate for rent money and invigorate the Hard Core Idol imprint.

· The shell of the 360 building at Sunset & Vine is getting a second skin, courtesy of Transformers. It's more than meets the eye! Just like a building that was once insulated with asbestos!
· Here's your first glimpse at the new 86 and 99 for 2008. (As in agents, not tax forms.)
· We know we've gone through this with you countless times before, but: Please! For the love of God! Do not, under any circumstances, click here!
· In exchange for a plea of no-contest to his felony charges on illegal firearms and marijuana possession, Snoop Dogg gets: a three-year suspended sentence without jail time, five years of formal probation, 800 hours of community service, and 15,000 bonus frequent flyer miles.
· While we weren't looking, those cunning Canadians have stolen the World's Teeniest Book crown from right under our noses!

We haven't exactly been eager to dive into the Don Imus controversy that has erupted since some ugly words regarding the Rutgers women's basketball team slipped from the dessicated radio host's slackened jaw. We can no longer avoid it, however, now that a reader has forwarded us an internal missive from reigning NBC Universal oligarch Jeff Zucker, explaining, with heavy Golden Boy heart, the thought process that led to the dismantling of Imus's MSNBC talk show and expulsion from the General Electric kingdom. It's not the kind of letter a chief executive ever wants to have to compose, but let's face it—these things happen, and not every every company-wide correspondence can begin with a horn-tooting intro like, "Please join us for an afternoon ice cream social in the lobby to celebrate Heroes landing at #1 in the 18-49 demo AGAIN, folks!" The e-mail, and NBC Universal's official statement, is after the jump: