Behold an EXCLUSIVE! MUG SHOT! EXCLUSIVE! of Girls Gone Wild founder Joe Francis, freshly booked after his arrest this morning in the Panama City airport on contempt of court charges. In it, the titty-flashing tycoon courageously demonstrates his high threshold for the Panama City authorities' coercive interrogation tactics, managing, despite the cruel and unusual deprivation of maximum-hold hair product, to confidently bare all 72 teeth for the camera, in a smile that all but says, "Just try and make it stick, Smoaky." The details, courtesy of People.com:

· Breaking! Tobey Maguire done with Spider-Man! Or not! Why don't you just get off his fucking back about it, OK?
· We think they mean "trips," not "trips out," which makes it sound like the nice lady is suing because Deal or No Deal induced some kind of unwanted psychedelic episode. That lawsuit's still on its way.
· We know that we say this from time to time, but trust us, we really mean it right now: You don't want to look at this. At all. [via BoingBoing]
· The Reeler rounds up all the Grindhouse second-guessers.
· "Another patron said the episode had left his 3-year-old son with lingering, and unsettling, questions.'My wife is eight months pregnant, and he's been asking, 'Is that what mommy's going to have?'" No, son, Mommy's not going to have a totally unneeded sequel to a pointless horror flick remake. Don't be silly!

As a deflated Harvey Weinstein mounts his box office jalopy on cinderblocks, considering how to most quickly rebuild it into a smooth-running, crash-resistant machine, he might want to take a cue from another recent hyperviolent release that has achieved blockbuster status. Using 300's unlikely success as a case study, as well as several other recent head-scratchers that managed to turn the usual Hollywood cowpies into gold, BusinessWeek bravely throws the old "there aren't any rules" Hollywood myth out the window, and attempts to draw some quantifiable conclusions from America's seemingly bottomless lust for depilated pecs and bullet-time blood spurts:

Last night's season premiere of Entourage brought the giddy hope that the conspicuously porking-free pay-cable series might finally cast aside its troubling modesty and let its boots-knocking-freak-flag fly, treating us to the kinds of hott, nonpenetrative action that is the right of all HBO subscribers. Alas, even in an episode featuring an ocean liner stocked with enough groupies and nymphomaniac Victoria's Secret models to kill even the most priapic, Hefner-level satyr, there was nary an ugly being bumped, on-screen or off, forcing us to once again repeat the LAT's recent question, "Are you really going to make us switch over to Cinemax to see some fucking, guys?" In an interview with TV Week.com, creator Doug Ellin explains his "tell, don't show" philosophy concerning his characters' ostensibly busy fuck-lives:

· Music round-up: Sonic Boom at Safari Sam's; Wires on Fire at Silverlake Lounge (free!); Rooney at the Roxy; The Killers at the Staples Center.
· Largo's Monday night comedy show draws heavyweights (in reputation, not body type) Dana Gould and Paul F. "Effing" Tompkins to fulfill all of your post-Easter holiday entertainment needs.
· French farce-master Francis Veber screens his latest film, The Valet, at the ArcLight, followed by the obligatory Q&A; bonus points awarded to anyone who gets the director to denounce current American comedies like Wild Hogs as "steaming piles of merde."

With the wounds from this weekend's Grindhouse bombing still suppurating like [mild spoiler alert] something Robert Rodriguez spirit-gummed to Quentin Tarantino's genitals in his half of their double-feature, the LA Weekly's Nikki Finke seems to have caught Harvey Weinstein in a vulnerable moment, getting him to admit that he's considering undoing virtually everything that was interesting about the project to begin with, from re-releasing Death Proof and Planet Terror as separate features to replacing the missing sex-scene reels purloined by a fictitious, horny projectionist claiming the best spank material for his own. Explains a momentarily humbled Weinstein:

We hate to so soon dip back into the bottomless, celebrity-contaminated well that is Bravo executive Andy Cohen's blog, but when every post reads like the conspiratorial oversharing of your almost inconceivably better-connected best friend over a lunch of chopped Cobb, can you really blame us? The appeal isn't in his mere relentless name-dropping; rather, it's the utter randomness of the combination of those names, placed into the gayest environments known to Man, that makes for riveting reading. Take, for example, today's post, in which rainbow beams practically explode from Andy's fingertips as he recounts his experience attending a Diana Ross concert as the guest of unlikely member of the Bravo star stable, Inside the Actors Studio host James Lipton:

Even before we learned about the actor's generous investment of venture capital in some North Carolina entrepreneurs' planned George Clooney Drank Here chain of celebrity-endorsed lemonade stands, we were fully prepared to believe Clooney's strenuous denials of any involvement in the leaking of those I Heart Huckabees outtakes, as an upstanding Hollywood citizen who's offered up an unnecessary million dollar bounty to anyone who can prove his alleged complicity in such a non-scandal has done more than enough to satisfy us. But just in case there's someone left in the world who believes Clooney is obsessed with screwing with onetime Three Kings sparring partner David O. Russell, he reassures EW that even if he were so inclined, he wouldn't know how to go about upstreaming a viral to the YouTubes:

Always on the lookout for free creative ways to promote their artery-jacking Famous Bowls, KFC has again appealed to the newly minted stars of American Idol to help usher its gustatory message to the finger lickin' masses. Having struck out last season with a generous offer to the runner-up of a $10,000 "commercial recording contract," the fast food outlet has now set its sights on the series' most polarizing contestant—tone-deaf hairdevil, Sanjaya Malakar:

· Apparently, The Departed's Best Picture win triggered a clause in all participants' contracts mandating that all of their subsequent movie projects must involve at least two Departed alumni, as Leonardo DiCaprio and screenwriter William Monahan form yet another "reunion" for the adaptation of the novel Body of Lies for Warner Bros. [Variety]
· Emboldened by the Easter holiday, Jesus finally serves a cold dish of revenge to Desperate Housewives for its second-season "slutty nun fight" episode, sending the series to its lowest ratings in its three-year history. [THR]
· Harrison Ford will sneak in a stint protecting America from illegal immigrants in the Weinstein Co.'s Crossing Over before reporting for duty this summer as cinema's most beloved, swashbuckling sexagenarian archaeologist. [Variety]
· Jared Padalecki will play the Painter of Light™ himself in Lionsgate's groundbreaking adaptation of Thomas Kinkade's blockbuster "Christmas Cottage" painting. [THR]
· 300 topples Mr. Bean at the foreign box office on its way to a $32 million weekend, boosting the tale of a crazed Persian emperor's ill-fated campaign to give every last soldier in Greece an erotic shoulder-massage to a $367 worldwide gross. [Variety]

Confronted with the upcoming end of his sitcom's surprising, nine-year run, reflective King of Queens star Kevin James shared his theory about how his Little Sitcom That Could (Repeatedly Defy Cancellation) lasted as long as it did: by carefully avoiding the unwanted attention that comes with critical acclaim and Emmy wins.

TMZ is reporting an "all systems go" for the Big Daddy Reveal tomorrow, with major players in the Dannielynn Smith paternity case descending upon Nassau, including the expert from Ohio who oversaw the testing, and frontrunner Larry "Bullseye" Birkhead, seen here excitedly boarding an American Airlines flight, daydreaming about which terrifyingly oversized stuffed animal he'll present his newly won daughter with first. As for Howard K. Stern, the site quotes "unimpeachable sources" who insist he won't challenge for custody if the baby isn't his:

Recent, overly appreciative Walk of Fame honoree Halle Berry has some cross words for Parade, which she accuses of dredging up an old suicide story that she only grudgingly shares with the press each time she has a movie to promote for the purpose of helping other potential ticket-buyers women struggling with the same desperate thoughts:

Your post-Easter hangover is so severe you think you can actually hear the half-eaten package of Peeps on your desk going quickly stale. Distract yourself from the unpleasant sound of hardening marshmallows with the box office numbers:

· Hollywood sucks up to Halle as she sucks up to the sidewalk.
· Bringer of yuletide and shower peephole joy to millions, A Christmas Story and Porky's director Bob Clark, is killed with his son by a drunk driver.
· Geffen rules the Gays!
· Captivity's hidden victims: the producers.
· Jeffrey Katzenberg's salary is in the low single digits.
· World's longest drumroll precedes opening of Dannielynn DNA results.
· Keith Richards was just kidding when he said he was suffering from daddy-dick. Disney, meanwhile, takes necessary precautions to ensure he doesn't come within 1000 meters of the Pirates red carpet.
· Angelina Jolie will rue the day she ever uttered the words, "Give the baby photo exclusive to People again. They did such a lovely job last time around."
· Two words: Singing Bee. Bingo!
· Britney's WMA team trying figure out what the hell to do with her.
· 30 Rock gets another year to find its audience.
· Hollywood baby humps set unrealistic standards for rest of breeding America.
· Joe Francis is ordered into a Florida jail, politely declines.
· Rock'n Piv'n.
· "Cavemen is a suprisingly astute race analogy," says guy responsible for greenlighting it.
· Katie's in the driver's seat. Or so it would seem.

· When the end is nigh, there will be sneezing pandas. And, of course, terrible Hilary Swank movies.
· The latest Chinese version of the Idol franchise will be called Boys Happy Voice (or Happy Boys Voice—the piece seems confused on the matter), strive to "maintain a happy atmosphere" and feature judges "prohibited "from mocking or humiliating contestants." In short, it is going to suck. We hope someone sends a Chinese Sanjaya to destroy it from within.
·We'd hate to give Kate Beckinsale a complex, but yeah, she'd look better with Queen Latifah-sized "gigantic real breasts."
·Despair, Hills fans: This LC person says there is no tape of her getting in on with that other guy, contrary to other reports.
· "All we're asking them to do is to treat smoking in the movies the same way they treat fuck."

Friday
· Good Friday music round-up: The Thermals at the Echo; Plaid and the Submarines at the Natural History Museum; Dean and Britta at the Getty.
· Celebrate the first full weekend of baseball season with the Aero's double feature of The Natural and The Bingo Long Traveling All-Stars & Motor Kings.
· There's a book launch party (read: free booze!) for Celebrity Skin, former EW writer Liane Bonin's novel about "what it's like to be a hugely successful, underage anorexic actress in Hollywood with a squeaky clean image and a car wreck life" at the Leap Shoe Lounge in Calabasas.
Saturday
· Post-Crucifixion, Pre-Resurrection Saturday music round-up: Mew at the Henry Fonda; The Gossip at the Troubadour; De La Soul at the Key Club.
· Your favorite local Amoeba Records staffers show off their art at the Thinkspace Gallery.
Sunday
· Shake off another passive-aggression-tinged Easter Sunday with the family by dropping by Mary Lynn Rajskub's The Complications of Purchasing a Poodle Pillow at the Steve Allen Theater. [via Flavorpill]

As threatened hinted at in our recent reminder about how to join our community of official commenters, after a criminally long hiatus, it's time to reintroduce the now-regular feature (we mean it this time) in which we say a bittersweet goodbye to those whose commenting timeslots will soon be taken over by supposedly fresher, more demographically appealing wiseasses. Off the schedule, effective immediately:

Above are some of the highlights from a massive Hollywood memorabilia auction that brought in over $2 million yesterday, including $115,000 for a rare Wizard of Oz "Winkie" witch's guard costume, and the same for a Superman costume worn by Christopher Reeve in Superman: The Movie. (The entire catalog is available here.) Val Kilmer's Batman Forever batsuit brought in $63,250, a respectable sum considering it had not yet been retrofitted with accoutrements like the latex batnipples and a titanium-reinforced codpiece that would characterize the schizophrenic hero's "Kinky Clooney" era. And while we don't have the final figures on Wolverine's adamantium claws, we'll assume that any iconic prop that once belonged to Hugh Jackman would have brought in a bid of at least five figures, just as the dance-thong from his legendary run as a high-kicking Peter Allen in The Boy From Oz did at a Broadway Cares charity auction event in December 2004.

It's absolutely killing us that we're stuck here working when we could be over on the sidewalk outside that West Hollywood location shoot and figuring out what they needed that "one monkey" for. Is banking with Capital One so easy that a monkey can do it? (If so, expect an announcement in Monday's trades about ABC's hasty greenlighting of the pilot Monkey Bank.) Does the monkey get so frustrated with bad customer service that he goes on a genital-chomping rampage through the branch until he's finally given proper attention? If you happened to stroll by the shoot, let us know. We're finding it hard to concentrate with so many unanswered questions about all the monkey-related fun we're missing out on.