A tipster just told us that a bomb threat has cleared out E!'s Wilshire Boulvevard headquarters, a report we've been unable to confirm with anyone on the inside as we suspect they're all currently gathered outside of the building, fretting about the Simple Life footage of Nicole Richie relearning how to eat from fat-campers going unedited as they idle on the sidewalk. Have a clear view of E! HQ from your office? Sitting in your E! cube, scoffing at the inaccuracy of this post? Drop us a line. Details/corrections/developments as they become available...

Radar connects some IMDb dots to concoct a theory that noted prankster and onetime David O. Russell sparring partner George Clooney might have been responsible for the recent appearance of those lighthearted I Heart Huckabees outtakes on the internet, tracing a certain sound designer's career path from Russell's Three Kings to Clooney's currently shooting Leatherheads. Confronted with the accusation, the actor's internet-hating publicist was quick to protect his client by depicting him as a Luddite who would smash the magic computer-box with a rock in frustration if he ever attempted to navigate the rocket-scientist-level complexities of the YouTubes:

On last night's edition of American Idol, pony-hawked karaoke incubus Sanjaya Malakar, did not, as we hoped he might, sprout enormous bat wings halfway through his pitch-raping rendition of "Bathwater," snatch a scandalized Gwen Stefani from the side of the stage, and ascend to the rafters, where he would hungrily gnaw at her flesh as hundreds of terrified audience members stampeded from the room, hoping to absorb some of her pop-star essence for his own nefarious use on subsequent performances.

· Whatever you do, don't go here if you don't want to know how Sanjaya is going to wear his hair on tonight's Idol.
· With her career not going so well that she felt comfortable spending a large sum of money on some orphans to bring back home, Jessica Simpson donates a van she didn't pay for to a Mexican orphanage instead.
· A Transformers screenwriter on why Megatron won't change into a gun: "That would be the equivalent of Darth Vader turning into his own lightsaber and someone else swinging him around." Good point!
· Tiny movie pirates infiltrate Jack Valenti's brain, induce stroke in sworn enemy.
· Watch out, Bindi! Behind you!

If all goes according to plans recently unveiled at a corporate event, 11 lucky, chosen 7-Elevens across the U.S.A. will be transformed into living Kwik-E-Marts, the fictional Simpsons convenience store that belongs to Springfield's leading Squishee purveyor, Apu Nahasapeemapetilon. The promotion is timed to coincide with the July release of The Simpsons Movie, the motion picture fans have patiently waited 18 years for the opportunity to call the "worst feature-length episode ever."

Perhaps unsurprisingly, the guy who directed secret Discovery Channel smash hit The Lost Tomb of Jesus, the documentary that calls into the question the faith of millions upon millions of Christians by suggesting that their Savior may have knocked up Mary Magdalene, seems not to be a particularly modest filmmaker. In chatting with TV Week about his plan to release a director's cut of his movie, which will include the aforementioned post-knocking-up scene excised from Discovery's broadcast version of the doc, Tomb-raider Simcha Jacobovic sang the praises of his important work, which he believes surpasses the controversial, Jesus-related efforts of a couple of Oscar-winners:

We at Defamer realize that the moviegoing experience can sometimes be so exhilarating that the mere act of watching passively without injecting oneself into the proceedings can feel frustrating and unfulfilling. What sets apart this audience member's response to the exposed manflesh orgy that is 300 isn't so much the fact that the film conjured up detailed multi-partner sexual scenarios, but that he was willing to take the proactive step of posting a Craigslist ad that might actually help him actualize his Spartan bukkake fantasies:

· Music round-up: The Exploited at the Knitting Factory; Donovan Leitch at The Roxy; Datarock at Safari Sam's; and OOIOO at The Echo.
· Jack Miles joins in conversation at the LA Central Library with author Philip Zimbardo to discuss The Lucifer Effect: Understanding How Good People Turn Evil. Show up and figure out how your fun-loving fraternity brother was so quickly turned to the dark side upon taking that mailroom job at CAA.
· Special guests Patton Oswalt and Jonathan Ames drop by at Largo to assist Morgan Murphy with the recording of her comedy CD.

Women of a certain age in this town hardly need to be informed of the lip-plumping, wrinkle-eradicating properties of non-animal-sourced hyaluronic acid, rendering this viral campaign for Restylane (thanks, helpful publicists who believe our readers would be interested in their client's miracle product) all the more bizarre. Maybe their market research has revealed that middle-aged producers' wives who've recently been discarded in favor of twentysomething assistants frequently hunt for anonymous revenge-sex on the YouTubes and the MySpaces, where they might stumble upon the ad dramatizing the kind of liberating, youth-restoring cougar-maulings they'll enjoy once the initial swelling and bruising of their first round of injections subsides.

PrivacyWatch celebrity sightings are submitted by our readers, and are posted several times a week, so send them in often. Submit yours to tips[AT]defamer.com (please put "sighting" or "PrivacyWatch" in the subject line) and let everyone know about the time you spotted foul-mouthed movie set mutineer Lily Tomlin on your Southwest flight into Burbank.

Today's LAT continues its ongoing mission of digging beneath the surface of HBO's popular, softcore Hollywood-lifestyle-porn series Entourage by posing the kinds of probing questions that expose the dramatic Truth obscured by its glitter-speckled veneer, asking, "Hey, for a show in which the main characters do little besides chase tail, why don't we see some fucking?"

Tonight's guest coach on American Idol is Gwen Stefani, who, we anticipate, will come to rue the day she besmirched her resume by joining the same mentoring program that until now has been occupied by plastic-surgery-disaster musical relics like Kenny Rogers, Barry Manilow, and some guy from Herman's Hermits. Our stereo-hogging cousins over at Idolator, however, have found rumors on an American Idol fans' message board suggesting Stefani is already deeply regretting her involvement in the monolithic karoake contest, dreading the thought of one of her beloved No Doubt compositions finding its way onto "Sanjaya's Greatest Butchered Hits."

· Paramount is in talks to let The Fountain's Darren Aronofsky loose on Matt Damon/Mark Wahlberg boxing drama The Fighter, a project with a conventional story that might be able to resist some of the director's more bizarre, artsy impulses. Still, Var cautions: "He isn't necessarily expected to take a traditional approach." [Variety]
· Balloons cascade from the ceiling of her ICM agent's office as Heather Locklear is cast in her 1,000th TV project, the ABC comedy pilot See Jayne Run. [THR]
· Punk'd: Plug Yank'd. Unless, you know, this is just another one of that Kutcher kid's incredibly clever practical jokes! [Variety]
· Dancing with the Stars cleans up against weak competition, pulling in an average of 21 million viewers. Also: We're starting to suspect that Heather Mills if faking the amputee thing. There's no way a prosthetic leg stays on when she does a flip like that. [THR]
· Casino Royale will soon break the still-young record for hi-def DVD sales, as viewers scramble to experience every chiseled contour of Daniel Craig's body in the stunning resolution that only the superior Blu-ray™ format can deliver. [Note: this item sponsored by Sony Pictures Home Entertainment] [Variety]

Last night's CBS 2 local news broadcast featured this chilling footage of a vehicular accident of the kind of intensity rarely seen outside of high-speed chases between overly aggressive paparazzi and their coked-up, Hyde-departing quarry, a near-tragedy that could have pointlessly robbed Hollywood of one of its brightest stars. At first, it seemed as if crash victim Eddie Griffin escaped the incident unscathed, but the actor's subsequent references to himself as a character from an obscure film of five years ago may indicate the onset of a troubling post-traumatic stress disorder.

Ghost World star Thora Birch is hard at work on an indie feature, Winter of Frozen Dreams, a true crime drama about a murderous, college-aged masseuse. Page Six reports today that her dad, a former porn star who met her mom on the set of seminal 70s skin flick Deep Throat, has been hovering around the set, making the crew extremely uncomfortable as he back-seat-directs his daughter's love scenes:

While Courteney Cox has previously warned hot-lesbian-action-obsessed gawkers (does the L Word not satisfy all their masturbation needs?) with no genuine interest in her series that her much-anticipated kiss with longtime Friend Jennifer Aniston will not be particularly hot, lesbian, or action-packed, we nonetheless have clung to the irrational hope that the prudish Cox was intentionally misrepresenting the moment, and that a dedicated Aniston managed to power a tongue through her co-star's tight-lipped defenses in the name of artistic truth. After today's NY Times review of the Dirt season finale, we think we're finally able to let this one go:

As far as expressions of celebrity entitlement go, there is perhaps none more satisfying than, "Don't you know who I am?" a disarming classic we've always felt more than adequately communicates to any service professional that he or she is in the presence of an individual whose impatient demands far exceed their actual accomplishments. Two recent Gatercrasher items in the NY Daily News (one from today and one from Sunday) reveal that Entourage star Jeremy Piven is doing his best to claim a spot as Hollywood's foremost practitioner of the entitled arts, materializing from the fame-ether like a spoiled, abusive wraith at impossibly crowded eateries both local and far-flung to demand immediate satisfaction. First, today's report of Piven's Valentine's Day run-in here in L.A.:

· The always-accurate News of the World reports that Angelina Jolie has nothing to fear from Pax Thien's junkie birth-mother should she come looking to reclaim her son, as Vietnamese consumer protection laws are clearly on Jolie's side in such a case.
· We're not sure if the better question is "Why Woody Harrelson?" or "Why not Woody Harrelson?"
· The first-ever YouTubies are announced. And no Lonelygirl! But: Ninjas.
· Superboy: Teen Wolf?
· Nickelback: the Dane Cook of radio-friendly craprock.

It seems that whatever evil rainmaking ritual Hillary Clinton participated in during her recent trip to the CAA Death Star (human sacrifice was presumably involved, as we're hearing reports they're still trying to power-wash the blood off Bryan Lourd's office walls) paid off handsomely, as the skies above billionaire Democratic cheerleader Ron Burkle's compound opened on Saturday night and showered the N.Y. senator's campaign with a possible showbiz record $2.6 million in donations, according to Clinton fundraising group Let's Not Throw That Hollywood Victory Party Just Yet, Mr. Popular. The gauntlet has clearly been thrown at the feet of Chief Obamamania Entertainment Industry Strategist David Geffen, who's faced with the difficult decision of whether to throw another beach party for his political king, schedule a new interview session with Maureen Dowd in which he shockingly reveals that he once saw Hillary kill a drifter with her bare hands (a crime her philandering husband assisted in covering up), or have troublemaking rival Burkle disappeared, hoping to cut off a source of future funds.

For feuding couples who think a good fight involves some loud shouting followed by three days of silent treatment, we offer up for your intermarital warfare inspiration the example of Scott Weiland and wife Mary, whose weekend-long, 300-worthy battle resulted in several damaged hotel rooms, and culminated in a bonfire fueled by ten thousand dollars' worth of designer rockstarwear: