When the trench warfare of the Oscar campaign season commences anew, there is perhaps no better person for an actress to have in her, ahem, foxhole than Harvey Weinstein, the ruthless, battle-scarred warrior of countless awards skirmishes. The Envelope's statuette-fondling Gold Derby blog notes that Weinstein will probably channel his For Your Consideration bloodlust on behalf of Sienna Miller, star of Factory Girl, though another member of his harem of skinny, blonde war brides might also enjoy his affection:

Prepare yourselves, for all of Western civilization is about to destroyed by the latest, utterly irreparable tear in the washed-up-celebrity/amateur-sex-tape continuum. This morning's news of a forthcoming Dustin "Screech" Diamond fornication video certainly signals the end of days, not only because of the childhood nostalgia-annihilating debasement of its onetime child star, but because of the highly theoretical sex act supposedly performed by a person whose previous on-screen romantic entanglements were limited to a severe case of Lisa Turtle-supplied prepubescent blue balls.* Hoard the bottled water, cans of tuna fish, and currency in small denominations, for it just gets worse from here. Reports Rush & Molloy:

· A Best Week Ever blogger decides to test-drive Cocaine (the energy drink, not the strawberry-flavored narcotic), and discovers that a drug habit is probably more advisable than another dalliance with the peppery, heart-palpitating beverage.
If Lindsay Lohan really wants to get back at her recent ex and Paris Hilton at the same time, might we suggest she mastermind an easily traceable murder-suicide frame-up? Let's just get everyone out of the way at once.
Meanwhile, American Airlines uses Lohan's own words against her.
· The Thighmaster doesn't seem to be much of a Studio 60 fan. Maybe he's getting back at Aaron Sorkin for that cheap shot about bloggers being spelling-challenged, pajama-clad hacks.
Great news for Silver Lake homeowners—your sudden proximity to the tony shops of Larchmont Boulevard should instantly boost your property values!
· It's been far too long since we've done this, so: Hey, unicorns!

An incident at a Hollywood Starbucks early yesterday morning involving a naked man experiencing a violent hankering for some crumble cake is all the talk lately among employees and regulars:

Earlier today, Paris Hilton took the next step in her slow march towards Celebutard Justice, which will inevitably end with the blindfolded Lady herself stepping off her courtroom pedestal, putting down her Swarovski-crystal-encrusted sword and scales to issue a slap to the heiress's wrist, then giddily texting best girlfriend Mercy, "OMG! I just touched Paris! I could die!" on her marble Sidekick, as Hilton was finally charged with a DUI stemming from her ill-fated In-N-Out run of early September. Hilton, of course, has been so profoundly affected by the unfortunate incident that she urged her publicist to pass along appropriate expressions of remorse and shame:

· Music round-up: TV On The Radio at The Glass House in Pomona; Snow Patrol at the Wiltern; Tom Petty at the Hollywood Bowl; and Weird Al Yankovic at the Virgin Megastore at Hollywood and Highland.
· Some of the troublemakers responsible for A Fictional History of the United States (With Huge Chunks Missing) will be on hand to read from/sign their work at Skylight Books. And in other signing news, the directors of The Last Broadcast will scribble their names on their just-released DVD version of the film at Dark Delicacies in Burbank.
· Don't Knock the Rock hosts a screening of The Devil and Daniel Johnston at the New Beverly, followed by a Q&A with director Jeff Feuerzeig.

For Hollywood prop collectors, fans of Mike Myers, and desperately lonely, middle-aged science fiction enthusiasts alike, we bring you this unique eBay opportunity to own a Fembot dummy, complete with original French maid's uniform and perforated breasts for your tommy-gun-rigging convenience:

A Defamer operative files this report of Holes, The Greatest Game Ever Played, and (perhaps most memorably) The Battle of Shaker Heights star Shia Lebeouf's alleged antics in Hollywood last night:

Every once in a while, a reader will send in something just interesting or odd enough to totally mesmerize us, something that we we feel oddly compelled to share despite our complete inability to find a blogworthy angle. If you need a context for the attached photo, it's merely a sign from San Diego's Little Italy neighborhood, one of a series celebrating various famous Americans of Italian extraction, sponsored by a local business called Precious Cheese. If you need a further reason to stare, feel free to impose your own meaning on the serendipitous pairing of sponsor and overly earnest, past-his-prime actor, and muse that "Precious Cheese" is Travolta's drag name or his term of endearment for his favorite private jet passenger. Either way, Precious Cheese will haunt our dreams tonight.

Visitors to CourtTV.com at 2 p.m. PST will be able to chat with Dessarae Bradford, noted self-published memoirist of the beloved coming-of-age tale, I Fucked Alec Baldwin In His Ass, and, more recently, for playing herself as a recurring character in Colin Farrell's living nightmares. You still have well over an hour to prepare your questions for the most media-friendly celebrity stalker of all time, and, as no topic is off-limits, we'd encourage boldness and creativity in your stalker-chat queries. (Some examples: "What did fucking Alec Baldwin in his ass feel like?" "When two or more voices in your head give you conflicting orders, which do you follow?" "Are you as bewildered as we are over Jay Leno's enduring popularity?") Feel free to leave your own in the comments section, and we'll do our best to make sure Dessarae gets them.

Heroes premieres strong, beating CBS's comedy block of Two and a Half Men and Old Christine. Meanwhile, Studio 60 was down 16 percent from its premiere, a ratings drop-off that might force Aaron Sorkin to finally address the network's note that he find a way to replace Bradley Whitford's cocaine addiction with a superpower. [Variety]
Fox's new series are already "fading fast," (yup, sure seems that way), but no network really seems to have a breakout hit so far. [THR]
Once the season earmarked for Oscar contenders, the Fall is now ruled by horror franchises and genital-torture comedies. [Variety]
· Hollywood PanderingWatch: The Governator assures his entertainment industry friends that his reelection will give them a "built-in lobbyist" in office. To his credit, he did stop short of promising state subsidizes to guarantee all locally produced movies have healthy opening weekends. [THR]
North Korea's Pyongyang Film Festival continues to bar Hollywood movies or stars from its competition, a slight that will eventually be used as justification for a full-scale American invasion of the country. [Variety]

The Best Week Ever blog has video of Steve-O's Jackass Number Two premiere red carpet wee-wee-trickling misadventures. (Those hoping for a glimpse of the Pecker-O will be disappointed to find a dancing BWE logo obfuscating the oft-punished goodies, but you can always go back to our original photo post for an unobstructed view.) Co-star/walking Budweiser billboard Johnny Knoxville seems completely over the proceedings, saying, "You're on your own, kid," with a thought bubble magically appearing above him a moment later reading, "I shoulda ditched these retards for the Wilson brothers a long time ago."

While Fox continues to insist that the just-yanked Happy Hour hasn't been officially euthanized in an attempt not to concede this Fall season's game of First Cancellation Chicken to the other networks, according to Variety, they've also quietly given a couple of their troubled, new series a pair of "unscheduled hiatuses" to get their shit together:

Fastidious celebrity newssource In Touch Weekly recently reported that Russell Crowe was going to honor his friend and countryman Steve "The Crocodile Hunter" Irwin by playing the adventurer in the big-screen depiction of his life. It seemed a perfect fit of actor and role—Crowe knew Irwin intimately, and handling dangerous reptiles would be a natural extension of his considerable field experience in subduing mouthy hotel concierges with the closest available blunt object. As it turns out, however, the widely repeated item was false, giving Crowe an excuse to deliver an angry lecture to a CNN reporter on What's Wrong With The World:

Today's NY Times uses buried-in-2005-and-grudgingly-unearthed-in-2006 film All the King's Men and its "humiliating box office returns" to illustrate how difficult it's become for studios to Febreze away the lingering stink of bad buzz in the Age of Too Much Information. In the case of ATKM, nearly every possible warning sign of eventual multiplex stillbirth was there, from a sneak preview of a regrettable Sean Penn period hairstyle, to the transparent, time-honored "this film needs an additional year of editing—hey, we're perfectionists!" excuse, to its interment in the September Oscar Hopes Burial Ground. Says the Times:

Yesterday, Girls Gone Wild mogul and dildo-adjacent kidnap victim Joe Francis pleaded guilty to not keeping adequate documentation of the ages, identities, and dangerously low Self Esteem Index scores of the improvisational performers in his popular line of instructional drunken-titty-flash videos, agreeing to pay the equivalent of his yearly private-jet fuel expenditure in fines. While Francis' guilty plea will not carry any jail time, the Spring Break documentarian, perhaps still skittish after years of being repeatedly sodomized by the media, got a little scare from the judge. Reports the LAT:

Of course, there really was no talk of George Clooney running for office, except for some overly enthusiastic fans wearing "Clooney in '08" t-shirts (campaign slogan on back of shirt: "OMG he is SOOOO HOTT!"), but since he lives in a state where a far less handsome actor was elected governor on a goof, someone just had to make sure he didn't want to run. With Clooney at least temporarily out of the way, the media will now move down its list of good-looking, socially aware actors, and we can soon expect video of Brad Pitt pursing his lips, scratching his chin in a pantomime of deep thought, and finally looking over to Angelina Jolie to ask, "Are we running this year, honey?" before finally declaring he has no intention of becoming King of America.

· According to Page Six, Scarlett Johannsson's body is so spectacular that her team of Brazilian wax technicians had to put on welding goggles lest their corneas be singed by her perfect genitalia. Even so, three of them fainted dead away despite the safety precautions.
· Scrubs' Judy Reyes is going to get the bitchingest mix tape ever of sensitive, adult-indie-contemporary get-well songs from her pal Zach Braff. He knows just the Zero-7-to-Pete-Yorn-to-Sia transition to make everything better.
· The Gilded Moose gets off the best Deep Space Nine-referencing Project Runway joke you'll probably ever hear.
· Old pal and former Gizmodo nerd-in-chief/Consumerist brand-killer Joel Johnson launched Dethroner today, his daily guide celebrating "the imperfect male." Please visit and make him feel good about his decision to leave the Gawker family.
· Andrew Krucoff somehow induces retiring, media-shy HuffPo mastermind Ariana Huffington to chat on the record about L.A.
· We don't care that Court TV disclaimed his exclusion in their intro—how can any list of the "creepiest celebrity parents" not include titty-obsessed Joe "Check Out My Daughter's Great Rack!" Simpson? Answer: It cannot.
· Marmaduke, explained.

One would be hard pressed to find an (as yet) nonviolent, psychopathic celebrity stalker more committed to her craft than Dessarae Bradford. Having found herself on the receiving end of a restraining order against current obsession-object Colin Farrell after accosting the actor during a Tonight Show appearance, Bradford has taken it upon herself to gum up our local legal channels in an attempt at having it overturned:

Not that we'd ever suggest that you need any help whatsoever in getting shitfaced while sitting in front of a television, but the Foma blog has already come up with a drinking game for Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip, which we pass along in the hope that you can put it to good use during tonight's second installment of the series: