Even with Neverland Ranch now a shuttered wasteland in tragic disrepair, patrolled by starving llamas hoping to find sustenance by desperately gnawing on the Elephant Man's abandoned bones, Michael Jackson still hasn't given up on his dreams of manifesting the arrested fantasies of an abbreviated childhood in theme park form. After a brief dalliance with the deliciously slippery possibilities Bahraini waterslides, the erstwhile King of Pop may have decided to mine the mythology of his current country of residence, Ireland, for his next theme park project:

· Chan "Cat Power" Marshall apparently has dreams of joining SNL, perhaps feeling that the recent departures have opened up opportunities for someone who seems like a logical choice to deliver the next feline AIDS joke.
If Borat is going to be on the cover of Vanity Fair, does that mean he's going to finally address those nasty eating disorder rumors and make startling revelations about a childhood molestation at the hands of a goat-herding uncle?
Blogger Jim Treacher wonders if Defaker is written by Aaron Sorkin himself, who probably has too much time on his hands since getting ahead on scripts.
· EW is losing its "spiritual leader," and Gawker already beat us to the letter grade joke.
· Has anyone whipped up Save Baquet t-shirts yet? There's some money waiting to be made.
As he exits The Daily Show, Ben Affleck was mobbed by the very paparazzi whose too-loving attention he celebrated with Jon Stewart just moments earlier.

THR reports that as expected, freshly unattached star Jim Carrey didn't need much alone time to recover from the end of his longtime relationship with UTA, already leaping into the outstretched, Armani-clad arms of hated rival CAA, who've made a fun little game out of poaching both their agents and clients over the last year or so. The LA Weekly's Nikki Finke devotes this week's entire column to the big defection, noting that now-former rep Nick Stevens tried to give Endeavor superagent Ari Emanuel tips on where Carrey likes to be tickled, hoping to keep him from winding up between slutty CAA's spread legs, and describing the final, painful moments of Stevens and Carrey's relationship:

Genetically flawless area do-gooders Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt, perhaps swept up in the excitement of one of Jolie's euphoric bipolar upswings that not even a marathon copulation session managed to quell, have been on something of a spending spree lately. But unlike the time Jolie pulled out an AmEx Black card at a shoddily managed African game preserve and insisted on purchasing an entire herd of elephants no matter the cost, we doubt next month's credit card statement will elicit another paralyzing wave of buyer's remorse:

· Greg Proops once again hosts his Chat Show, tonight luring Greg "Do You Have Any Idea How Much Money I've Made Off The Phrase 'He's Just Not That Into You'?" Behrendt, comedian and Simpsons producer Dana Gould, and Jon Brion to Largo.
· Music round-up: The Dirty Dozen Brass Band do an in-store session at Amoeba Music in Hollywood; The Presets are at Spaceland; Ratatat at the Troubadour; More! Candlebox! at the House of Blues.
· Troma Studios co-creator Lloyd Kaufman will be on hand to sign books or exposed body parts for awestruck Toxic Avenger fanboys at the Borders in Hollywood.

Lest you think that unemployed megastar has nothing better to do but man the funnel cake cart at Magic Mountain and wait around for Brad Pitt to destroy him, Us Weekly helpfully reminds us that America's Most Suspicious Fiance still has an imminent billion-year commitment ceremony to plan, a truly massive undertaking that undoubtedly consumes all of his available time. While Cruise has apparently delegated the trivial task of centerpiece flower-selection to his war bride, he's personally—personally!—handling more crucial matters, like auditioning new, more Caucasian-looking Suris (even he wasn't immune to criticisms that the original model was a little too Asian) for the event and testing the special "bridal collar" with which Holmes will be fitted following the exchange of vows, ensuring that it will deliver the necessary, paralyzing voltage should she attempt flight while he's busy with guests at the reception.

Had you told us a photo would emerge from the set of Hairspray, currently shooting in Toronto, whose monstrous, bouffant-laden imagery could haunt our dreams more than this one, we likely would have thought you had been huffing on a paper bag full of Aqua Net. Of course, we hadn't yet laid eyes on this portrait of Christopher Walken, whom we can best surmise plays the movie's elderly, withered drag queen, pictured positively beaming as he takes in what will likely be one of his final few gay pride parades. We imagine it should be a week or so before flashbacks to drooping sock-garters on a pair of spindly, pallid calves fail to rouse us from our slumber in trembling nightsweats.

An operative sent over this photo from today's WGA rally at Pan Pacific Park, where Guild members gathered to renew their commitment to unionizing reality show writers and establishing fair residuals for use of their work on digital platforms. At the rally, WGA officials admitted that they were ready to try a more militant approach to resolve their two-month-long America's Next Top Model standoff, as they've found that peacefully occupying the sidewalk outside their offices with picket signs and waiting for the show's producers to die of shame has so far failed to yield results, and officially authorized the brutal beating of up to two Top Model employees as they return from lunch each day until the unionization stalemate is finally broken.

Unlike other Hollywood screen legends who hole themselves up in their mansions, nibbling on Koo Koo Roo take-out and drawing up lists of things they mean to do before they shuffle off this mortal coil, Elizabeth Taylor actually gets the satisfaction of crossing some of those entries out:

To answer a couple of questions we're being frequently asked today: 1) Yes, we're aware of Defaker, NBC's brave foray into interwebinated promo-virality, which apparently attempts to plug Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip by adopting the guise of a grammatically challenged gossip blogger who writes about the show's characters from the ultra-insidery perspective of someone with a television capable of receiving a network broadcast; and 2) No, we don't have anything to do with it, even though the site bears what is certainly an incidental resemblance to this one in name, design, and lack of facility with the English language. (If you don't believe us, take a closer look—there's not a single nipple slip or Lohan joke, and they've only put up one post in 24 hours, a crime which our blogging overlord would punish by sending a goon to shock our genitals with an electric cattle prod.) In any case, we wish the folks at NBC the best of luck with their continuing online marketing endeavors on behalf of Studio 60, which we're told include a series of cutting-edge YouTube videos starring a Lonelygirl look-a-like who struggles to find a way to tell Aaron Sorkin that she's only interested in him as a friend.

Rupert Murdoch tells investors that he can potentially make money from MySpace from a combination of advertising, videos and "internet telephony," but admitted that even News Corps' best business minds have yet to find a legal way to monetize the site's community of sexual predators, who wield an impressive discretionary income. [Variety]
Will Ferrell and Adam McKay's Gary Sanchez Productions moves into TV with P.E., a single-camera comedy for HBO about "a guy who, after flaming out as a major league baseball pitcher, returns to his small Southern hometown to teach physical education at the middle school he once attended and has to make amends with all the people he turned his back on." It is unclear whether HBO plans to back out of the deal once they discover that Ferrell himself will not be starring in the project. [THR]
The Class and Studio 60 have "solid" premieres, but it's hard to get too excited about numbers that earn the headline "Big Hopes, OK Debuts." [Variety]
Former WB Network bigshot Garth Ancier gets the standard, "Hey, sorry we fired you, but please accept this bag of money and an office on our lot as a token of our affection" shingle at Warner Bros. TV. [THR]
George Lucas will donates $175 million to USC Film School, at least $10 million of which is earmarked for the commissioning of a 50-foot-tall bronze statue of the director kicking Steven Spielberg in the ass. [THR]

High Times' annual Stony Awards might not carry the same patina of prestige of some of the better known industry accolades, but it is the only Hollywood trophy ceremony to recognize excellence in the chemically-induced- paranoia-and-munchies screen arts, thus making its nominations announcement a noteworthy event. Among the many deserving performances singled out for achievement in stoner "acting" this year was Luke Wilson's tour-de-force turn in The Family Stone, for which he was required to get baked enough to convincingly find Sarah Jessica Parker hot. Other nominees included:

Perhaps sensing a chance to finally seize back some of the attention lavished on Aaron Sorkin's behind-the-scenes-at-SNL drama Studio 60, nonfictional late-night variety show strongman Lorne Michaels made public some behind-the-scenes drama at the actual, constantly churning SNL, announcing that longtime cast members Chris Parnell, Horatio Sanz, and Finesse Mitchell won't be back for the new season. (But unlike the recently departed Tina Fey and quickly demoted and recast Rachel Dratch, it doesn't appear that they've got gigs on NBC's other behind-the-scenes-at-SNL series, 30 Rock, to cushion their departures.) For those looking to keep their scorecards up-to-date, surviving the annual, bloody player-purge are Fred Armisen, Will Forte, Bill Hader, Darrell Hammond, Seth Meyers, Amy Poehler, Maya Rudolph, Andy Samberg, Jason Sudeikis, Kenan Thompson and Kristen Wiig, with Meyers potentially taking over Fey's Weekend Update chair. The story gives no indication how Michaels plans to eventually fill the Straight Man, Fat, Ethnic-Enough Guy, and The Other Black Guy roles vacated by Parnell, Sanz, and Mitchell, but the cost-cutting network probably prefers that he find a single, shape-shifting Groundling who will work for scale to plug those holes in the pared-down ensemble.

As details surrounding the sudden, untimely death of Anna Nicole Smith's son continue to trickle out with all the comforting regularity of a Chinese water torture, and the LAST PHOTOS™ on the verge of making their newsstand debut, we bring you up to date with a Daniel Smith round-up:

The time: 1 p.m.
The date: September 13, 2006.
The place: 18 Ninth Avenue.
Sighting: "Having just seen Kevin Costner's 'semi-chubby' on Defamer, I'm compelled to submit a sighting of him that seems to have occurred just before the unfortunate paparazzo capture. He was lunching at Ono at the Gansevoort Hotel with his wife and entourage, including a cute, blonde teenager. Thought it was his daughter (?), but then he patted her butt on the way out."

Fully embracing a recent mission to champion the unsung, trench-digging heroes of Hollywood kicked off by last week's introduction of their scribecentric Scriptland feature, the LAT today presents the first installment of Made-for-TV-Movie Directorville, which will explore the lives and work of the small-screen auteurs behind projects as wide-ranging as AMC's celebrated Broken Trail and less-appreciated masterpieces like Mother, May I Sleep with Danger?. The Times kicks off the new column by illustrating the MFTVM director's uphill battle for respect and recognition:

When Jack Nicholson's strap-on first started making gossip sheet appearances last June, we feared that the actor's prosthetic member would burn too brightly too early, exhausting its buzz more than a year before its awards-worthy supporting turn in The Departed could be seen. But with the movie's release approaching, the up-and-coming dildo's publicist has wisely courted the tabloids again, pimping a crucial Rolling Stone mention to Page Six:

Usually, each new morning brings a fresh tale of Paris Hilton's latest, tabloid-attracting transgression, from drunk-driving arrests to giggly complicity in the slandering of a rival's befreckled genital region. Today, however, the paparazzi of X17 present video of Hilton engaged in an impromptu act of charity, in which the unexpectedly compassionate philanthrotard, suddenly filled with the milkshake of human kindness, handed over a hundred-dollar bill to a panhandler as she exited a McDonald's drivethrough. Once the photographers started to put away their cameras, satisfied they'd captured their footage, Hilton immediately slammed her Range Rover into reverse and knocked the happy beggar to the parking lot pavement, calmly collected her prop Benjamin, and sped away, gratified that she'd done her good deed for the day.

Beware: It seems that Harvey Weinstein has finally cloned himself. It's unclear how many Harvey multiples have been released into the wild, but once he gets up to four, no one will be safe.
Cracked mocks up some t-shirts for those who find an episode of Best Week Ever taxes their feelings of nostalgia.
· One of the secret perks of being a famous actress is that you can always find a gallery willing to hang your bad art.
Amazingly, L.A. didn't rate on Gridskipper's poll of sexiest cities. Don't fake tits and lip collagen count for anything anymore? [Warning: the chart is sort of gross and NSFW]
Lost's producers discourage skinny dipping, afraid that the paparazzi might capture a picture of Dominic Monaghan's naughty hobbit parts.
· George Lucas has been named the Grand Marshal of the Rose Parade, where the director's prodigious neck-wattle will be decorated with flowers and used as a float.

A reader patronizing a tire store in the Valley shares with us a remarkable sighting of 1970s hearththrob Erik Estrada, who pulled up inconspicuously in a vintage, cream-colored Rolls wearing head-to-toe white. After rubbing his eyes to make sure he wasn't having a Ponch-Angel hallucination, he then listened in as Estrada ineptly attempted to haggle over a new set of radials for his son. Rolls or no Rolls, he was not going to be taken for a ride on these tires.