• Haunted Mansion w/ Lights On During Theft - Part 1 [YouTube via BoingBoing]

· Recent Andy Dick tongue-bath victim Patton Oswalt shakes off Sunday night's attack and leads fellow Comedians of Comedy Maria Bamford, Zach Galifianakis, Brian Posehn into battle at the Troubadour, where they will be joined by Andy Kindler, Doug Benson, and Morgan Murphy.
· Music round-up: Comets on Fire at the Echo; Yo Tokyo and Go Betty Go at Key Club; Little Wolverines at Check Yo Ponytail night at Safari Sam's.
· The Santa Monica Pier hosts a car-less "Drive-In" screening of Madagascar, and it's free—which sounds like just about the right price to watch yet another movie about CGI talking animals. [via Cheapskatin' LA]

If we were the more cynical sort, we might find ourselves wondering if a Comedy Central publicist locked Andy Dick in a janitorial closet with a handful of eightballs and a rolling yellow bucket filled with Grey Goose, refused to let him out until he'd consumed the entirety of his rampage cocktail, then whispered in his ear that the NY Post reporter wandering by just told her that she'd always dreamed of having the star of Less than Perfect give her a good, spontaneous fondling followed up by a solo watersports display. But as Occam's Celebrity Asshole Razor holds, the simplest explanation for a famous person's egregious public behavior is usually the best one, so Dick's biting and groping can probably be written off to the booze and drugs making him hungry and horny rather than ascribed to more complex PR machinations shaping his behavior.

We have to hand it to Jessica Alba: It's a good plan. When in your natural habitat, play up a humble, sweet-natured image. Bemoan your status as a sex symbol movie star forever struggling to break free from the burden of almost supernaturally hot looks. Show some versatility, and at the same time poke fun at your image by hosting an irreverent cable awards show. Then, go up to Canada a couple times a year to unleash the raging bitch from hell you've been bottling up for months on some of their irritatingly "nice" locals. Jaunted.com summarizes Vancourverites' general feelings about the star, in town shooting Good Luck Chuck with Dane Cook:

This afternoon's entertainment news headlines on the CNN.com homepage seem to confirm our fears about the current trajectory of Madonna's career: After half-assedly crucifying herself on a bedazzled cross, a desperate-to-shock Madonna really had nowhere to go but in-flight German scat videos. At least the authorities are keeping tabs on her latest attempt at forced outrageousness.

Fresh off the flop of My Super Ex Girlfriend, director Ivan Reitman convinces a financial backer to contribute $200 million to co-finance ten films over the next five years through his Montecito Picture Co. Producing partner Tom Pollock explains the economics of their hit-and-miss, mid-budgeted comedies: "The kinds of movies we make are in an exceptionally sweet spot in the studio system; we tend to make comedies at a price. When they work, like with Old School and Road Trip, they make a lot of money. When they don't, like Eurotrip, they don't lose much. From a Wall Street standpoint, that's a good risk." Here's to throwing shitty comedies against the wall and seeing what sticks! [Variety]
· Morgan Creek determines that a few more dollars might fall out of his pockets if they hold Ace Ventura's corpse by the ankles and give it a vigorous shake, then hires some writers to whip up a third installment centering around the pet detective's son. Given Jim Carrey's recent struggles getting a project off the ground, don't rule out the actor making a cameo as Ace and then finishing out the rest of the movie playing his own kid. [THR]
As the media wonders why Viacom didn't buy MySpace when it had the chance, rumors are circulating that Sumner Redstone ordered Tom Freston to go to San Francisco to make a deal, but Freston never went. Viacom calls the story "patently untrue," while also denying reports that CBS Corp. bully/rival Les Moonves sat on Freston's chest until Rupert Murdoch could complete his purchase of the social networking site. [Variety]
Fox wins Monday's 18-49 demographic with its two-hour finale of Hell's Kitchen. Your takeaway from this: The networks' summer reality series filler has mostly been used up, and it's nearly safe to start watching TV again. [THR]
The following is the title of an actual bass-fishing project now in development at Fox Atomic and not a joke about the next Will Ferrell movie: Fishing on the Edge: The Mike Iaconelli Story [Variety]

Of the many blue chip brand names to which Star Jones has suctioned herself over the years, she was perhaps best known for her symbiotic, co-whoring arrangement with Payless Shoe Source. Alas, since Barbara Walters callously ejected her from The View by medieval catapult, Jones' celebrity stock has plummeted so low, not even football field-sized emporiums of sensibly priced footwear want to be associated with her:

You've harassed yourself with the annoying, semi-customizable phone calls, purchased the absurdly expensive jewelry, and are now at a loss about the next step to take in your Snakes on a Plane fandom. Luckily, the marketing department at New Line will leave no promotional opportunity unexploited, and have teamed up with Dell to give you the exciting opportunity to spend $2,000 for a television upon which you may eventually watch director David R. Ellis' DVD featurette admission that nearly all of the film's dialogue was transcribed verbatim from the comment sections of SoaP-obsessed blogs. We're a little disappointed that the studio and the computer manufacturer didn't break new ground in the now-customary realm of product placement, as a climax in which Samuel L. Jackson decides that the only way to get the motherfucking snakes off his motherfucking plane is to detonate a Dell laptop battery and incinerate every last one of the reptilian stowaways seems like a logical extension of the campaign.

Recent Andy Dick hand-biting/face-licking/groping victim Mandy Stadtmiller offers some highly amusing outtakes from the Page Six item on her after-party assault on her blog, which include the happy news that an informal medical consult on her Dick-inflicted wounds revealed that they probably weren't severe enough to transmit any nasty diseases, as well as all the drunken, incoherent babbling about fisherman and tuna you can possibly handle:

With the exercise ball endorsement racket not as lucrative as it once was, Nick Lachey has decided to look elsewhere for goods and services to which he can attach his name, which has evolved into a trusted brand synonymous with bad music and tabloid oversaturation. YFly, the latest venture to get the Nick Lachey stamp of approval, is a recent entrant into the crowded category of online communities. But where field leader MySpace may reign supreme with its sheer number of subscribers, it also suffers from a scourge of faked celebrity home pages. Not YFly, however, which guarantees "real celebrities, athletes, and artists - no posers!" among the "kick a** people" in its database. And how do you know your new friend is the "DaREALJessAlba," and not just some balding, middle-aged impostor preying on horny and gullible teenage boys? By marking their profiles "Certified Celebrity." Their brief FAQ explains how Lachey fits into the picture:

When an actor facing his sixties decides it's time to accessorize his midlife-crisis Lamborghini and neck-wattle reduction surgeries with some decades-younger arm candy, he probably knows that Hollywood's time-honored, sex-for-exposure trade is going to involve the occasional bout of immaturity. Today's NY Daily News Gatecrasher column reports on the tragic end of James Woods' May 1986-December 1947 romance with aspiring actress/opportunistic gerontophiliac Ashley Madison (aka Myrick), precipitated by the 20-year-old's insensitivity at the, like , totally boring funeral of her daddy issue's beloved brother:

Stop us if you've heard this one before: Andy Dick gets wasted at a public event, runs his tongue along the faces of anyone wandering within licking range, then finds a play-by-play of his antics in Page Six soon after. The Sixies report on the C-list exhibitionist's latest Hollywood party performance art at Sunday night's Comedy Central roast of William Shatner:

· It's nice to see that Charlie Sheen and Denise Richards could settle their divorce issues amicably, before any nastiness about drugs, gambling, and jailbait porn could disrupt their incredibly peaceful family life.
· Kate Hudson and Chris Robinson must be really serious about the end of their marriage—their rep isn't even bothering to lie about it.
· From the "actresses are crazy" file: Showrunners love nothing more than to pick up their morning paper and read about how a cast member thinks they know nothing about the character they created and are bent on removing all acting "choices" with some malicious editing.
· We imagine that Scary Hollywood Lawyers like Marty Singer are at their most terrifying when they're chasing after celebrity clients to pay their legal fees.
· We have no idea what ability our favorite local Chinese restaurant has to wage war, but some misguided hackers sure seem pissed off about it. [Note: The restaurant in question is Chi Dynasty in Los Feliz, but we removed the link to their website after a couple of readers said the site might be harboring a virus. We use Firefox, so we didn't see it.]

A fatal accident on the set of the Jamie Foxx and Jennifer Garner movie The Kingdom has claimed the life of Nick Papac, a 25-year-old assistant propmaster. It's a sad, terrible event, which Access Hollywood sensitively handles by bundling it with another nearly averted Kingdom tragedy: the female lead's heat-induced fainting spell:

When newly crowned World Series of Poker champion and former agent Jamie Gold expressed trepidation about the fame that would inevitably accompany a win in poker's biggest tournament— the kind of fame he compared to that which makes people think that James Gandolfini possesses Christ-like healing powers—perhaps he also feared that people within the entertainment industry might call bullshit on the resume he'd been providing to the press during his run to the championship. The Defamer Special Correspondent on Onetime Agents Who May Have Bluffed About Their Client Lists offers his perspective on some holes in Gold's backstory:

· Monday night music round-up: Death Cab for Cutie with Spoon and Mates of State at the Greek; The Black Heart Procession at the Knitting Factory; World Party at The Roxy; Kind Hearts and Coronets at the Echo.
Fans of writing, drinking, and writing while drinking should find at least three reasons (or is that only two?) to check out LACMA's screening of Factotum, in which Matt Dillon (you might know him as Johnny Drama's older brother) plays Charles Bukowski's fictional stand-in, Henry Chinaski.
· Book Soup, revealed on last night's Entourage to be the best place in the city to troll for casual movie-star sex, hosts a reading of To Air Is Human, the story of how Bj rn T roque evolved from a guitar-playing, NY Times writer named Dan Crane into an air-guitar-wielding demigod.

Today's somewhat synchronicitous appearance of both Kate Bosworth nipple-slip (link NSFW) and Lindsay Lohan side-boob photos offers a great time to note where two of Hollywood's hottest young actresses currently fall on the Eating Disorder/Plastic Surgery Axis. While Lohan's signature curves continue an inspiring, if suspicious, rebound after a disputed dalliance with "bulimia" (maybe she's retaining the massive quantities of bottled water she's consuming in the right places?), Bosworth still seems to be travelling further into the direction of Pompeoesque, devastating thinness, indicating her possible adoption of the Big Fat Plate of Nothing Diet. Maybe Bosworth can take some inspiration from the healthy, clean-living Lohan and try to regain her more shapely Blue Crush figure before her body devours her areolas for sustenance, making further nipple-slip photos a much more disturbing affair.

We asked for more PrivacyWatch celebrity sightings, and you came through! Keep them coming to tips[AT]defamer.com (please put "sighting" or "PrivacyWatch" in the subject line) and update us on the most recent fluctuations of Val Kilmer's magical, morphing belly.

A Defamer operative in the market for multimillion-dollar, celebrity-owned New Mexico resort real estate stumbled upon a listing for Val Kilmer's Pecos River Ranch, a riverside spread up for sale for the low, low price of $18,000,000. Eight figures seems like an absolute steal for the ability to fly-fish in the same waters into which the renowned, if currently doughy, actor cast innumerable, exquisitely tied lures, while the true, well-monied superfan will enjoy a unique opportunity to recreate Kilmer's monthly peyote binge, in which he casts the property's stock of mule deers, turkeys, black bears, cougars, waterfowl, bobcats, beavers, eagles, and peregrine falcons in a community theater recreation of his favorite scenes from The Island of Dr. Moreau.

Looking at the accompanying photo of Boy George reporting for his five-day community service sentence in lower Manhattan, we're reminded of that old joke, "How many photographers does it take to document a disgraced 1980s pop star repaying his humiliating debt to society?" (Answer: 25, and one cop pretending to protect his dignity while taking cameraphone pics to show his wife when he gets home.) According to reports, after less than an hour of shouts of "Over here! Boy! Boy, this way! Hold the broom up higher!" the singer finally snapped, shooting back "This is supposed to be making me humble. Let me do this, I just want to do my job," before officials sequestered him into a fenced off area, where the chunky Mr. Clean valiantly swept and carted imaginary garbage across a sanitation parking lot.