Cry havoc, and loose the dogs of Photoshop. Sure, we thought we'd leave Mel alone today after a brief Swayzing, but a reader sent this delightful Gwyneth-inspired illustration to our westie cousin Defamer. And it seems only right to share here, though we note that Mel is missing some kind of Israeli neckwear to complete the picture. More permutations on this theme may also be submitted for further consideration.

· Inspired by today's Gwyneth Paltrow ad, a reader whipped up this delightful reinterpretation for Mel Gibson. We think he's well on his way to total forgiveness.
If you don't want your t-shirt to mess around with all these "sugar tits" niceties and just cut to the chase, this fine "schmuck"-based garment seems like a good option.
Big day for Lindsay Lohan! Page Six says the Chateau is threatening her with homelessness, while TMZ claims she's finally attracted her first stalker. We've said it before, but we're always shocked that they grow up so fast.
Survivor's Fat, Naked, Tax-Evading Guy says he will not rest until he catches the one-armed prosecutor who threw him in jail.
· For the low, low price of $8,000 per hour, you too can fly in the private jet where Jim Carrey porks Jenny McCarthy.

Robin Williams' reps announced yesterday that the coke-powered* comedian was headed to rehab to once again take the narcotic edge off his trademark commercial-break-spanning, multi-ethnic-stereotype-character talk-show riffs, a move that wisely prevented any unfortunate, Gibsonian meltdowns that may have been in the offing. A Defamer operative residing in the sleepy town where Williams' recovery facility is located drops us this report about the local buzz on the actor's early progress:

Kristen Bell was rushed to a hospital today, but there will be no need for the Veronica Mars star's fans to hold small, candlelight vigils around the country: Their prayers have already been answered, as doctors have delivered the miracle diagnosis that she hasn't broken anything after accidentally slamming her car door on her hand.

If you thought being appointed heir to one of the most beloved and fiercely guarded franchises in cinematic history somehow rendered you immune from mean-spirited internet taunts and grumblings regarding your fitness for the role—say, that you didn't know how to play poker, use a firearm, that you had no eyebrows, or turned beet red in the sun, that you couldn't drive stick and looked like a Village Person, or even lost your teeth in a choreographed fight—well, you'd be wrong. Even James Bond has feelings:

· The Nocturnal Emissions exhibit at the LA Center for Digital Art features photographer Benjamin Pezzillo's take on the city at night, not, as you might fear (or hope, depending on your tastes), photographic depictions of wet dreams. [via flavorpill]
Music round-up: Too Short at House of Blues; Motorcycle Boy at Spaceland; Todd Snider at the Troubadour; Hard 'N Phirm at Largo.
· Slappy-happy bass legend Les Claypool (Primus, etc) is now a novelist (a semi-deranged one, we're sure), and will turn up tonight at the Barnes and Noble on the 3rd Street Promenade in Santa Monica to read from his book, South of the Pumphouse.

The Gays, if not the fundamental fabric of show business, are at the very least its highly ornamental stitching. So it should come as no surprise that Entourage, Hollywood's weekly, 30-minute glance at its own magnificent reflection, gets a great deal of mileage out of the constant, uncomfortable rubbing up of straight and gay cultures throughout the industry. Usually, that comes in one of two ways: 1) watching resident Gay eunuch Lloyd absorb yet another round of shells fired from Ari Gold's semi-automatic mouth, or 2) scenarios, such as last week's plot in which Johnny Drama showed way too much interest in his favorite masseur, which explore the comic possibilities that emerge when a rigidly hetero male is mistaken for/unwittingly acts like—mercy—a Gay. But PlanetOut.com's Personality Machine thinks we may not be giving the show's writers enough credit, and that the signs have been staring us in the face all along:

America's Next Top Model's striking writers are still picketing outside the show's offices, but one protesting scribe found that the acrimony persists even in the neutral zone represented by The Grove, our fair city's leading, artificially sweetened retail fantasyland. One might hope that host Tyra Banks and the people who toil to give her something to say between eruptions of "that's fierce" could coexist peacefully outside the boundaries of the conflict, but according to this report on the strikers' MySpace blog, all the world's a battlefield:

It's really comforting to know that even in these uncertain, pants-crappingly terrifying times, we can always rely on Samuel L. Jackson to ensure our skies are safe from even the most cutting-edge of airborne threats.

As international airport security checkpoints are being frantically refitted with urinals and spitbuckets in a panicked effort to confiscate every last drop of errant fluid that may later be turned into a deadly detonation device, it seems, for better or worse, that World Trade Center couldn't have chosen a more appropriate weekend to premiere/re-scare the shit out of us. Satisfied that his work here is done, WTC star Nicholas Cage has reinvested some of the dividends from his Campaign of Healing™ into himself, purchasing his very own castle way off in, of all places, low-on-terrorists'-to-do-list Bavaria:

Disney employees who recently lost their jobs in the recent Cast Member Massacre will be overjoyed to learn that the company made "massive gains in its fiscal third quarter," and that's even before their saved salaries and the Pirates 2 box office dollars hit the books. OK, here's a cheerier thought: The noble sacrifice of their paychecks will probably help Bob Iger boost his annual bonus. Yay! [Variety]
Great News For The Recently Shitcanned Day continues, as Paramount gets "back in the black" from the DreamWorks acquisition, corporate parent Viacom reports a large gain in profits, and super-positive CEO Tom Freston declares that the 'Mount is "re-emerging as a top-tier studio." Thanks, everybody they fired to make this possible! [Variety]
There's really nothing else to talk about in Hollywood but money, so we note that Sony beat Disney to $1 billion at the domestic box office. Remember last year when everyone thought Sony's Amy Pascal was getting fired for her bombtastic summer of Stealth and XXX? Good times. [THR]
Universal and Fox entrust 26-year-old Neill Blomkamp, who previously has only directed commercials, with directing their precious Halo project. The studios' first choice for the blockbuster hopeful, the guy who came up with the edgy, buzzed-about "Apply directly to the forehead" spots, was unavailable. [Variety]
John C. Reilly is officially inducted into comedy's New Gay Mafia by landing a second starring project in a week following Talladega Nights, this time hooking up with Judd Apatow and Jake Kasdan for Walk Hard, a spoof of musical biopics like Ray and Walk the Line. [Variety]

There's always something of interest in Bravo network's Andy Cohen's blog, where a Freaky Friday-ish scenario appears to have taken place in which a male, adult TV executive has magically traded bodies with that of a highly temperamental and starstruck 14-year-old girl. Take, for example, Cohen's recent musings on the subject of Jessica Simpson, which, surprisingly enough, weren't accompanied by margin annotations of the heart-encircled-'Mrs. Andy Gyllenhaal'-variety:

Variety reports that preternaturally hacky director Brett Ratner may have found a follow-up project to his upcoming Rush Hour 3 sequel shoot, signing on to randomly point a camera at things on the set (props, the craft services table, and, occasionally, actors reciting their lines) of a remake of The Boys From Brazil, the 1978 thriller about a plot to clone Hitler and resurrect the Third Reich. Ratner briefly explains his interest in the project:

Paparazzi agency X17's photographers just so happened to be circling Tom Cruise's compound in a helicopter when their telephoto-lens-equipped cameras began capturing hundreds of pictures of the baby-concealing actor's home, some of which seemed to contain barely discernible images of ghostly, imprisoned fianc e Katie Holmes and suspiciously unseen offspring Suri. Of course, at such a distance it's impossible to tell if the agency photographed Holmes and her daughter or one of the dozens of mother-and-baby decoy sets placed in various windows around the house, where they can easily draw the attention of airborne spies while the real Katie and Suri relax in the comfort of their subterranean nursery-bunker, watching their Baby Scientology Genius videos in peace.

Africa's recent run as the hottest continent for Hollywood's charity-minded tastemakers to embrace finally comes to an end with this Gwyneth Paltrow ad, in which the Sliding Doors and Bounce star one-ups good works icon Angelina Jolie by symbolically adopting all of Africa, not just a single, too-trendy nation willing to host a publicity-attracting celebrity birth. However, the trendsetting Jolie knows that public awareness campaigns consist of more than just having one's stylist dig up some beads and smear some eyeshadow on one's face, and will prove that she'll always be ahead of the fashionable do-gooder curve by leaving Africa to move her family into an abandoned well in rural Bangladesh, then turning down all movie projects that refuse to shoot on location in her new homeland.

The angry protestors eager to spread the message of the Mel Gibson Resistance across a variety of outdoor advertising media has once again been foiled by the shadowy, pro-Gibson cabal bent on maintaining congenial relations with studios eager to eventually work with the highly bankable, yet troubled, producer/star. Reports The Scoop, following up its earlier story on the proposed anti-Gibson billboard designed to loom over Sunset Blvd:

· Had we not already been gifted with the Malibu Police Department's star-studded "sugar tits" report, this one from Toledo featuring the phrase "the rotund robbers began pelting him with a flurry of chubby fists and tore the milk jug from his grasp" would easily be the best we've ever read. F'ing poetry.
Behold the coast-battering, windy man-titties of Tropical Storm Fabio.
Us Weekly strikes back against Jennifer Aniston publicist Stephen Huvane by running a greatest hits collection of his best lies.
Dude, where's my cock car?
· If you have any interest in sports whatsoever, make sure you check out our brother blog Deadspin's post about the voicemail Sportscenter anchor Scott Van Pelt left for a lady he'd met at a bar. It's definitely no Pat O'Brien-level performance, but it's pretty great on its own terms.

Fox 411's Roger Friedman must have been too engrossed by shadowing Lindsay Lohan and waiting for her to pick up the bottle of water he needed to complete his anecdote about the actress's reformed, post-dehydration ways at Hyde on Monday night, or was otherwise too mesmerized by the scent of freshly baked cookies to notice the antics of Nicole Richie, who according to the NY Observer's Daily Transom blog, was putting on quite the Young Hollywood triple-threat performance of table dancing, genital-to-genital grinding, and public regurgitation in the very same, tiny celebrity clubhouse:

For many Val Kilmer fans, the onetime matinee idol will always be that shirtless, bronzed god, frozen in mid-air as he spikes a volleyball aimed at Tom Cruise's head. It's hard to reconcile that image with this photo, published in today's London Daily Mirror, of a Stetson-wearing Kilmer taking a leisurely stroll in Malibu, just moments after having unhinged his lower jaw and swallowed a baby sea lion frolicking a few meters from shore. But for one sharp-eyed Defamer reader, this plus-sized, cowboy Val comes as no surprise:

· Music round-up: The Editors do an in-store at Tower Records on Sunset; Under the Influence of Giants at Keyclub; Matisyahu at the Greek .
· The New Beverly Cinema goes crazy for pencil-mustachioed provocateur John Waters with a double feature of Polyester and A Dirty Shame, which many of you may remember as the one where Selma Blair plays a stripper with mammoth breasts. [via flavorpill]
· Black Francis fans rejoice, as author Josh Frank signs his new book Fool the World: The Oral History of a Band Called Pixies at Book Soup.