We were trying to make sense of today's LAT story on the ongoing FBI investigation of a former Us Weekly editor accused of hacking into (read: using someone else's password to access) the magazine's e-mail system to gain an unfair competitive advantage in obtaining scoops about the newest busty brunette with whom Nick Lachey may be having intercourse, when our eye drifted over to the Related News box at the right hand side of the page. The article does mention Charlie Sheen and Denise Richards by name, and is certainly an "entertainment" story, but there is no explicit mention of "hot chicks"—trust us, we checked. (In the name of research, we also visited the web presence of the aforementioned brunette to confirm her hair color and relative bustiness, and she checks out on both counts. We are nothing if not thorough.) But compounding the sin of the Topix Related News box's cynical attempt at attracting click-throughs with suggestive keywords is the fact that no "Hot Chicks" topic page exists. [Audible gasp.] We trust that the FBI will immediately abandon its piddling Us Weekly investigation and launch a new probe into Topix's criminally misleading practices.

Things at the Roosevelt have seemed eerily quiet since management cast out erstwhile Queen of Hollywood Nightlife Amanda Scheer Demme from the celebrity-fellating Eden she'd lovingly established on their premises, but today's Page Six reports that the hotel may have recaptured a little bit of its former velvet rope magic this weekend:

· When you play this game, in which the object is simply to pummel Kevin Federline until his skin if flayed from his face, there will come a point when Britney Spears steps in to act as a human shield. And then you will punch her avatar, too, over and over again, wondering why you aren't more disturbed by this act of violence, or by the presence of the baby that your blows occasionally dislodge from her grasp. This is some fucked up shit, yo. [via Kotaku]
· We do not know which is scarier: This one of Maury Povich heartlessly torturing a pickle-phobic with hundreds of little green representations of her greatest fear, or any selection from these series of Scientology orientation videos.
· No matter what you do, famous people will continue to marry.
· Rescue Me's Peter Tolan learned the hard way that not everyone wants to see Denis Leary's fucked-up fireman character rape his ex-wife.

We quickly became bored by the plot of last night's episode of Entourage, an endlessly recycled sitcom standard in which "the crew gets a surprise visit from Dom, a recently paroled childhood friend from Queens," and soon found ourself curious about the careers of the show's day players. And so with the help of IMDb, we decided to learn a little more about the people we'd just seen utter a line or two and disappear, ride naked atop an uninteresting guest star, or meaningfully brush up against Jeremy Piven in a crowd scene. The results of our little journey to the bottom of the call sheet follow after the jump:

Lest Aaron Spelling capture all of the deceased showbiz veteran attention, we take this moment to also mourn the passing of Moose, better known to millions as Eddie, Frasier's Jack Russell terrier. (He was also the title character in My Dog Skip, making him a handy, rarely used card to pull out in matches of Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon.) Like something out of a Wallace and Gromit movie, the talented, mischievous Moose could steal an entire scene from under Kelsey Grammer's nose with nothing more than dead silence and subtle cock of his head. His trainer, Mathilde Halberg, shared how he managed to shake the stigma of being a convicted cat-murderer and go on to become the toast of Hollywood:

Amidst all the tabloid coverage of her divorce from Nick Lachey and her relationship to her svengali father, it's easy to forget that Jessica Simpson is, first and foremost, an artist: a mediocre, trend-trailing, completely forgettable recording artist. Her new album comes out at the end of August, but visitors to her website are treated to her new single—a catchy, 80s throwback that advocates treating life like one extended vacation, titled "Holiday." Except that she calls it "A Public Affair." (Here they are side by side: We defy you to tell the difference.)

A Defamer operative spotted Katie Holmes on one of her exceedingly rare trips outside the reality-controlled confines of the Cruise compound on Saturday night, and in the process, snapped the post-Miracle-Baby version of a bigfoot photo:

· Monday night music round-up: Corinne Bailey Rae at the Troubadour; Patrick Park at the Hotel Café; local ass-kickers/name-takers Tsar at Spaceland.
· Some kids from the Bancroft Middle School preview their new crime noir comedy, P.I.G., at the Egyptian Theater. And if that's not enough for you, they'll also be filming the screening for a documentary about the making of the movie. Don't kids just get high and play Nintendo anymore?
· Learn how to exploit the huge market for nanny's diaries, tales of traveling pants, and ya-ya sisterhood secrets at the Independent Writers of Southern California panel discussion, "Chick Lit: Writing for the Women's Market," at the Veterans Memorial Building.

Today's Page Six relates a Wednesday afternoon sighting of Robert Evans at Cedar Sinai, where the swingin', just-divorced former superproducer may have been trying to drown the sorrow of his recently disintegrated marriage beneath a pile of naughty health care providers:

Boy George's most notable achievement of late was his ill-advised move of calling the NYPD to his Manhattan apartment for a burglary, upon which he was immediately arrested for having 13 bags of blow sitting around in the open. George was offered a plea bargain that would only charge him with false robbery; he was then required to do five days of community service. It was a cushy arrangement, though not cushy enough, as he refused to involve himself in embarrassing, public leaf-gathering duties:

Given the whole Gay Superman Situation, we can imagine that there was no way that the folks at Warner Bros. were going to let their new, embattled Man of Steel handle any footlongs to promote their internal employee screening menu (huge version with directions to the hot dog cart here) and risk overheated exegesis of the Da Vinci Code-level symbolism buried deep within an image of the superhero holding a problematically phallic snack food. Instead, they wisely handed off the perilous assignment to their unquestionably hetero villain, who, in our opinion, could have at least pretended to be impressed with the link's size.

· The trades do their memorializing duty by noting the passing of legendary TV producer/dynamo/optimist Aaron Spelling. [Variety, THR, THR]
· The retired Michael Eisner takes a break from following the maid around the house and pointing out things she's insufficiently dusted, buying a company that produces videos which help parents brainwash their babies into attending their alma maters. [THR]
· NBC Universal TV International president Frederick Huntsberry will become Paramount's COO in the next few days, a job whose responsibilities include shadowing studio chief Brad Grey and assuring him he's having a "tall day." [Variety]
· An LA judge continues to bar producer Bob Yari from removing Cathy Schulman and Tom Nunan's names from The Illusionist credits through the film's August release, a setback to those who relish a good, old-fashioned Hollywood pissing match. [THR]
· Wall Street investors seem pleased that CBS Corp's Les Moonves' plans for world domination now include film production. [Variety]

Whether merely by coincidence or some heavenly congruence orchestrated by the Celebrity Love Gods, the nuptials of movie star Nicole Kidman and TV star Marcia Cross gave the past few days the unofficial title of "Icy Redhead Dogged By Lesbian Rumors Marriage Weekend." By all media accounts, both events were well-attended, hugely joyous occasions: The Kidman-Urban reception featured guests Hugh Jackman, Fox potentate Rupert Murdoch, and Nicole's memorable arrival in a Rolls Royce with her proud father, who had been specially taxidermied for the occasion (see photo). Cross's wedding, meanwhile, was in San Gabriel, and was attended by her Desperate Housewives co-star Eva Longoria, who had a delightful evening of celebrating/screaming at caiter waiters to "clear faster." For easy reference, we refer you to USA Today's stat sheets on both affairs, which also act as a telling metric of fame: Kidman's report coming in at 437 words to Cross's 202.

Sensing that her pretty-boy traveling companion and the father of her first biological child might not be getting enough credit for putting up with her "totally, like, annoying do-gooder stuff," globe-trotting, orphan-collecting philanthropist Angelina Jolie graciously allowed Brad Pitt to pretend that having their baby in Namibia was all his idea for Newsweek's 15 People Who Make America Great feature:

By now surely you have heard that Aaron Spelling, the TV-producing giant who popularized cruise-directing cupids, wish-granting midgets, and John Forsythe's disembodied, mission-deploying voice, died Friday evening at the age of 83, after having a stroke last weekend. In order to help you make sense of the LAT's considerable Spelling R.I.P. coverage, a round-up:
· Their obit relates some of the dramatic highs and lows of Spelling's life. Among the lows: A Variety headline that read "Aaron Spelling's Dynasty is Dead," with no quotes around "Dynasty," and being called a "Jewbaby" in his youth. (Little known fact: Charlie's Angels' original title was Stanley's Jewbabies, but network suits bristled at the ethnic implications.)
· 7th Heaven creator Brenda Hampton, a show executive produced by Spelling, shares some of his more intimate quirks, including his habit of calling everyone "lover," and his bourgeois tastes (he liked Chinatown knockoff-wear and In-N-Out burgers).

While millions hold their breath, gradually turn purple, and quietly expire from self-inflicted asphyxiation waiting for Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes to finally consent to an official Miracle Baby photo shoot, Fox 411's Roger Friedman claims to know why pictures of Suri Cruise haven't hit the cover of People yet: No one offered America's Most Suspicious Couple enough money for the privilege:

Enjoy a tall glass of these fresh-squeezed box office numbers on your Monday morning:

· The Week in Jolie-Pitt: There's more to choosing the nationality of your next adopted child than shutting your eyes and stopping a spinning globe with your finger. The Chosen One divides its less sacred siblings, though no paparazzo shall steal their souls. Namibian celebrity history still sorting itself out.
· Paramount delights in their second place, "we try harder" status. But if you fuck with their big 9/11 movie, you pay the piper.
· Aquaman thrills audiences in ways the third season of Entourage does not. Still, it's your primary text for a Doctorate in Mailroom-ology.
· Nicole Kidman tricks paparazzi into drinking beer and her husband-to-be into signing a bitch of a prenup.
· M. Night Shyamalan works though the psychic scars of Nina Jacobson's cruel notes sessions the old fashioned way: memoir writing.
· "Did you even read the scoreboard? NO AUTOGRAPHS, PINHEAD!"
· Variety looks at the ICM slump.
· Tom Cruise wows the Japanese, mainly because they have no idea what it is he's saying.
· It's Lavely & Singer versus the world, kid: Bruce Willis sues a paparazzo for blaming him for some bad bridge work. Reese Witherspoon sues Star.
· Robert Evans' latest wife to be animated exiting from photos, accompanied by his regret-tinged V.O.
· Not only do they call a Quarter Pounder a "Royale With Cheese," but Snakes On A Plane becomes Des Serpents Dans L'Avion.
· Aaron Spelling has a stroke, and his daughter rushes home after a week of alienating Canadians.
· An unsettling, S-shaped sign teaches you how to flush.
· Our readers report on the opening of Rande Gerber's new club, the Stone Rose.
· Click's not-so-original premise.
· Evangeline Lilly, master of really bad disguise.

· We're not exactly sure why we find an old modeling photo of the new Superman reading a back issue of Vanity Fair so funny, but the humor value of Brandon Routh calling upon God to smite those who would shitcan him from a soap opera is self-evident.
· Not surprisingly, not all children immediately take to Christopher Walken.
· The real Homeland Security department features fewer Kiefer Sutherlands and terrorist beheadings than what you see on 24.
· The existence of the Adventures of Keira Knightley's Jaw blog is our latest reminder that genius and totally unhinged insanity are sides of the same crazy/beautiful coin.

We at Defamer realize that not every momentary disagreement between actor and director ends with the star storming off to his trailer to call his agent, with the optional stop to gun down a smirking grip in cold blood on the way there. Accordingly, we are happy to share The Slug blog's account of the hat-related detente quickly achieved between an initially golf-cap-suspicious Topher Grace and a gently insistent Sam Raimi on the set of Spider-Man 3: