Not wanting to rely entirely on Steve Jobs and his Pixar team of anthropomorphizing animation wizards to restore them to their former glory years of profitability, Disney is hoping to open new revenue streams by licensing their characters to an expanded range of products: supermarket dog food, for instance.

· Donald Trump and producer R.J. Cutler are planning a Monopoly-based reality series, the specifics of which are still shadowy. All that is known that a monocled, tuxedoed Trump will end each show by stiltedly reading the phrase "Do not pass Go, do not collect two hundred dollars" to a disappointed contestant from a cue card. And if the contestant is an attractive woman, he will then invite her to retrieve a "Get Out Of Jail Free" card from his trousers with her teeth. [Variety]
· Universal rewards The Break-Up writers Jeremy Garelick and Jay Lavender by picking up two "high-concept comedy pitches" for $2-3 million. It is unknown if either project was sold with the phrase "Vince Vaughn and Jennifer Aniston star in The Make-Up." [THR]
· "What do you mean that Russell Crowe is out? Shit! OK, get me someone who's still Australian, but far nancier." [Variety]
· Larry Hagman and Kathleen Turner, both still alive (who knew?), sign on for multi-episode arcs on Nip/Tuck. [THR]
· The Dept. of Labor is investigating the WGA for allegedly failing to pay members millions in compensation from foreign taxes, a probe that is not, as far as anyone can tell (yet, anyway), secretly funded by producers, networks, and studios. [Variety]

Because the entire universe would be sucked into an infinitely dense black hole the size of a double-sized, special wedding issue of Us Weekly should a single utterance from the mouths of Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie go unrecorded by a roomful of wire service and tabloid reporters, the AP notes that the world's most famous new parents briefly emerged from their Namibian hidey hole to let us know that they are deeply committed to maintaining young Shiloh's illegitimacy by forgoing a meaningless marriage ritual:

Eschewing societal norms of what constitutes a legitimate "relationship," Desperate Housewives star Teri Hatcher decided early on in life to enter into a three-way love affair with her own breasts. She recently let a British magazine in on the secret to how she keeps them looking so perky years after they peaked:

Mission: Impossible III may have raked in over $300 million overall so far (with 60 percent of that coming at the foreign box office), but its disappointing™ $47 million domestic opening certainly made Hollywood wonder if the combination of Tom Cruise's massive compensation and his audience-alienating, suspiciously-impregnating (hey, anyone seen that Suri kid yet? Just askin', because Shiloh's already has a nice little modeling career.), psychiatrist-flaying antics might not be great for the Tom Cruise Industry. In fact, according to some people who wish to remain anonymous because they fear the actor will personally—personally!—grind them into a fine powder beneath the heels of his best couch-stomping boots, Cruise needs a time-out to detoxify from a severe case of the "cooties." Reports Kim Masters at Slate:

After Britney Spears ditched her last nanny, she opted not to go the traditional, stern-and-matronly routes in choosing her replacement. Instead, she hired a hefty slab of strawberry-blonde mancake, identified as either Perry or Henry. Good with kids, handsome and sturdy, free of cornrows, and, to our knowledge, not currently pursuing a hip-hop career, Perry/Henry seemed every bit the man Britney should have been with all along. Which, according to the highly reliable source of an anonymous "insider," hasn't gone unnoticed by displaced Britney man-unit, Kevin Federline:

The LAT commemorates the momentous occasion of the internet-wide leaking of the first image of Shiloh Nouvel Jolie-Pitt (and, perhaps, the first legal threats made on the baby's behalf) by assembling a timeline of important moments in the eleven-day-old infant's existence. All the crucial milestones are covered, including the fated infidelity that first brought Mommy and Daddy together, the sex act that would enable the commingling of Hollywood's finest specimens' perfect genetic material, and, most crucially, the Chosen One's first photo shoot:

· Yeah, we know what you're thinking, but fruit punch was the official drink of Krypton before it exploded, so just let it go, OK?
· Jessica Alba seems like she's even more high maintenance than you'd imagine she'd be.
· Fun fact: Babies find that the Phone Number of the Beast is quite easy to dial. [via BoingBoing]
· Why have we been making such a fuss today when every day is doomsday?
· Breaking up with MySpace is hard to do.

Several of our Australian readers have alerted us to a front page story in The Sydney Morning Herald, a personal memoir entitled, "When I was Russell Crowe's stooge," written by Jack Marx, a journalist Crowe approached to become a one-man PR machine for his thoroughly unheralded rock band. It's difficult to really choose just one of the many anecdotes that paint Crowe, unsurprisingly, as a moody, childish brat. We'll limit ourselves to Marx's inside view of the events following Crowe's legendary New York hotel phone-throwing incident:

We may not have much time left before the End of Days, as an operative has just spotted Brett Ratner on the Fox lot, joining forces with of one of the celebrity world's greatest forces of darkness:

Keanu Reeves has let the pain of childhood abandonment and personal tragedy accumulate for too long, and the actor has finally chosen to speak out about it. In this we support him. What we're having a harder time getting behind is whom he chose to share his exclusive with: PARADE magazine—the Sunday newspaper insert, printed on the highest quality news-tissue, and typically the first thing to tumble into the big blue bin followed by the Classifieds and Home Depot circulars:

· Forget The Omen remake and give yourself over to A Tribute to Evil at the Henry Fonda. Unholy participants include "sinister minister" El Vez, Glenn Danzig, and the "devil's son-in-law" Rudy Ray Moore. Human sacrifice totally optional.
· The Writers Bloc brings together literary titans John Updike and Bruce "The Voice of Hollywood" Wagner at the WGA Theater. As far as we can tell, there is no tie-in with today's Number of the Beast theme.
· Somewhat demonic music round-up: Charlatans UK at Avalon; The Chapin Sisters at Tangier; Monsters Are Waiting at the Troubadour.

After a weeklong reign as King of Hollywood, Brett Ratner has suffered a rather tragic tumble from his throne. X-Men: The Last Stand dropped 67 percent at the box office in its second weekend (replaced by—will the indignities never cease?— a Jennifer Aniston vehicle), and having suffered this loss of his royal powers, found himself unable to avoid his civic duty. Reports the Defamer Special Courthouse Correspondent:

More details have emerged concerning the incident involving a man whuppin' his Mama over the head with an "object attached to a bicycle chain," in retaliation for voicing her thoughts on Katharine McPhee's post-American Idol career prospects. Speaking out in defense of her troubled boy, Cory K. Favreau, Jan Chagnon wants the world to know that her son is no mace-swinging, card-carrying Soul Patrol maniac:

The evil promotional procession of The Omen's instantly recognizable triple sixes etched into the sky above Fox's Century City lot late yesterday (see included photo, sent in by a reader who just knocked a millennium off his purgatory sentence) by the studio's infernal biplanes was merely the first stage of their airborne marketing blitz. Another operative informs us that Fox's airborne, fork-tailed terror squad continued down to Anaheim, briefly turning the Magic Kingdom into the Most Satanic Place on Earth:

Readers of the paper edition of Variety were treated to an unseasonable Valentine today, in the form a full-page ad taken out by Marc Anthony, declaring his bursting love and pride for his wife and former object of public fascination, Jennifer Lopez. Only her husband would know Lopez intimately enough to compose the tribute to the baffling "Women in Film" award winner in the form of a mock screenplay, as "Lola" (as he affectionately refers to her in the ad) tends to glaze over when subjected to any assemblage of words not presented in dialogue-and-action formation. After Anthony sneakily placed the trade rag near her morning melon, casually asking if she had "happened to see page 46," a curious Lopez quickly discovered the gushy, Final Draft-templated ode. Purely by force of habit, she immediately handed it to her assistant for coverage, which soon came back to her in the form of a far more manageable, four-line summary: "You're a beautiful actress/singer who receives an award. Your husband says he loves you, but in the end, he says something about you 'never waking up.' The Bodyguard meets Sleeping with the Enemy. Pass."

· Please don't read anything untoward into the phrase "expand their relationship" or jump to conclusions about what kind of "modestly budgeted films with local talent" that Hugh Jackman and his partner might make. You're better than that, we know you are. [Variety]
· Bacon Plots His Revenge: You either want to read about that, or you don't. [THR]
· An upfront standoff ends as ABC drops its demand that advertisers pay for viewers who watch their shows on DVRs, but the net reserves the right to later extort ad buyers over potential viewers who intend to watch a show but never get around to it. [Variety]
· Cybill Shepherd will dabble in some girl-girl action as a member of the cast of The L Word, playing a married mother who begins to question her sexuality when surrounded by incredibly hot lesbians. [THR]
· THR launches The Hollywood Reporter ESQ, a trade paper for the people in the industry who write the contracts and lovingly sign cease and desist letters. Don't miss the first issue's centerfold spread, featuring entertainment law legend Bert Fields splayed on a bearskin rug before a cozy fire, his natural state covered by nothing but one of his books on Shakespeare. A small book. [THR]

Having presumably waited until the last lingering memories of their original "mother" had vaporized from the minds of the offspring she once adopted with Tom Cruise, Nicole Kidman is now comfortable to begin a life and family anew, this time with her former Playgirl model/Kiwi country singer fiance, Keith Urban. With the big day set for July 25 in Sydney, the couple is taking every precaution to discourage the presence of Australian paparazzi looking for that $1 million "kiss-the-bride" shot:

As a service to our readers on the Sony lot who might not be checking their inboxes as frequently as they should, we pass along this interoffice e-mail blast reassuring employees that their place of work has not, in fact, burned to the ground.

Today's Wall Street Journal examines NBC's fucking-or-fighting relationship with YouTube, a union best illustrated by NBC's insistence that the site take down SNL's "Lazy Sunday" video after YouTube had built it into a viral sensation that quickly spawned unspeakably lame imitations, all while the network was negotiating to buy ads and provide authorized content to the video sharing service in hopes of replicating the clip's success. An NBC executive does his best to explain the attraction/repulsion they feel for such sites: