Defamer has exclusively obtained via another website this EXCLUSIVE! reproduction of the cover of a publication that has paid an extravagant fee (People reportedly paid $4.1 million at auction for the American rights) to publish the first photographs of pre-sainted celebrity offspring Shiloh Nouvel Jolie-Pitt and the two people whose selfless combination of their genetic material has ushered in a new era of peace, harmony, and perpetual, joyous high-fiving into a turbulent, evil-plagued planet. Mere moments after staring upon the Chosen One's image, we felt as if we were bathed in the same golden light that surrounds the infant's still-frail form, and our usual feelings of crippling insecurity and anxiousness were quickly supplanted by a general sense of warmth and well-being. That's all the secondhand grace we can endure for now, but later we plan on exposing a troubling mole with irregular borders to the young Shiloh's placid image, hoping that the blemish will shrink into benign nothingness and save us the copay for a trip to the dermatologist.

We naively thought that sweat-slicked oil heir Brandon "Ask Me About My Feelings On Lindsay Lohan's Pubic Hair" Davis' heartfelt recitation of a lovingly crafted, publicist-composed apology might finally bring an end to the Shitfaced Firecrotch Diatribe flap. How could we have been so foolish? Today's Page Six pens an epilogue to the sad affair, reporting that Davis' grandmother has claimed that Davis and Lohan—in a stunning reversal!—are now dating. Predictably, official Protector of Lohan's Virtue, superflack Leslie Sloane Zelnick, puts any such notion in a burlap sack and drowns it in the nearest body of water:

· The current bid of $23.26 for a Last Comic Standing selection envelope seems like a small price to pay for your own little slice of reality show rejection.
· There was already too much Superman-related goodness today to get to this new billboard, but "Stay Away from the Peninsula!" pretty much says it all.
· Oprah will not rest until she has a hand in every American's happiness. She must be stopped.
· Kirstie Alley has looked better. And she might keep the weight off if she didn't carry that SuperSoaker full of melted butter everywhere.
· Come to think of it, it does seem like a long time since anyone's seen Britney and K-Fed in the same place, doesn't it? If they're not careful, someone's going to start spreading rumors that their marriage isn't as it could be.

The Golden Age of Celebrity Fertility is surely upon us, as Woody Harrelson and his wife Laura Louie welcomed their third daughter into the world Saturday, People reports. And while little Makani may have arrived with considerable less fanfare than the Chosen One, she's already a leg up on her more famous peers in the kick-ass, hippie-dippie birth announcement department:

A nicotine-addled Defamer operative just submitted this report about Fox's latest skywriting-based attempt at movie marketing:

Today brings sad news for fans of gambling, George Clooney in a tuxedo, and Old-Vegas-by-way- of-New-Hollywood-millions charm, as the Las Vegas Review Journal reports that Clooney-backed Las Ramblas resort project has been sold to a developer (for a massive profit, we might add), at least temporarily ending the actor's casino-owning dreams. Too bad. We were really excited to see how an actual architect might interpret rumored early design consultant Brad Pitt's cocktail napkin vision for the property.

Recent dads Donald Trump and Adam Sandler stand proudly at the forefront of a movement promoting a return to traditional domestic roles, in which the father is relied upon to provide for his family by starring in stale reality show franchises and/or one-joke movies based entirely around magic-imbued electronic devices, their wives expected to pose elegantly for visiting In Style photographers, and, somewhere down a long hallway in a nursery room outfitted with the latest in fashionable cribware, an around-the-clock staff tending to their soiled little ones, dusting their fresh bottoms in the finest powdered gold.

· Music round-up: Best band name of the month nominee Murder by Death at the Troubadour; Gram Rabbit at the Viper Room; scrappy up-and-comer Bruce Springsteen at the Greek Theatre.
· Author William Bast signs Surviving James Dean, a memoir about his five-year relationship with the actor, at Book Soup.
· Film critic Stephen Farber Reel Talk screenings continue at the Wadsworth Theater with documentary Who Killed the Electric Car? (a title that begs for a lame Ed Begley, Jr. joke—kids, ask your parents), followed by Q & A hotness with writer/director Chris Paine and executive producer Dean Devlin.

Defamer is committed to providing our readers with up-to-the-minute information about any changes to the release schedules of the summer's hottest blockbusters, especially when those blockbusters feature the wisecracking, lasagna-lovingest feline to ever creep across the big screen on little CGI cat feet.

By now you've probably figured out that we cropped the word "photos" from the end of the headline, but would anyone really be that surprised to learn that Hollywood's Most Socially Responsible Couple (or, more accurately, Hollywood's Most Socially Responsible Actress And The Dude Who Goes Along With Whatever She Says Because The Sex Is Still Mind-Blowing) decided to set an almost unattainable example of selflessness for their less generous peers by auctioning off young Shiloh to the highest bidder, then donating the proceeds to their favorite charity? Even with their biological daughter becoming the exclusive property of People, they'd still have their two previous adorable adoptees upon whom to lavish their love, and should they ever get the urge to wipe out illiteracy in Chad, they could have a new baby ready to go to market in about nine months.

With all of the speculation about whether the latest big-screen incarnation of Superman prefers the company of Lex Luthor to Lois Lane, we've lost sight of a crucial issue that once gripped all of Superfandom, namely, the controversy over the painstaking construction and calibration of Brandon Routh's possibly oversized Package of Steel™. Back in September, the costume designer on Superman Returns promised Newsweek that the famous codpiece would be kid-safe. If this officially licensed action figure is any indication (photographed at Wal-Mart by a reader who has earned our undying devotion), the folks at Warner Bros. must have felt confident that they achieved that goal so completely that children age five and up are invited to poke the hero in the superjunk without fear of injury, either to their delicate fingers, the toy's molded plastic genitalia, or to their own normal psychological development.

Having exhausted nearly every permutation of that perennial entertainment publication chesnut, the Hollywood Power List, Entertainment Weekly has now turned to the realm of fictional players, rendering pop culture's most recognizable make-believe characters hopelessly insecure by assigning them meaningless, numbered potency rankings. And while Wolverine and his people can sleep tight knowing his mutant talents are very much appreciated, the Spongebob Squarepants and Deuce Bigalows of this world could find themselves frantically flipping pages, wondering how and when they let it all slip through their non-existent fingers:

There's something refreshing about a celebrity who can quickly recognize, accept, then proudly claim their rigidly fated, D-list status. Take for example Kristin Cavallari, who has parlayed a stint on MTV's Laguna Beach, playing nothing more than a loosely scripted version of her spoiled, horny self, into a full-time career packed with all kinds of exciting opportunities to pick up Jessica Simpson's sloppy seconds:

· Da Vinci Code continues to kick ass and take the names of blasphemy fans overseas (we know we harp on this, but what else are we gonna talk about, the two and a half hours of deadly, expository dialogue explaining how they wound up in the wrong church again?), takes in $52 million in its third week. [Variety]
· Touchstone TV throws bags of money to keep Grey's Anatomy creator Shonda Rhimes around through the 2008-9 season, ensuring that the studio will corner the market on platitude-filled, bookending voiceovers for years to come. [THR]
· Will Smith finds some time in his busy schedule to sign up to produce and star in Seven Pounds, about "a man intent on killing himself who falls in love before he can do the deed." Unfortunately, that's not the set-up for a romantic comedy about a guy with an adorably quirky death wish. [Variety]
· Horror superfan Rob Zombie will reimagine the Halloween franchise, with an eye on de-pussifying once-scary masked maniac Michael Myers. [THR]
· HBO and producer David Milch make a deal to end Deadwood with two two-hour specials, a four-hour series-closing event that will contractually feature no less than six hundred utterances of the word "cocksucker." [Variety]

Paris Hilton seems almost supernaturally capable of gracing any and every pointless Hollywood function at once, usually arriving in a cloud of green smoke, Wicked Witch of the West-style, with her entourage of flying monkey flacks hopping attentively around her. The concerned citizens of TMZ.com were on hand for Hilton's arrival at Hyde Saturday night, when they happened to capture the Simple Life 4 star appearing to nervously snuff a small, lit object while bathed in a cloud of billowy, white smoke. Dutiful Hilton publicist/flying monkey captain Elliot Mintz set the record straight on what could have easily been misconstrued as a quick, non-medicinal, pre-club fix: "I just want to get something clear with you. Paris Hilton rolled her own tobacco cigarettes. It was tobacco that you saw." However, an olfactorily astute Defamer operative was present at the scene and begs to differ:

In the latest examination of the problem of the Man of Steel's super sexual preference, yesterday's NY Times talked to Superman Returns' screenwriters and director Bryan Singer, who claim to have reimagined the hero as a sensitive guy dealing with typical "chick flick" romantic problems. Maddeningly vague talk of "being who he is" and "going beyond the borders of who he was" follows:

Enjoy the weekend box office numbers, which are 67 percent less Ratnertastic than last week's troubling, record-shattering results.

· The Chosen One arrives , and the healing begins.
· Jennifer Aniston reacts to the news as if she's eaten bad shellfish, then delights no one with her latest big screen effort.
· The Week in Ratner: Courtney Love squawks to his defense. The fans share their thoughts. He mourns his fallen idols. He delights in beef with broccoli.
· You'll have to pry the $17 out of Eva Longoria's cold, famous hands if you expect her to cover that bar tab.
· The Doubtfire Code is broken, and David Hasselhoff and Robert Evans fanatics cry blasphemy.
· Michelle Rodriguez pays her debt to society, which is just slightly longer than the running time of King Kong.
· Superman Returns' opening weekend is now a week long, which Warner Bros. is hoping has a less fruity ring to it than "three-day, holiday weekend."
· Life after Britney: K-Fed beefs up his headshots with some more "marketable looks," and sells his most cherished anecdotes to the highest bidder.
· Ashton and Demi always remember to pack their own velvet rope.
· Denise Richards' witness list grows by 5000.
· "Look into my eyes...You are getting very, very sleepy... No, you may not do a bump now..."
· Why was Barack Obama at CAA? Probably because he works there. (And he isn't Barack Obama.)

· Idol champ Taylor Hicks wound up working at Wal-Mart even more quickly than we thought he would.
· If you can first get past the shocking fact that the $17,000 binky gifted to Shiloh Jolie-Pitt exists, have fun reading about what else that $17K could buy in Africa.
· Jared Leto is actually kind of good at the "acting like a total asshole" part of being a rock star.
· The Break-Up has risen 32% on the Tomato Meter in a mere two days! If they can dig up another hundred reviews, they might break the 50% barrier by Monday.
· Mothers are terrified to have their babies on 6/6/06, fearing that their children will be born into the world as shitty horror movie remakes.

At last night's after-party at Social Hollywood celebrating the the third-season premiere of Entourage, actresses Constance Zimmer, Perrey Reeves, and Emmanuelle Chriqui share a laugh as they try to sort out who played E's girlfriend, Ari's wife, and the studio executive who blew Ari in Cancun.