While tax incentives have lured bottom-line-obsessed studios to far-off lands like New Orleans, the newly Hollywoodized locations are also reaping the (perhaps) unexpected consequences of the money-bringing industry invasion: local alcohol shortages induced by thirsty underage starlets, caddish foreigners making a mockery of the Seventh Commandment, and the crushing guilt of realizing that your tax breaks have made abominations like Big Momma's House 2 possible. From the LAT:

As efficient as two shots from a silenced Walther P38 to the back of the head and as ruthlessly effective as a story in the trades, a simple phone call ended Pierce Brosnan's reign as James Bond.

Yesterday, the inboxes of various media types (and some fake-media blogger-types like us—thanks!) filled up with images of Jude Law inadvertently exposing his infamous nanny-tenderizer to a lucky paparazzo. Today, Page Six points at Law's possibly shrinkage-afflicted unit, throws back its collective head, and laughs and laughs.

Hayden Christensen might need a little coaching. If his publicists went through the trouble of sending him to the Playboy Mansion last week for its legendary Midsummer Night's Dream party in the hopes that he'd be photographed grabassing with some Playmates, he could've at least acted like he was having a good time. Merely looking shitfaced while standing in the vicinity of the nice ladies with no clothes on isn't going to get the job done.

· The NY Times provides as good an illustration as you'll see of why agents are the ones wearing the nice suits and shouting into phones all day, not the ones writing the words: "'Did you hear what Ari said?" is now a regular feature of our Monday staff meetings,' said Jeremy Zimmer, a founding partner at United Talent Agency. He was referring to Ari Gold, the show's insufferable talent agent, played by Jeremy Piven in an expensive Caesar haircut. Meanwhile, at International Creative Management, the agent Brian Sher said he got huge laughs by announcing at a staff meeting that the priority project at Warner Brothers this fall would be 'Aquaman.'"
· Talent agent, defined. Is this a themed round-up?
· Now that Paris Hilton has traded in aging Chihuahua Tinkerbell for a younger, bitsy-er (bitsier?) version, Zulkey looks to Hilton's future of continuing pet-miniaturization.
· You couldn't pay us to watch Big Brother Whatever Number They're Up To Now (well, maybe we'd let Les Moonves pay us to watch it), but this clip of one of the contestants calling another contestant a "cokehead" who "fucks old men" is pretty amusing.
· P. Diddy abstains from sex before the VMAs, we abstain from giving a shit. (Yet we link to the story! Funny how that works!)

· Music round-up: Temperamental troubadour Ryan Adams cancelled his show at the Wiltern due to illness, but the Dandy Warhols will be at the little Bigfoot Lodge (that place is going to be crowded), and the White Stripes do day 2 of 4 at the Greek.
· Penny Marshall goes all Q&A after a screening of A League of Their Own at the Arclight, with star Lori Petty hanging out, anxious to answer all of your questions about Tank Girl.
· The Buffalo Club in Santa Monica hosts a Tuesday night wine tasting "under the stars," where thirty bucks gets you a sip of six different wines, an assortment of bread and cheeses, and an acceptably classy buzz. Why must everything be about getting drunk with you people?

With its hottness quotient rising from "scorching" to "avert your D-list eyeballs before your corneas are instantly liquefied," it looks like the Roosevelt Hotel has turned to Craigslist to find reinforcements for its Tropicana Bar Entry Prevention Team:

Samuel L. Jackson knows that he's cashing a check and not making a Scorsese film, so why should the studio signing his check try and dress up a perfectly good snakes-on-a-plane flick with a stupid title like Pacific Air Flight 121? From Collider.com:

We've received so many e-mails about recently available pictures of a couple of naked, famous people that we're finally giving in and rounding them up here (and yup, they're all over the place now, without sources, but this is the only way we can stop the e-mails). To wit: A fine round of prurient jollies can be had checking out a young, unclothed Demi Moore (link NSFW), long before she let herself be filled to the brim with Ashton Kutcher's seed, or by taking a peek at skinnydipping libertine Michelle Rodriguez, soon after she let herself be filled to the brim with alcohol at the Skybar in Miami. Perhaps the only thing more satisfying than stolen moments with these barenaked celebrities photos is the opportunity to clumsily force some symmetry on their sudden, unlreated appearance. Enjoy!

Perhaps the only people crueler than our Hungarian blogging overlords are the people who maintain our internet pipeline, which is currently stopping the flow of nonsense from Defamer HQ to your cubicle. We hope to be back shortly.

Three cracked ribs, a broken collarbone, and a broken hand.

We're pretty sure IMDb means Jonathan Demme (the Zap2it article got it right), not Ted, who died three years ago. Of course, the very mention of the name Demme makes us wonder whether or not the director would be able to get into his wife's club if he were still alive, even though she named one of the Roosevelt's new bars after him.

· Paramount's Oliver Stone project now has competition to be the first to exploit 9/11 for fun and profit (we're calling even money that one studio will announce some kind of donation to charity, if they haven't already), as Universal announces its plans for Flight 93, the story of the heroic passengers who sacrificed their lives once they learned that their hijacked plane was being directed towards a crash in DC. Oh, the film is going for a "gritty feel" with improvisation and handheld cameras. Sounds like a hoot! [Variety]
· From the God We Wish We Were Making This Up Department: "With NBC Universal Television Group suffering through a fiscal downturn, the division's president, Jeff Zucker, is implementing cost-cutting measures affecting everything from travel expenses to the snacks served at meetings." Perhaps even greater savings could be realized if Zucker and Kevin Reilly, the people who oversaw last season's disastrous plummet to the Nielsen basement, had their salaries taken away for a year? Let the people have their fucking Pringles, Jeff! They're not the ones who tied their fortunes to Joey. [THR]
· The (relative) overseas success of domestic box office bed-shitter The Island proves yet again that studios can count on international audiences to bail them out for making crappy movies. [Variety]
· The Canadian Broadcasting Corp. locks out over 5,000 unionized employees in its Biggest. Workstoppage. Ever. We hope someone closes down the border before Hollywood is overrun with workers ready to politely steal our jobs. [THR]
· Following the success of last weekend's release of Four Brothers, Paramount renews producer Lorenzo di Bonaventura's first-look deal—and he didn't even have to take out an ad exploiting his cleavage to get it. [Variety]

Some readers have called our attention to this online ad currently in rotation on Variety.com (you might have to click through into one of their stories to see it). Who is this mysterious "executive producer," they asked, and what exactly is she selling? We're not exactly experts in advertising, but we're pretty sure she's selling sex. Don't you think that if superproducers Brian Grazer or Scott Rudin had racks like that, they'd be splashing them all over the trades?

Even at the Comedy Central roast of Pamela Anderson, an event ostensibly dedicated to jokes about the inversely proportional relationship between the size of one's fake tits and her talent and intelligence, the mocking of Tom Cruise figured prominently. Says The Scoop:

From today's Page Six, the heartwarming tale of how Defamer's Official Agent Dance Mascot, Endeavor's Smilin' Ari Emanuel, may not exactly hate it when people pay attention to him:

After a judge ruled last week that Disney technically had not done anything wrong by firing Michael Ovitz and handing him a $140 million severance check, the giddy, disgraced former uber-agent celebrated by commissioning suggestive headlines about the trial's outcome. Don't judge—everyone needs to feel good about themselves once in a while.

"'A raper and a pillager?' Rifkin whispers. 'When I started out in 1974, nobody showed me how to be an agent. I had no mentor. No writers knocked on my door and gave me scripts. No actors begged me to represent them. I support a wife and two children. If I'm a raper and pillager, whom have I hurt? I think I made a lot of people a lot of money.'" Writer Ross Johnson raises a 10-year-old unpublished story from the dead (also available at Movie City News), in which he tried to finally put an end to the ubiquitous agent blowjob piece. The "colorful" quotes from the tenpercenters of a different era make it feel like you're at a cocktail party full of deeply unpleasant people, but without having to move away from your computer.
· Best News Ever: The original Paradise Hotel, perhaps the greatest reality show ever to grace a television network, is revived tonight on Fox Reality Channel. We're not sure all of the wounds caused by Charla's treachery have fully healed.
· This little anecdote involving Jennifer Lopez's flatulence and bad tipping is almost certainly not true, but you know what? It's hilarious, even as anti-fan fiction.
· Movies with transporation-related titles make the lives of lazy headline writers so much easier.
· Congratulations to the masterful publicity department at ThinkFilm (they also have The Aristocrats), who've managed to place a gossip item involving a three-way with Kevin Bacon and the chick from 7th Heaven to sneakily promote their movie Where the Truth Lies. Very, very nicely played.

· Indeed, there are other bands playing locally over the next few days, but over the next four nights it's going to seem like there is nothing but the White Stripes at the Greek. Tonight, the Greenhornes caddy for them.
· Join a few of your best in celebrating the art of public relations as superflack Michael Levine shares "The Success Secrets of Celebrities" (hint: Page Six loves fruit baskets, while Defamer is partial to sexual favors) at the Beverly Garland's Holiday Inn in Studio City.
· Remember when Bob Dylan went electric? What? Come on. (Sigh.) Yes, Jakob Dylan's dad. Anyway, Art Share LA is screening Don't Look Back.

Fresh off wedding number seven and tired of scouring Hollywood for interesting guests for his satellite radio show, "In Bed with Robert Evans," the swinging, superannuated producer is taking it easy this week, merely sloshing over to the other side of the rotating waterbed and nudging the corpulent form contentedly napping in mongrammed silk jammies and cooing, Hey, Kid Terrific, you wanna be on the radio? You bet you do. When? This week. TheRobertEvans.com makes an announcement about the "seductive, man-to-man" action to follow.