This post contains no ironic commentary on our insatiable obsession with celebrity. Sometimes, we just need to post a picture of Fergie from the Black Eyed Peas wetting herself onstage in San Diego.

· Because so many of you have asked us to comment on what is surely our jump-the-shark moment (guest blogging tomorrow: Ralph Macchio and Ted McGinley), we have only two things to say. Firstly, we begged them to use the photo of us shaking our finger in disapproval at a baby dressed in a diaper reading "Hollywood," but they apparently decided that the frowny, sullen one better communicated the essence of the blogging life. Second, and more importantly, Defamer HQ has TWO air-conditioners. But we thank everyone who wrote in to decry Nick Denton, our generously becraniumed overlord, as a literal sweatshop owner. Those messages were fun to read, and kept us feeling far more refreshed than those air conditioners ever could. OK, now we're done talking about something that can be expressed so much better by cutting.
· It's probably really unfair of us to link to this picture of Colin Farrell performing pantomimed acts of manual and oral stimulation without any context, but we're going to do it anyway.
· If Jimi Hendrix had to pretend to be gay to get out of Vietnam, more power to him. It's not his fault the country was too shortsighted to offer a "greatest fucking guitarist who ever lived" exemption.
· Tinfoil helmet department: Here's an interesting, in highly unlikely, conspiracy theory involving The Aristocrats.

Our agony is over. We finally have an answer to the question of whether Must Love Dogs star John Cusack is a dog lover or a dog haver. The AP comes to our rescue:

· Monday night music round-up: Your Enemies Friends are at Spaceland, where Starlite Desperation takes up the free Monday night residency; Helen Stellar at the Viper Room; indie grrl darlings Tegan and Sara are at the Henry Fonda.
· Critic Stephen Farber’s Reel Talk screening features Nine Lives at Westside Pavilion Cinemas tonight, and he'll have writer-director Rodrigo Garcia on hand. Note: This film's title makes it easily confused with Michael Winterbottom's 9 Songs, which features the actors actually "doing it," with scenes of "full penetration." We're pretty sure Nine Lives doesn't get that graphic.
· The Academy's "Great To Be Nominated" series offers up Grace Kelly and Bing Crosby's The Country Girl at the Samuel Goldwyn Theater. Sadly, this movie will also be devoid of full penetration. But don't blame the filmmakers, blame the uptight world of 1954.
· We guess this is the part where we give up and recommend that you stay in and watch a porno. Hey, that doesn't sound like a bad Monday night activity.

The hooligans who brought down the cease-and-desist vengeance of the Olsen Twins' Dualstar Entertainment with their infamous, profoundly disturbing "Save Mary-Kate" t-shirt have finally rendered Owen "The Butterscotch Stallion" Wilson in t-shirt form. Frankly, we're a little surprised that it's taken this long for someone to capitalize on StallionMania™ in this fashion, and we wish them luck when the next wave of angry legal correspondence involving unauthorized use of a celebrity's graven image commences. We bet that Butterscotch Stallion Industries is going to want a piece of the action. Get 'em while they're semi-legal!

It's been too long since we've heard from the Defamer Special Real Estate Correspondent, who atones for an extended absence from the celebrity open houses beat by offering a guided tour of Fred Durst's onetime nookie palace so detailed that we almost feel like we've been on the receiving end of a videotaped doggystyling. This, of course, is not a good thing, but we're going to share it anyway. We don't want to be alone with these icky feelings.

How much work goes into the crafting of a believable blond bimbo character with six lines? The NY Times, doggedly determined to find out the answer, sat down with Must Love Dogs [Ed.note—Kudos to the movie's publicist for carpet-bombing the media with stories this weekend.] actress Jordana Spiro (twelfth-listed on the IMDb page) and dissected the steps of the process that follow the initial purchase of a good bottle of peroxide:

It's a good thing that we find the Queen's English impenetrable, otherwise this completely innocent headline from across the Pond might seem a little filthy.

· Like a chivalrous man asking his beloved's father for permission to marry his daughter, General Electric gives NBC Universal approval to try to buy DreamWorks. Actually, this is a pretty shitty analogy because GE doesn't own DreamWorks, but we were momentarily swept up in the crazy romance of corporate acquistions. [Variety]
· An alcohol watchdog group alleges that Budweiser's paid product placement in Wedding Crashers encourages underage drinking. A "porking lonely bridesmaids" watchdog group has yet to publicly comment on the film, but we expect an announcement shortly. [THR]
· Dogs are the new poker: John "Animal House" Landis catches canine fever and will direct Show Dogs for New Line. [Variety]
· Oprah Winfrey's Harpo Films prepares to pull another author out of obscurity by adapting Toni Morrison's Promised into a TV miniseries. Oh, wait. We've actually heard of Toni Morrison (damn you, college!), and she's rich and famous already. Nevermind. [THR]
· Charlie wins at the overseas box office, while The Island was "somewhat less disappointing offshore than domestically." It would kind of have to be less disappointing, wouldn't it? [Variety]

An obligatory wire service "I'm exactly like my character/nothing like my character in my just-released movie" story goes horribly awry when a crucial mistake bumps us right out of an in-depth examination of John Cusack's similarity/dissimilarity to his on-screen persona in the romantic comedy Must Love Dogs [bold ours]:

• Al Gore's cable network, which launches today, is apparently a tapas bar, says a San Francisco Chronicle writer. This is, we think, a good thing, mostly because we had some excellent tapas last time we were in the City. [SFC]
• Katie Couric is a diva, but not one who throws lamps, says Ken Auletta. Not that we can actually get to his article online. [NYer]
• While her husband is on vacation, Judy Miller gets jail visits from journos. [E&P]
• TV on the web is perhaps finally here. Which comes as great news for your friends who worked at Pseudo five years ago. [NYT]
• GQ really, really likes The Dukes of Hazzard. [NYT]
• As if things were looking so rosy for media companies in the first place, now a global ad slowdown is expected. [NYP]
• Ten bought-out employees had their last days at the Times on Friday. [Romenesko]
• Apparently there's a clever guy in Los Feliz running a smart and funny blog about Hollywood. Who knew? [LAT]

Where else besides the LAT's "Hot Property" column, the weekly chronicle of notable celebrity real estate transactions, would you expect to find a brief discussion of some of the single-parenting options available to the modern, empowered actress?

Peggy Archer of the Totally Unauthorized blog took full advantage of the public's court-ordered right to cavort on the stretch of Carbon Beach that was once walled off from the unwashed masses by Malibu feudal lord David Geffen. Braving the gauntlet of pit bulls trained to attack beachgoers who don't smell like hundred-dollar bills, the fifty-yard run through tires filled with broken glass, and, of course, the tazer-happy Gay Mafia security detail given a mandate to shock the genitals of anyone who casts as much as a sidelong glance at Geffen's stronghold, turns out to be worth the trouble:

Cling to the weekend's box office numbers, the only things that keep you from taking the money from your Monday morning coffee run and bolting for the Mexican border.

· David Hans Schmidt, the guy behind almost every celebrity sex tape or nudie pic ever sold, calls himself "the CAA of smarm." Actually, CAA is the CAA of smarm, so he might want to rethink that nickname before printing up business cards.
· Hey, unicorns! (NSFW)
· Network freebies, drunken publicist porking, and Les Moonves' balls: still more fun from the TCAs.
· This is not a picture of a Fez. (Really.)
· As recently as an hour ago, we'd never heard the term "jump the couch." We likey.
· Anyone wonder what Scott Peterson is up to these days? Oh, that's right, he's a little busy with Death Row. We expect that his next message will beg that Ben Affleck not be cast to play him.

Friday
· Flaunt magazine's throwing a launch party for Flaunt.com at the Cabana Club, with DJ Kid Millionaire and 8bit. Chances are good that you'll see someone famous fall down drunk.
· If you're the kind of person who's inclined to attend this particular book launch party, we probably don't need to go any further than listing the title: Go Ask Ogre: Letters From a Deathrock Cutter. The rest of you probably don't want to know.
· Can you overcome the potential cognitive dissonance threatened by the Aero's screening of Saturday Night Fever on a Friday night? We think you can. Every night is Saturday night when a snake-hipped young Travolta is involved.
Saturday
· The ArcLight has dueling screenings and director Q & A's. Go R-rated with Wedding Crashers and David Dobkin, or way-beyond-the-valley-of-the-R-rated with the filthy (and pretty hilarious) The Aristocrats and Paul Provenza. And if you really want to be offended, Must Love Dogs is playing as well.
· What happens when celebrities tumble off the edge of fame? The Hollywood Collectors and Celebrities Show at the Hilton Burbank Airport and Convention Center is what happens. Doesn't sound pretty. [second item]
Sunday
· We know that it's hard to believe, but that skinny dude organizing the used CDs at Amoeba has a band. And so does the cashier. And probably the dude with hot dog cart outside the front door. Amoebapalooza!
· You always complain that the women in the Miss USA pagaent look so fake, so why not do something about it? Check out the Queen USA Pageant for transsexuals and transgenders at the Radisson Wilshire Plaza Hotel, where at least they're upfront about where their parts came from.
· How about a comedy listing that's not just an excuse to blog-leer at Sarah Silverman? Suit-loving stand-up Paul F. Tompkins, Mary Lynn "24" Rajskub, Blaine Capatch, Eddite Pepitone, and Jen Kirkman bravely embark on a new Sunday night of comedy at Room 5.

One day in the very near future, Craigslist will completely destabilize the Hollywood casting system. Who needs mass e-mailed casting calls, or ads in Backstage West, or the overhead involved in having a "person" with a "telephone" to confirm that a certain actress's headshot came through on the fax machine? We once again embrace the revolution:

In addition to taking advantage of IMDb's "Publicity Photos" feature to give your career that extra little push in the right direction, Defamer also recommends that you date Ali G and play a frequently unclothed nymphomaniac opposite Vince Vaughn in a hit comedy.

As Friday happy hour hurtles towards you like a runaway train full of pina coladas (What does that even mean? We've already checked out, obviously.), do your best to enjoy the final hours of cubicle hell before giving yourself over to Hollywood's weekend relief.

We've always known that once The Butterscotch Stallion was released into the wild, it would become impossible to control. That's a fundamental part of being a stallion, and we're cool with that, really. But we can't endorse a bastardization like this one from the current issue of Star (click the picture to see the whole item), which runs contrary to everything that The Butterscotch Stallion is about. Run free, Stallion, and drink from that room-temperature creek, never giving a thought to the negative nellies at the glossies. They don't understand you.