Last Friday, we published a rumor that absurdist rocker Pete Doherty — the smack-drinking ex-boyfriend of supermodel Kate Moss — was really not a crackhead at all, but rather a an organized hoax to point out how easily the media focuses on any given trainwreck. As it turns out, the hoax is a hoax. The faux Doherty story was wishful thinking on behalf of some crack-hating crusader, who concocted the detailed scenario as part of some bizarre competition called HateQuest.

There's a little rumor quietly floating around the internets right now — something completely unconfirmed, unsourced, and uncorroborated. Which means it's totally interesting, of course. According to, well, we don't even know, professional crackhead, rocker, and erstwhile Kate Moss-lover Pete Doherty is a fraud. We've no idea who penned the following article, but we're seeing it reprinted on various sites, so we figured we'd help spread the bullshit:

• Meet Tony Danza's daughter, 18-year-old Katie. Katie's a Delta Gamma at the University of Miami. She loves Lindsay Lohan, shoes, the color pink, and building massive gravity bongs. On the bright side, this is the sort of exposure Tony Danza just can't buy. [Ignore Mag]
• You know things are looking down for Fake Writer JT Leroy when he/she/it asks Courtney Love for help finding a literary agent. [Gatecrasher]
• Jamie Foxx cuts Mary J. Blige's solo from his debut album; we're still trying to understand why, exactly, Jamie Foxx even has an album. [Lowdown]
• The newly, uh, pudgy Janet Jackson has been ordered by her record label to lose weight. Virgin refuses to release her latest album unless she drops at least 20 pouds, and they've hired her a personal trainer. Apparently, it's hard to market a corpulent pop star. [Page Six]
• Someday, Ron Perelman and Ellen Barkin will settle their divorce, and then we can judge how much she got by whatever piece of property she buys next. [R&M (2nd item)]
• One last gasp from Fashion Week: IMG security men remove veteran Times photog Bill Cunningham from Betsey Johnson's show. Johnson's pissed, but not as pissed, we're guessing, as Guy Trebay and the Styles posse. [Page Six]
• In a Valentine's Day special from hell, Dr. Phil helps Paula Abdul find love — though she allegedly already has a boyfriend. Wonder how he feels about that. [Scoop]

• Good times at the Grammys: Sly Stone pukes backstage, Mariah Carey pouts, and Brett Ratner has a panic attack after fighting with his date. Serena Williams never would've pushed him so far. [Page Six]
• So far, the only thing we find interesting about the wiretapping case surrounding private investigator Anthony Pellicano is a recording in which Naomi Campbell is heard begging Sylvester Stallone's security guards to have the actor call her. My, how the tables have turned. [Lowdown]
• Courtney Love is seen at Amanda Demme's boozehole Teddy's at 1 AM. She wasn't seen drinking, however — she was just there for the dyking. [Page Six]
• Mario Batali's Del Posto faces closure if the ClogMonster doesn't fix lease violations. [Lowdown (2nd to last)]
• Would Pink be a better mother than Britney? Do we care? We're more concerned with the existence of a higher power — and, if there is one, why these people are allowed to procreate. [Scoop]

Last night's Grammy gift baskets were reportedly worth $65,000 and, naturally, bestowed upon only the most deserving, bedraggled souls (Madonna, Kelly Clarkson, Mariah Carey, etc). The funny thing is, we don't actually know what the swag entailed: We were just given a list of 53 brands (flacks don't have time for details when there's so much, uh, flacking to be done!) that were somehow in the basket, including such crucial names as Nasal Comfort, Valhalla Shooting Club, and K-Y.

Anyone who's ever sacrificed three hours of their lives to the Grammys show know that no one actually cares who wins, only who plays; five minutes after the show, that year's Best New Artist disappears into obscurity, but the unholy noises created by the centerpiece mash-up performance of Bono, Tim McGraw, any former boy-bander with a new solo album, and the ghost of George Harrison will induce uncomfortable auditory hallucinations for months (and now, abetted by iTunes, potentially forever). According to the LAT, nobody knows this better than music executives and managers, who'll move heaven and earth to insure their clients get to lip-sync in front of an audience of millions:

Courtesy of our beloved Bucky Turco, the celebrity zenith of last night's Gotham magazine party: the Sugar Hill Gang (now over the hill and considerably less sugary) perform "Rapper's Delight." Again.

• If Madonna wants to open the Grammys, she's going to open the Grammys — even if it means bumping Mariah Carey out of the slot. If these two were to actually brawl it out, the sheer bitchitude of their contact would make the recording industry spontaneously combust. [R&M]
• Paris Hilton impersonator Natalie Reid is so much like the real thing, she even worked as an $800/hr escort. [Page Six]
• Ivanka Trump splits with socialite Bingo Gubelman, citing irreconciable name choices. [Lowdown]
• Ashlee Simpson insists her father's not a control freak — he even lets her shower and shit all by herself. [IOL]
• David Burke tortures Fashion Week models by offering them all sorts of tasty snacks. The cruelty of Bryant Park knows no bounds. [Page Six]

• We're shocked shocked that ABC killed the words "cum" and "cock" from Stones songs at the halftime show last night. [AP via WP]
• So how do Time Inc. mags cover the Dick Parsons-Carl Icahn battle of Time Warner? Just like they cover anything else, insists John Huey. [MW]
• Jim Cramer's crazy shtick sells big. [NYT]
• Rupert Murdoch likes Time Warner and Google, doesn't like the video iPod or the Viacom split, and promises a CNBC rival in 2006. Because what the world really needs is more Neil Cavuto. [Newsweek]
• Elle goes green for a month. [WWD]

As if you didn't already know the entire story from the Post's tasteful choice in headline, rapper Busta Rhymes' video shoot in Greenpoint ended with the murder of 29-year-old Israel Ramirez, who had the unfortunate job of managing Busta's varied pieces of jewelry. While authorities haven't made any arrests, they want to speak with Tony Yayo, a member of 50 Cent's G-Unit posse (obviously). Yayo apparently showed up to the shoot thinking he would appear in the video, but angrily left after he learned that he would not be making a cameo.

Here's a nice lesson in why you must never, ever tell the truth about a bitchy queen with a good publicist. (Or: Here's a lesson in why all Hollywood journalism is inherently bullshit because it's all so publicist-mediated.)

• Ooooh, Anderson Cooper is hiring a Production Assistant. Can you handle it when those icy blue eyes demand a latte? Are you ready to make the appointments for his silver mane to be trimmed at Robert Kree? [BrassRing]
• We'll take our drugs however we can get them, but using an innocent puppy as a mule is absolutely unacceptable. So much so, in fact, that it makes us consider climbing on the wagon. [TSG]
• It's not rape if you're too sleepy to say no. [Overheard in NY]
• Blogger Stephanie Klein, who has a lucrative deal with Reagan Books to write about her "sexy" single life, is pregnant. And engaged. Which means Judith Reagan is going to claw her fucking eyes out for ruining the marketing angle. [Greek Tragedy] Our condolences, really.
• You know what would've made Fake Writer James Frey a little less fake? Jesus. [CBN]
• Why are celebrity children allowed to access the internet? We're looking at you, Bobbi Kristina Brown! [Gilded Moose]
• The Village Voice announces its Pazz and Jop awards. [VV]
• Today in sporty brother site Deadspin's Superbowl coverage, we learn that publicists are total assholes who cling to any semblance of exclusivity — even in Detroit. [Deadspin]

We'd like, if we may, to direct your attention north of our fair city for just a moment, to New York's 19th Congressional District. It stretches from the New Jersey border to the Connecticut border over parts of Putnam, Orange, Dutchess, and Westchester counties, covering upstate arts mecca Beacon, Edna's Edibles hometown Peekskill, and Mt. Kisco, the birthplace of Arthur Sulzberger Jr. We didn't bother to look up the incumbent, or his or her party, or who has what chances of victory in the upcoming midterm elections.

We happen to be mildly terrified of people in German-inspired costumes. (We imagine our tolerance for such things was snipped off, along with some other bits, eight days after we were born.) At the Times business section, however, one hopes this particularly neurosis is in short supply. The Bizday administrator sent this reminder (or, warning) this afternoon:

Tsk, tsk: Someone hasn't been closely following their Monster Ballads.

• FishbowlNY blogger Rachel Sklar gives notice, as Mediabistro's dark goddess Laurel Touby has finally killed her happy disposition. Sklar lasted 10 months, which is a testament to her sheer strength and boa-blocking abilities. We'd say she'll be dearly missed, but it's not like she's dead or anything. In fact, she's alive more now than ever. Go free, young Sklar! [Media Mob]
• It's a lengthy, socialite-heavy blind item, but it's awfully intriguing. We're dying to know which Muffies and Sukies are involved! [NYSD]
• The Pink Elephant is back, but it's downgrading considerably to the likes of Crobar. For shame. [Jossip]
• 2006 should bring some fancy new hotels to NYC — assuming, you know, the damn things ever open. [New Yorkology]
• Musings on the separation of church and indie. [Pitchfork]
• New York City Restaurant Week starts today — enjoy it, as it's the one time it's almost OK to be fat in Manhattan. [NYCVisit]

We can't resist passing along a story that moved on the wires this afternoon:

MTV reports that pretty pop star Justin Timberlake is behind forthcoming Upper East Side restaurant Destino's, which he'll co-own with Eytan Sugarman, the man responsible for Suede and Cherry Lounge (both of which Sugarman opened with hip-hop producer Timbaland). PR is being handled by Lizzie Grubman, and chef Mario Curko (formerly of Rao's) will be in the kitchen, where he'll do his best to help diners forget they're eating anywhere near the aforementioned individuals.

We feel like we say this more than we ever should for a Times reporter, but: poor Lola Oguinnake. She's got an enviable beat, digging up the latest in arts, nightlife, and pop culture — and yet she gets stuck trolling around Marquee or watching Nicole Richie pretend to eat. And as if these subjects weren't punishment enough, today Oguinnake profiles insanely successful music producer Scott Storch, the grotesque man responsible for Paris Hilton's forthcoming album and, perhaps, 70% of Louis Vuitton's profits. From what we can tell, Storch's only redeeming quality is that he smoked enough weed in Oguinnake's presence to give her a lovely secondhand high.

• Former Jackass Steve-O claims to have given Paris Hilton and Starvos Niarchos some "mind-altering substances" shortly before Niarchos crashed Hilton's Bentley. Steve-O is clearly our generation's Deep Throat. [Scoop]
• Director Steven Spielberg has demanded an apology from Kathy Griffin after she made a rehab joke in regards to toddling actress Dakota Fanning. Griffin faces blacklisting from Spielberg's projects, but that might be the best thing to ever happen to her career. [Page Six]
• In his autobiographical novel Junior, former child-star Macauley Culkin confesses to thoughts of suicide. If we were constantly fighting off bungling burgulars, we'd be suicidal, too. [R&M]
• Jessica Simpson drops a grand on cartoon art that reads like something you'd buy in Times Square. [Page Six]
• Universal Music might have reached the end of its rope with devilish exec Tommy Mottola. If so, does this mean he might disappear forever? Please? [Gatecrasher]
• We can't decide if Newark's would-be mayor Cory Booker is hot or not. [Lowdown]