Pete(r) Doherty emerged from prison yesterday, after a sentence of about six minutes, greeting the press by flapping around a certificate that "proves" he is drug free after his stay in the clink. Same old same old, really; I don't think I'm the only person who is currently setting my watch according to when he'll end up a) back in or b) back on the crack.

But what struck me was, well, how shit the certificate was:

Well Done!? Is this some new Scotland Yard initiative that attempts to treat hardened drug users and criminals like they're back in Grade 2, in the hope that the desire for an elephant sticker is so great they will do anything, i.e. get clean/rat on their accomplices/stop raping kittens?

In fact, I wonder if Doherty didn't just pop into the rec room before his release and whip something up in Word. To wit:

Feel free to print that out and take it to school on show and tell day, kids.

Pretty little Isabel Lucas, who has decamped to the States while on a break from saving whales and dolphins and washing her face in rose petals and moondust, has been spending more and more time with ladies' man Adrian Grenier lately.

In fact, the pair just attended the Kentucky Derby together, and it seems the US fashionistas weren't powerful impressed with Lucas' choice of frock - and neither, it seems, was Grenier, judging by his expression in this shot:

He looks like he's fighting to stave off an epileptic fit or a particularly overwhelming wave of nausea. Or maybe he's just trying to remember the last time he washed and shaved. She is wearing a tone of matte brown lipstick (likely called "Coffee Bean", "Toasty" or "Mocha Surprise") that was last popular in uptown LA in 1993.

Who wants to bet that Lucas is the sort of lass who'd make you a homemade dream catcher for your birthday, and give it to you with a card featuring a Native American Indian homily on it, and then you'd wake up in the middle of the night and she'd be standing next to your bed, "reading your aura"?

Even though zombified Whitney and scandal-plagued Audrina didn't have much to teach us on last night's wisdom-packed episode of The Hills, Spencer, Heidi and Lauren blew our minds with life lessons we'll carry with us forever. And despite not saying anything that even remotely resemebled wisdom, it must be said that Justin Bobby, with his new haircut, has officially reignited our Bad Boy Crush phase. Intrepid Defamer Videographer™ Molly McAleer worked her magic to present the episode's most eye-opening moments, which we've broken down into three essential bits of knowledge:

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They say nobody in Hollywood knows anything, which is true in just about every situation but the one facing DreamWorks and its partners at Paramount — a pair about as likely to split in acrimony within the year as Nikki Finke is to wheeze "TOLDJA!" when it happens. Patrick Goldstein today offers a rough primer for the 'Works/'Mount divorce, with enough oversights and elisions to make it dispensable (for starters, whither UA in the potential coupling of DreamWorks and MGM?) but thought-provoking enough to ask: Where will the 'Works wind up?

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Welcome to Ellen Page Dump-and-Run Week, when even today's news that America's ambiguously-persuasioned sweetheart is attached to star in yet another adaptation of Jane Eyre is slightly overshadowed by the two "new" Page releases you may not have known to look for. Like An American Crime? You know this one? No? Page stars as Sylvia Likens, the Indianapolis teen who was beaten, tortured and murdered by her caretaker (played by Catherine Keener) in one of the most notorious homicides in American history. We saw it at the Sundance Film Festival in 2007, when someone reportedly passed out at the premiere — probably the producer who realised his high-calibre drama (starring two Oscar nominees!) was headed straight to Showtime oblivion this Saturday at 10 p.m. We feel him, but that's not the half of it.

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Jack Jordan is the lovelorn and deeply misunderstood man currently on trial for having developed—and who hasn't!—an irrationally obsessive crush on screen siren Uma Thurman. This in turn led him to perform such deeply unsettling, yet oddly touching, gestures as presenting Thurman with samples of his own stick-figure art—which we've reproduced according to trial testimony's exacting specifications. The AP now reports that a jury has found Jordan guilty. The conviction—one count of stalking and one count of aggravated harassment—means Jordan could face up to one year in jail.

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· You just never know what you're going to get on The Martha Stewart Show. Today: We make our own herb garden kits. And later, Glenn Close recalls the time she was buried alive with her husband! Wait—what? [Martha]
· Good news, everyone! Star Jones is dating again. (Or has a snappy-dressing driver/assistant/bodyguard.) And! Is looking sassy. [Bossip]
· Tina Fey is the most adorable anti-film-piracy figurehead since Lucky and Flo. (And we're not comparing her to a labrador retriever. We just think she's cute.) [ONTD]
· Talk Sex with Sue Johanson is ending its six-year run on Oxygen? But where else are we going to get straight-up advice from someone who resembles our sixth-grade English teacher on the proper use of a double-headed dildo? [AP]
· Photobombing is our new favourite pranktivity. And of all the photobombs collected here, this one of a guy shoving a fat finger up his nose while Wilmer Valderrama tries to look like the man with three hot chicks on his arm is our very favourite. [listoftheday]

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Attention peace-loving residents of Franklin Village! Do you enjoy the speed and convenience with which you park your vehicles along nearby Canyon Drive? The fate of your parking now hangs in the balance—and do-gooding supercouple Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie are likely to blame. Two upcoming meetings—one at Hollywood Presbyterian Church and one at City Hall—will address the transformation of this once restriction-free parking Eden into a dreaded TPPD, or Temporary Preferential Parking District. Translation: Give up all hope ye who park here, you're going to come back to a ticket. The reason? According to grassroots parking activists franklinvillage.org, the TPPD is the direct result of a UMP, or Unusual Media Presence. Translation: Lets prevent those dirty paps from camping out outside the home of our gorgeous new neighbours, the Pitt-Jolies!

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A torrent of emotion flooded Harpo studios today: Raw! Real! Emotion! as Barbara Walters laid herself open for all to see on The Oprah Winfrey Show. Oprah, having gotten the distinct whiff of platelet-deficient blood, went directly in for the kill, insisting the 78-year-old sexual diarist divulge all the backstabbing goings-on at The View during the tumultuous period beginning with Star Jones's expulsion via medieval catapult, through to Rosie O'Donnell's Infamous Reign of Bipolar Terror. Walters goes on to paint a fascinating psychological portrait of the latter, who, robbed at a young age of her own mother, was cursed to a never-ending, Jungian search for her replacement. Anything could have set this emotional house of cards tumbling; in this case, it ended up being Donald Trump's "fat ugly face" material and Elisabeth Hasselbeck's unflappable patriotism that eventually snuffed the illusion that, all these years later, Rosie had found home. [Oprah.com]

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Guardian reporter Sean Michaels has discovered a sort of epistolary parallel universe in which A Clockwork Orange is a late-'60s time capsule from hell: A recently unearthed letter from the period propositioned director John Schlesinger — presumably between his Oscar-winning films Darling and Midnight Cowboy — to helm the film with Mick Jagger in the lead. It gets better: The Beatles were reportedly interested in contributing songs. Alas, Schlesinger evidently had a problem with novelist Anthony Burgess's infamous ultraviolence; "the film's extreme delinquency wasn't 'the sort of subject I particularly want to tackle,' " the director told executive producer Si Litvinoff, thus opening the door for Stanley Kubrick's dystopic 1971 masterwork starring Malcolm McDowell. Michaels spends a few minutes fancying the alternate Jagger/Beatles version, but really, we'd rather not imagine this at all unless... no. Just no. Sorry we even brought it up. No. [The Guardian]

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Going through a tough breakup is never easy, but the subsequent tendency to canoodle with every available bachelor in town on a weekly basis rarely helps ease the pain. Case in point: Cameron Diaz, who has most recently been spotted "holding hands" with Entourage star and professional party-goer Kevin Connolly. And it seems like only yesterday when Diaz made out with Jason Patric on a beach, and only last week when Diaz was linked to 300 star Gerard Butler. And the list has gone on and on — Criss Angel! Djimon Hounsou! — ever since long-term boyfriend Justin Timberlake headed for curvier pastures last year. We take a closer look at the self-professed "boy-crazy" Cameron's evening with E after the jump.

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Lindsay Lohan may be headed to the slammer yet again, but this time her crime has nothing to do with cokepants, crashed cars or "adequite" Blackberry manifestos. A Columbia student named Masha Markova has come forward accusing the stunt castette of stealing her $11,000 mink coat during a private party back in January. Before automatically assuming the co-ed is just another crazy kid trying to get their name in the papers, consider her story, as told to the NY Post:

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Sorry boys, It appears as if Scarlett Johansson really is taken. As we noted yesterday, 2006's Sexiest Woman Alive got engaged to equally easy-on-the-eyes boyfriend Ryan Reynolds, and judging from ScarJo's behaviour last night at the Costume Institute Gala, the soon-to-be-bride appears incapable of hiding her joy. All smiles as she walked the carpet, Johansson even did the paparazzi a favour by flashing her new rock, and her choice to wear an off-white demure dress helped us paint some mental images of her upcoming walk down the aisle. But how does her ring compare to infamous engagement rings of the past (J. Lo's sad pink diamond monster mid-Bennifer trainwreck) and rings recently sported by newly engaged stars like Mariah Carey and Ashlee Simpson? We compare and contrast after the jump.

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· Common has joined the cast of the PG-13-rated Terminator Salvation: The Future Begins, as a "freedom fighter and member of [John] Connor's inner circle," who lends the future world savior the much-needed dose of hip-hop cred he'll require in battling the rising machine army. [Variety]
· Paul Dano and Joseph Gordon-Levitt's agent Warren Zavala has left Gersh for CAA's Death Starry embrace, where the new agency is planning on drinking up his client list. They drink it up! Along with babyshakes. But that's nothing new. [THR]

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Ever since our first viewing of the Rocky Horror Picture Show, we have adored and idolized Susan Sarandon as both an actress and an icon. And her recent decision to get the mature woman's version of a tramp stamp on her upper back only serves to heighten our girl crush. Despite being located on her back, the tattoo in question is far from trampy: Sarandon decided to intertwine the first letters of each of her three children's names in sky blue script. As for her reasoning behind the spontaneous ink, "Why not? I turned 60 and after a while you think, 'Well I've only got my body for a few more years anyway'." A closer look at the new tat, and why Susan chose body art over "that burn victim" look other stars go mad for these days, after the jump.

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With the buzz of The Dark Knight clearly audible a month-and-a-half behind it, this week's Speed Racer isn't a make-or-break summer tentpole for the gang at Warner Bros. That said, it's not really in the market for embarrassment, either, and the long-circulating word-on-the-street got a bit of trade-paper legitimization today in The Hollywood Reporter. To wit: The Wachowski Brothers' first non-Matrix film in 12 years is currently tracking in second place for the weekend behind defending box-office champ Iron Man:

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Last night brought us the always anticipated The Bachelor reunion show, and while it didn't come close to reaching the dramatic heights of last season's stunning confrontation between hunky-faced Brad Womack and the shunted women he so callously tossed aside like used bedside facial tissue, it did feature some satisfying moments. Absent from the proceedings was finalist Shayne Lamas, scion of the Lamas Family Acting Dynasty, who, despite what her father might tell you, is truly, madly, deeply in love with What's-His-Face from London Town.

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WHEREAS, Walt Disney Pictures has made available online this week its trailer for the animated/live-action film Beverly Hills Chihuahua, and

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Here's how we picture Jeremy Piven spent his weekend: Seated in a darkened theatre, two attractive brunettes on either side, staring up at Robert Downey Jr. engaged in a delightful bit of business involving not-yet-perfected booster-boot technology, and thinking to himself, "I can do that." That said, here's your latest Piv update, courtesy of Rush & Molloy:

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Though the Metropolitan Museum's annual Costume Gala is considered by most to be the Oscars of the fashion world, the truth of the matter is that no one really focuses on the clothes. What really matters is which celebrities show up to WEAR the clothes and, of course, whether or not they're lookin' good. That said, all eyes were entirely focused on the recently friction-laden, reportedly squabbling super-duo of Team Cruise and Team Beckham, who reunited once again for the cameras. And despite the gushing show of admiration and respect that the Beckhams demonstrated for the the Hubbard-lovers on yesterday's Oprah, both Holmes and Beckham were allegedly competing for the spotlight last night. And in the end? The girl with the higher-slit dress tends to win every time. More photos from the event, including our picks for the best and most horrific looks of the night, after the jump.

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A stunning development could herald the return of one of the greatest way-above-the-title pairings in Hollywood history: that of superproducing entity Jerry Bruckheimer and überdirecting force Michael Bay, the former the explosion-loving ying to the latter's blowing-shit-up-obsessed yang. The pair's creative partnership resulted, of course, in some of the most beloved, absolutely-terrible blockbusters of the mid 1990s—but what project could satisfy their shared need for one mushroom-cloud-detonation per page and a stream of ham-fisted catchphrases that can only be fully appreciated when delivered by Nicolas Cage?

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In yet another calculated attempt at reclaiming the image he's labored to build over a quarter-century as Hollywood's most bankable leading men, world's leading Tom Cruise archivist Tom Cruise has opened his vaults and splayed their contents across his newly minted digital headquarters, TomCruise.com.

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Gosh, Marvel Studios, just take a minute to chew your food, would you? Less than 24 hours after its debut picture Iron Man finished a $100 million opening weekend, studio boss David Maisel was all over town announcing Marvel's forthcoming slate — through 2011. As we noted yesterday, an Iron Man sequel is naturally to follow on April 30, 2010, while an adaptation of Thor will drop that same summer on June 10. It gets fairly outrageous from there: The First Avenger: Captain America appears May 11, 2011, followed by The Avengers — combining Iron Man, Captain America, The Incredible Hulk and Thor a mere two months later. (The studio says its sitting out 2009 as a result of a development lag left over from the writers strike.)

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The Tom Cruise Image Rehabilitation Tour rolls on today with a public pardon from Viacom kingpin Sumner Redstone, who followed his prodigal son's subdued Oprah stint with a reassurance that, you know, all that erratic-behaviour outrage from a couple years back? Just kidding! And Mission: Impossible 4? It's "up to Brad Grey." Or, loosely translated, "Are we on number four? Already? Well, I'll be":

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