The following hilarious photo and its original caption was just added to the brilliant Facebook group Subeditorial Antics Appreciation Society.

"Dokkoon the Asian elephant trumpets her approval at being two months pregnant to Melbourne Zoo handler Dave McKelson."

Impressive work, Dave. As a commenter from the Facebook page so eloquently put it, "What's he hiding in those oversized shorts?"

Lord only knows what inspired this feature, but I'm guessing it was something along the lines of Scooter from work experience accidentally spilling a grande latte on the photo editor's desk, thus removing the possibility of another hilarious "Separated At Birth!" style filler piece, and they made him scribble out a hasty replacement in MS Paint.

Behold the fruits of Scooter's labour!

Never has a scene of such shocking cinematic power been reduced to such a bizarrely hilarious WTF moment. The hint attached to that one is, no jokes, "These best friends took to the open road and epitomised Girl Power."

Go on, reader, why not play along? It will only take you two minutes, and approximately 198,678,022 brain cells to become just like every other Daily Mail reader.

It's rare that a story comes along that totally floors us here at Defamer Australia, but I think we can all agree that this is one of those days: someone has stolen The Thunder From Down Under's van and costumes.

They have had to cancel their overseas shows for the time being; the ladies (and lads) of Rhode Island have been bitterly disappointed and Australia's oily cultural ambassadors have nothing to wear.

Oh god, won't somebody think of the himbos? Someone call Kevin Rudd for earnest comment!

The strippers were in Annapolis, Maryland, on Friday night when the van went missing.

The van contained thousands of dollars of equipment, costumes and merchandise and the strippers have promised a US$5000 ($5230) reward to whoever can help them get it back.

"They were shocked," said Bradford Singh, a manager at the Ram's Head Tavern where the troupe had been performing, told the Annapolis Capital.

"Maybe it was one of the ladies who just wanted a thong."

It's more likely that somewhere out there, a gang of thieves is robbing a bank by tearing off their Velcro'ed pants to reveal legs strapped with knives and guns - why didn't they think of it before?

Spare a thought for the rippled pecs of the Thunder boys; look into their eyes and feel the sorrow.

· The totally chill dog who threw this party is really regretting having invited Andy Dick. [TMZ]
· We take a moment to remember Bo Diddley. [NY Times]
· Also, the man who invented the Pringles can passed on. His family honored his wishes of having his delicious, salty remains placed inside one of his convenient snack-tubes for eternity. [Telegraph]
· In our wildest Stupid Celebrity Tattoo fantasies, nothing—and we really do mean nothing—ever prepared us for this. [ONTD]
· An utterly non-obligatory shirtless Jake Gyllenhaal photo. [WOW Report]
· Here's an insider's guide to spotting Photoshop trickery, using an American Idol promotional shot. Clue #1: Paula Abdul is successfully seated upright without the use of visible ropes or pullies. [sciam via BoingBoing]

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In case you hadn't heard, mumager extraordinaire Dina Lohan's new reality show was sadly slammed in the ratings by Sheen Sperm-aversive blabbermouth Denise Richards in the ratings. But before weeping for the runner-up, don't forget: Dina still officially wears the crown of Mother of the Year! They gave her a trophy and everything! Yes, "they" are a group of cleavage-baring Long Island mums with fake tans and nails as long as their list of ex-husbands, but a title is a title. Which is why Defamer Video Vixen Molly McAleer has put together a rather inspiring series of moments from last night's second episode, in which we learn three very important lessons on parenting from, that's right, the Mother of the Year. Our favourite and most valuable parenting rules as taught to us by Dina herself:

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Wondering what Sam Newman's been up to since Channel Nine brass advised him to take a break and recover from his dickheadishness recent operation? Been having visions of him sitting in his armchair, covered by a crochet blanket and drinking Cup'A'Soup in front of Oprah?

Well, he's really been putting his feet up - if by that you possibly mean "...on the table at Crown".

Sam Newman was back with his Footy Show mates on Sunday at a dinner at Crown Casino to celebrate the show's Logies success.

The event at Number 8 was hosted by Channel 9 Melbourne boss Jeff Browne.

Browne had to break the news to Newman last week that he was to take a break from the show.

All the The Footy Show cast and crew were there, including hosts Garry Lyon and James Brayshaw.

Everyone had to declare what the show meant to them, and Confidential believes it got a little sentimental.

Seriously, though, what do you think the Footy Show blokes said the show means to them? "Somewhere I can scratch my arse and engage in potentially homoerotic banter with my Best Friends without the hawklike glare of my woman *wipes nose on sleeve*"? Or something a little more refined?

Answers on a postcard!

Ahh, Parliament - really, the laffs that come out of Question Time et al just write themselves some days:

A Liberal backbencher had multiple orgasms on the floor of Federal Parliament tonight.

Victorian MP Jason Wood was supposed to be talking about genetically modified organisms when he ran into trouble.

And just in case anyone missed him talking about "genetically modified orgasms" the first time, he repeated it.

"I support the member for McMillan's call for the government to conduct an independent broad-ranging scientific investigation into the genetic modification of food and biotechnology to assess not only the health of the crops and the food, but also the potential for contamination, the commercial implications for Australian primary industry, and the benefits and risks associated with genetically modified orgasms, orgasms," Mr Wood said.

Not as bad as the poor sod I once heard giving a radio interview while afflicted with a particularly bad stutter; no doubt the producer's finger was itching to slam down the 'cough' button when the guest's stutter became stuck on the first syllable of "country"...

It's hard to imagine that a hospital drama with such high standards of dramatic and technical excellence as All Saints could ever stuff up their material, but it looks as though just that has happened: the "popular" Channel Seven medical drama has managed to offend just about everyone by essentially taking genetics and obstetric medicine into their own hands and inventing some new material!

To wit, that babies with Down Syndrome are pretty much all the result of incestuous relationships.

Awesome, All Saints, ten thumbs up!

In the "highly offensive" episode, which aired on May 27, a brother and sister who were having an incestuous relationship were told their unborn child was likely to have Down syndrome as a consequence.

"All Saints has stigmatised every person with Down syndrome and their families," said Dr Peter Sloan of Down Syndrome Australia.

"We already know of one instance where a child has been victimised because of this episode."

Producers of All Saints deny any wrongdoing.

But leading geneticist Dr David Amor at Murdoch Children's Research Institute said: "There is absolutely no increase in the risk of Down syndrome for the offspring of incestuous relationships."

It's not the children of incestuous relationships who are the problem, it's the parents!

I look forward to more advances in All Saints' medical research wing, such as babies being born through the belly button, and the red thing being connected to my wrist-watch. Uh oh!

Aaaand so the odious coverage of female Olympians has begun! The Herald Sun breaks away from the pack early in the race with this corker featuring triathlete Erin Densham, er, in her smalls, standing next to a bike wheel. Makes perfect sense!

You can imagine the editorial think tank now:

"Guys, we've got to do a story on the triathlon."
"What? No way, that's totally dull."
"I know, but how can we make it... you know, edgier?"
"Hmm... What about if we liberally use the term 'bitch'?"
"Yeah! And if we say 'bitch' a few times, but have her... in a bikini."
"Genius! Good man, I'm promoting you to Editor In Chief - Walkleys all 'round!"
"Hip, hip, hip!"

And so on. The onslaught begins... now!

So how does a reliable wombsource like Entertainment Tonight get a story as important as Angelina Jolie's impending delivery so wrong, they become the laughingstock of the entire celebrity-birth-exclusives circuit? In the days since misreporting that Jolie had birthed twin girls named Isla and Amelie, the entire company has been subjected to a non-stop barrage of finger pointing and snickers. But how could they have made such a gaffe? Jossip explains how the disgraced celebrity news outlet was played by a savvy assistant impostor:

Jossip hears that somebody has been impersonating Angelina's assistant Holly Goline, using a fake BlackBerry email address and sending erroneous reports to the press. Jolie's attorneys at cease-and-desist happy firm Lavely & Singer are said to be circulating a letter among entertainment outlets explaining the situation.

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When the Count and Countess of Scientology throw a party, they do not set out plastic lawn chairs and serve crustless honey-drenched finger sandwiches. No, when TomKat decide to invite all of their friends and frenemies (and even some enemies!) over for a daytime soirée, the Knights of Hubbard throw the kind of party that puts everyone from the Royal Family to Donatella Versace to shame. On Saturday afternoon, TomKat decided to congratulate themselves on purchasing yet another of their many torture chambers loving households in Beverly Hills by hosting the likes of Kirstie "I Should Be Dead" Alley, Oprah "Never Forget" Winfrey, Victoria "Posher Than Katie" Beckham, and Jennifer "Marc Is Sick Again" Lopez. And putting aside Suri's adorably Croc-like sandals and her ongoing tendency to appear just as frightened of her father as the rest of the world, this A-list party's most impressive attributes were the pimped out rides. After the jump, a collection of the invitees in their modes of transportations, and a sampling of just how much security goes into protecting their Friends and Foes from Xenu's ominous Orwellian eye:

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The once-in-a-generation inferno that conveniently cleared Universal's backlot on Sunday wasn't without its share of withering casualties; as noted here this morning, the New York street exterior, Back to the Future courthouse and the studio tour's King Kong exhibit were among the most lamentable (and well-insured) studio features to burn to the ground. Potentially worse yet was Universal's "video vault," which was responsible for no small part of the billowing black plumes welcoming movie-loving tourists to Hollywood, and which got us hoping — or praying, rather, on our knees, crying and everything — that maybe The Sting II or Ghost Dad might be lost to the happiest high flames of Hell we'd ever seen.

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What is it about MTV awards ceremonies that brings out so many female celebrities' inner hooker? Normally demurely dressed stars like good girl Anne Hathaway and Charlize Theron both showed up on the red carpet looking like a dominatrix-for-hire and a Heidi Fleiss escort circa 1990, respectively. Megan Fox stepped outside her rep as being a poor girl's Angelina Jolie by attempting to dress like a cupcake, but the frilly underskirt just said Little Pink Ride Your Hood, and The Hills resident scandalista Audrina Patridge donned a skin-tight, midnight blue satin one-strap number paired with ironed black hair that looked eerily like what we suspect Marilyn Manson wears in drag. So why pick last night to debut their diaper-length hemlines and S&M costumes? Look no further than a closer peek of Lindsay Lohan's totally unintentional panty-flash for answers, and the rest of these ladies of the night after the jump:

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Two years after Disney executives nudged Brittany Murphy before a roomful of gathered press, then detonated a confetti-filled landmine which left one Reuters photographer legless from the knees down, comes news that the once white-hot Hollywood Was-Girl has been replaced by Disney animation head John Lasseter as the voice of Tinker Bell in that sprite's direct-to-video adventures. Explains hollywood-newsroom.com:

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As if the indie film climate wasn't poisonous enough with Picturehouse and Warner Independent biting the dust last month, another recent Oscar-winner is on life-support after a pair of lawsuits crashed down on it in the last week. Troubled distributor ThinkFilm, whose owner David Bergstein and corporate sibling Capitol Films have faced an infamous series of production stoppages over the last month, is now ensnared in a pair of lawsuits from ad media buyers claiming they're owed $4.5 million in outstanding fees. A troubling breakdown of the debts follows after the jump.

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Angelenos are certainly accustomed to seeing swirling vortexes of doom forming over some of our favourite local landmarks—everywhere from the CAA Death Star to the WeHo Pinkberry dispensary—but the towering pillar of smoke that formed over Universal Studios early Sunday morning proved especially ominous—particularly after reports circulated that it wasn't so much the result of God pointing a bony finger of disapproval towards the immoral business practices unfolding within, but rather a massive fire engulfing some of our most cherished childhood memories. (The Mice Age blog catalogs the casualties. R.I.P., special-needs King Kong! *Sniff*) One of the greatest challenges firefighters faced was a lack of adequate water pressure (it's not as if Jim Carrey hadn't warned them after each and every thoroughly unsatisfying shower in his double-wide), a logistical challenge that required some extremely creative problem solving. From the LAT:

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Back in October 2004, Tatum O'Neal was a sobriety success story, having written a successful memoir after apparently conquering a drug addiction so intense that it made Stevie Nicks's habit look pithy. But as the NY Post reports, O'Neal was arrested by the NYPD last night while allegedly buying crack and cocaine just blocks away from her luxury apartment in Manhattan's Lower East Side. When she was busted, the actress supposedly claimed she was pulling a Mendes and researching a bit for an upcoming junkie role. Apparently, her research was tres Method — she was even carrying a crack pipe on her (but it was "clean!", she said). Even more embarrassing? She reached for the age-old and very dusty "Don't you know who I am?" in an attempt to get the cops to look the other way. But the cops didn't bite, and O'Neal, along with her dealer, were taken to the clink. After the jump, we scoured her memoir of recovery to figure out why she may have gone back to the "glamorous" world of drugs.

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Just in time to wring the last drop of anemic lifeblood from his wife's doomed presidential campaign, Bill Clinton's pervy, protective inner circle gets a close look from Todd Purdum in the new issue of Vanity Fair. And oh, the class: Model-schtupping moguls Steve Bing and Ron Burkle aside (the latter of whose private jet "Air Fuck One" has apparently acquired prime status among the ex-president's transportation modes), we're particularly intrigued to read about Clinton's more comely Hollywood company:

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The Brazilian wax you scheduled to coincide with your Sex and the City opening night party may have now given way to the discomforting condition known as a Bolivian rash—but luckily for you there exists no better topical salve than the weekend's boffo numbers:

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Antipathy toward Manoj Night Shyamalan was easy after Lady in the Water, but the slip-sliding trajectory of his upcoming eco-thriller The Happening has our hearts suddenly and surprisingly enlarged with pity. After a while, there's only so much you can hold against a guy whose actors' line readings are scarier than his plot, who unironically claims he's got something on The Exorcist and whose latest double-shot of bad buzz suggests Shyamalan's days as Genius Autocrat Brat are spiraling to a close. For starters, the flagging Manoj Mystique™ gets the point-counterpoint treatment in today's NY Times:

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