It's always good when difficult situations and moral issues - drinking, sex, McDonalds - are discussed in black and white terms (see: The War On Drugs), so it's pleasing to see that The Daily Mail is keeping things simple, stupid when it comes to the topic of Winegums:

Excellent work there, Daily Mail Life-Coaching Inc.! And what, pray tell, is the result if Winegums chooses the "no" option?

I'm guessing something like "Do not divorce Blake Fielder-Civil, do not pass go, please hold still while we remove what's left of your brain", or something like that.

One to file in the "well meaning but perhaps unnecessary" department, for a variety of reasons ranging from 'respect for the dearly departed' to 'perhaps unwise in light of your (ex) fiance's jealousy issues', is today's revelations from Sienna Miller that she still sleeps in Heath Ledger's pyjamas.

Yes, you read that right:

"Heath and I had this amazing night out in Venice with my mother," Miller told the Telegraph. "It had been pouring with rain. Heath ran out in the middle of St. Mark's square and we were running around, and I slipped over.

"We all ran back to his (apartment) and he gave me these dry pyjamas to get home in," she said.

Miller returned the pyjamas to Ledger two years later when he visited her complaining that he was having trouble sleeping. "I gave them back, to help him sleep, " the actress revealed.

"(But after he died,) I was so sad that I didn't have these stupid pyjamas anymore, so his father found them to give to me."

Having sat here for about five minutes trying to work out a witty riposte to this story, I've realised there isn't one, and that the whole Heath Ledger situation is still a bit too raw to make witty remarks about.

Bless those "stupid pyjamas".

· Russell Brand contemplating the meaning of death on The Tonight Show is kind of like watching a debate about the existence of God between a Chinese Theatre Johnny Depp impersonator and a St. Bernard. [Tonight Show]
· Judge Larry "Phil Spector Trial" Fidler flatly denies claims made at the end of Roman Polanski: Wanted and Desired that he insisted the director's 1997 rape re-trial be televised. And for some light background reading material, The Smoking Gun brings us the original 1977 trial testimony. [Slate, TSG]
·The LAT's Sunday magazine staff are let go, with the paper's business department taking over operations—beginning with their ambitious relaunch issue, "Las Vegas: A Fabulous Place to Spend Some Weekend Dollars!!!" [editorandpublisher.com]
·We don't know about you, but there's been many a night when we could have used some tough-loving straight-talk from Emancipatia, the anti-drunk-dialing mammy thimble. Thank you for being a friend, Auntie Mance! (Scroll down.) [queserasera.org]

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After seeing Kate Hudson's appearance on Conan last night, we have a feeling that her surfer-haired son Ryder is destined to be quite the Hot Perv On Campus. Apparently that whole birds and bees discussion that every parent dreads has not only started far earlier at Casa Hudson than most households, but little Ryder is already pursuing an advanced degree in female anatomy by studying his mom's breasts. And after hearing what life was like for Kate as a kid living with kooky king and queen of long-term unmarried celebs Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell, we're not surprised that the 9-year old Ryder is already "obsessed" with things like boobies and the all-important, very profound question of why everyone "rubs up against each other." The premature nympho chatter around Kate's house makes perfect sense — Goldie and Kurt were those kinds of parents. Hear for yourself after the jump.

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Despite his lovely wife Rebecca selling their firstborn to recently finishing up her contract with Woman's Day, it's always been pretty clear from his forced smiles that Lleyton Hewitt isn't a big fan of the trash rags.

And if there was ever any doubt on that point, he's helpfully cleared it up for us all by posting a raging blog entry that hits out at Woman's Day for suggesting there was trouble in the Hewitt marital camp.

An ACP Magazines spokesperson would not comment, except to say Woman's Day does not fabricate stories.

While the Hewitts' exclusive deal with the magazine expired last year, he claimed the association was plagued by problems.

"We did have a contract with them, but even then stories were printed that we had no control over, and the headlines always (were) phrased in a way to create negative innuendo.

"Their philosophy must be that they will do whatever is necessary and make up whatever they like so long as they can sell copies and not worry about the truth."

It's difficult not to side with Lley Lley on this one; after all, through the mag's "relationship" with the Hewitts via Bec, they essentially stopped one short of penning "Bec Hewitt: My Drug Hell"-esque headlines.

Though I probably would've had to give them a round of applause if they'd just thrown any sense of decency out the window and stooped to National Enquirer levels and written "Mia Hewitt: My Drug Hell" instead.

Until today, we'd tried our best to give Mutt Williams, aka Shia LaBeouf, the benefit of the doubt. Yes, he's kind of annoying and bordering on overexposure, but we thought there were at least two good reasons why he acts the way he acts. Not only did he used to be a hot-dog selling carnie, but his vagabond dad was fond of attempting to murder him during heroin-induced fits. Taking this into consideration, we thought it would be the right thing to do to cut the young man some slack. But after watching this video clip of Shia and witnessing what happens after he does a few too many tequila shots, we're left wondering if all the sob stories about being fed marijuana at age 11 can convince us to forgive this particular display of Frat Boy antics. Is our beloved Shia really just a borderline homophobic kid who can't shake his Echo Park upbringing no matter how many glossy magazine spreads he appears in? Judge for yourself after the jump.

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A tipster sends word today of trouble having befallen the Philadelphia set of Transformers 2, where an extra was reportedly thrown off the shoot for conduct detrimental to the blockbuster. To wit: Reginald Brown, a regular contributor to Transformers producer Don Murphy's dysfunctional message boards, had nabbed the plum role of "Man Eating Hamburger" in one of the film's action sequences. Then, under his nom de fanboy Hedgehog, Brown filed a dispatch from wardrobe:

I took a glance at the clothing racks for SHIA and MEGAN too. I think I saw some really cool clothes for some character, then I saw MILITARY UNIFORMS then other clothing that the main characters were wearing. I like the jacket that SHIA is going to wear, it looks like something I would buy.

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Like a temple of dormant extraterrestrial beings that accidentally took up residence in a South American jungle, the Steven Spielberg-led DreamWorks braintrust has restlessly been awaiting the arrival of a mystical object that will restore their autonomous movie-making powers and release them from the confines of a production-temple deep buried beneath the Paramount lot. In this case, that mystical object is a cool billion:

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There's no use denying that we have had more than a passing interest in reality dating shows for just about as long as we can remember. From watching to Roger Lodge wink his way through Blind Date to finding ourselves hooked into all of the Flavor of Love franchises to our guiltiest moment where we watched a marathon of Shipmates, we had thought we'd seen it all from the genre. But today's news that King of Television Ryan Seacrest has enlisted Hills boy toy/master nobody Brody Jenner to star in Bromance has officially ruined our ever-weakening belief in these shows doing anything other than harm to our souls. The premise, the challenges, and the overall stench of this upcoming MTV series sounds like, quite possibly, the worst idea in the history of ideas:

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·Chickflicks has secured $100 million to make "two to three pics annually," funds that before SATC might have been earmarked for a male-oriented "indie production shingle," like Burrrrrrp Studios or Scratch Myself Productions. [Variety]
· Continuing with the Dynasty metaphor we recently employed to fully illustrate the level of catty infighting going down between rival actor's unions SAG and AFTRA, SAG-Alexis has just pulled AFTRA-Krystle into the Carrington estate pool by her feathered hair, as "The Entire Industry"-Blake looked on helplessly. [Variety]
·A 23-year-old stuntman was killed, and six others injured, on the set of "China's biggest movie of all time"—John Woo's The Battle of Red Cliff—prompting Sharon Stone to observe in a sing-song voice, "I'm not going to say the word, but this sure sounds to me a lot like bad HAW-haw..." [Variety]
·Get ready for Judge Al: Former New York senator Alfonse D'Amato is currently shooting a pilot for a small-claims court show here in L.A. for Twentieth Television. [THR]
·American Idol winner David Cook will put his trademarked, grungemo spin on the national anthem at Game 3 of the NBA Finals, while his friendly rival David Archuleta will continue his important work distributing jelly beans to the citizens of Care Bear Island. [Variety]

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It's become clear that the one of the biggest trends of 2008 thus far is the emergence of lesbian chic. Girls can marry girls, starlets can publicly make out with their female roommates, and even though The L Word was canceled, its real-life L Word stars can still get it on with other lesbian cable stars. The two scissor-kick sisters in question? Well, one of our favourite indie actresses, Catherine Keener, has a little sister named Elizabeth, who starred in the Showtime series as Dawn Denbo. And while she's never publicly 'fessed up to preferring ladies, those rumours have been an elephant in the collective lesbian community room for years. As for Keener's alleged makeout partner this past weekend, she's quite the opposite: she's loud and proud about being out. Details on Keener's game of tongue twister over the weekend, and who she played with, after the jump.

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On last night's The Bachelorette, a visibly frazzled DeAnna Pappas—clearly crumbling beneath the pressures of having just five short weeks to adequately assess the high-grade man-cattle brought in for her personal studding services—had nothing short of a completely fake breakdown. We're still not entirely sure what brought it on—something about the discouragement of chef contestant Robert, doomed from the start for a demonstrated reluctance to taking off his shirt.

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Psst! Reader! Yes, you — really quick, do us a favor: Watch the accompanying video to this item and tell us if you saw what we just saw. Granted, we (and pretty much everybody, as far as we know) have yet to view The Love Guru, so perhaps the black hole of comprehension herein is purely contextual. Or maybe it really is as simple as Mike Myers giving back another few years' worth of cultural goodwill as the title character, joining Jessica Alba and a hookah-hitting Verne Troyer in a sitar-heavy, almost scandalously unfunny take on Steve Miller's stoner anthem, "The Joker." Moreover, help us with another thing: Combined with the compounded misfires at the MTV Movie Awards, is Myers slyly usurping the likes of Neil Hamburger as anti-comedy's most powerful talent? Because we could get behind this, if so — except for the Indian guy playing banjo. There is absolutely no excusing Indian banjo players. [Paramount]

If you, like us, couldn't get enough of Celebrity Rehab—VH1's groundbreaking reality show born when it suddenly occurred to producers witnessing Brigitte Nielsen's umpteenth Strange Love blackout, "Hey—wait a second. Maybe we should get that woman some help...and film the entire thing!"—then you'll be thrilled to hear that the second batch of marginally famous in-patients are currently under Dr. Drew's care. Among this season's cast, the lovably problematic Jeff Conaway returns for another attempt at detox—and where Jeff goes, so too goes his demon-enabling succubus girlfriend Vicki. But there will be a whole slew of new faces, too, including—Higher-Power be with them—astonishingly sober life-coach, Gary Busey. From the press release:

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Going AWOL might be worth the jail time if you're starting jury duty this week and must report to the federal courthouse today for an assignment — jury selection is underway for the trial of Ira Isaacs, the scat-animal-porn "shock-art" entrepreneur facing obscenity charges for distributing hit titles like Laurie's Toilet Show, Gang Bang Horse (Pony Sex Game) and Hollywood Scat Amateurs No. 7. That said, if today's latest fetish-beat dispatch in the LA Times is any indication, Isaacs' success suggests finding a jury of his peers might be easier than prosecutors originally thought:

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Yesterday marked Lindsay Lohan's first day on the set of Labor Pains, her first paying film role since the abominable "stripper with dueling personas" fiasco that was I Know Who Killed Me. And while we can't imagine that the prospect of actually working (not to mention faking on-screen love with male co-stars) was leaving Lohan with anything other than a frowny face, somebody on the set had a really good idea as to how to motivate her. As these pictures show, it took only three things to cheer the seemingly sober-these-days star up to levels not previously seen since the Mean Girls days — too bad each of the vices things in question (including the delivery woman) aren't exactly good for her health.

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Time Warner is in many ways a self-sustaining media ecosystem: Their intermittently functioning cable networks and motion pictures wing create celebrities and cultural trends, which then wind up on the covers of their top-tier glossies, migrate online via their internet porthole AOL, and eventually float amidst the other sewage runoff filtered by bad-seed web-holding, TMZ, at which point the entire cycle begins anew. The only pie Time Warner has yet to stick a chubby little finger into is the business of network TV, and recent rumours have indeed suggested that they were hungrily circling NBC Universal. Addressing a media conference yesterday, CEO Jeff Bewkes issued a standard non-denial denial:

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The universe is piling on Warner Bros. today, with the studio bracing itself for its second straight summer misfire while the output from its recently euthanized offshoots New Line and Picturehouse achieved phenomenal successes in consecutive weeks. But NL's opening windfall for Sex and the City and Picturehouse's $27K-per-screen average last weekend for Mongol — the biggest art-house launch of the year to date — might not have anything on the 'House's toy-based, girly-girl follow-up, reports The NY Times:

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