Flicking (well, clicking) my way through the very enjoyable, if not vaguely hysterical, pages of the UK's Daily Mail, I was thrilled to see a particular showbiz favourite of mine strolling shirtless on a beach, displaying the kind of holiday colouring reminiscent of a lobster... or should I say, Lobster Thermidor?

Can you guess who this charming chest belongs to? Find out after the jump.

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In the grainy land of reality show famewhoring, sometimes a pair of boobs will come together and a cable miracle is born. And that's exactly what happened last night when we saw our maternal icon, Dina Lohan, meet our paternal icon, Hugh Hefner. On the latest edition of television's most reliable guide to parenting, Dina taught us some highly unique strategies in order to effectively downsize your son's balls, fake your way to the fountain of youth via Me-Time, and prove to your tweenage daughter just how insanely awesome and superior you are by making her choose between "Mr. Hot" and a career in music best left for those with actual talent. The newest lessons learned from Living Lohan, below:

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While I wouldn't normally consider a beauty pageant newsworthy (you know, unless it's one of those ones held in a transsexual hard labour prison), I guess this is relevant to someone's interests: Miss Universe Australia Laura Dundovic and her "interesting" dress have made it to the Top Ten of the storied feminist sweepstakes.

Predictably, she was shocked and delighted:

Miss Universe Australia national director Deborah Miller, who was in Vietnam, said the 21-year-old impressed everyone with her natural charm.

"I think the organisers liked her because she is intelligent and she would represent the competition well at official engagements," Ms Miller said.

"She has natural beauty."

She said Ms Dundovic had been "blown away" by how well she had done.

"She was in shock," she said.

"She is so down to earth that I don't think she had realised how well she would do."

Countdown to a Postcards appearance starts now, and once that countdown reaches liftoff, the countdown to a Zoo Weekly expose of "I was young and needed the money" photos will then begin. Synchronise watches, everyone.

We needed a little time today to digest our feelings after the miserable box-office showing of Meet Dave, whose free-fall over the weekend resulted in the ugliest opening of Eddie Murphy's career. Not having seen it, we have to assume that $5.1 million gross aside, the film is at least superior to Norbit (not to mention Vampire in Brooklyn, Pluto Nash and a sprinkling of other Murphy misfires over the years). We'd even venture to say it'll be better than Beverly Hills Cop IV, the PG-rated abomination to which Murphy and Brett Ratner are attached for Paramount. Certainly it's better than The Love Guru, whose own beleaguered comic icon Mike Myers had flowers and a thank-you note on Murphy's porch by sometime Sunday afternoon.

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Thanks to the fine and wonderful people of Village Roadshow, I was able to pass myself off as a member of the MySpace Generation (here's the science bit: I wore skinny jeans) and attend yesterday's "OMG first in Australia" Black Carpet screening of The Dark Knight.

After having read Peter Travers more or less wett ing his pants over the film in Rolling Stone, and Time's Richard Corliss do much the same, not to mention the extensive viral marketing and ear-bleeding levels of pre-release buzz, it would be an understatement to say that expectations were at an all-time high.

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Unless it pertains to Wayne Carey doing something sinister or Shane Warne sending a hilarious text message, you'll notice that we're not exactly sports mad here at Defamer Australia. However, at least in the case of your Associate Editor, I do make exceptions for the Tour De France, and feel it's only right to bring you the news that local lad Cadel Evans (pictured with a special friend) has pulled on the Yellow Jersey in the famous road race. Anything else would be practically un-Australian.

In other words, those of you who don't follow cycling, go make your coffee now:

Cadel Evans became the fifth Australian to claim the Tour de France leader's yellow jersey after finishing eighth in the 10th stage in the Pyrenees won by Leonardo Piepoli (Saunier Duval), of Italy.

In a spectacular display of courage after sustaining severe cuts and bruises to his left side in a high speed clash in Sunday's ninth stage, Evans (Silence-Lotto) now leads the Tour by the smallest margin.

It's okay, it's over now. Thus endeth (unless he wins) Defamer Australia's official coverage of the Tour De France.

Breathe, you made it. Let's hold each other for a bit...

...Wanna make out a bit, too?

No, I didn't think so.

As Defamer Australia's fearless leader noted yesterday, Pope Benedict XVI's visit to Australia for World Youth Day has induced intense excitement in the Catholic/Christian community - but it seems that the photo editors of the nation just can't get enough of that Papal goodness, either! Here are a sampling of today's efforts.

First we have this rather subtle, blink and you'll miss it offering:

Pope Benedict hearts you!

And then there is this equally subtle, yet slightly confusing and disorienting number:
It reminds me of the bit in Mortal Kombat where the dude's head pops up, shouting "TOASTY!" And the Peter Cundall reference - why??

But the front page of today's Herald Sun website saves the best 'til last:

Truly, as I once read an anonymous forum sprite exclaim after seeing a particularly good animated GIF, "Guys, I am standing up and applauding right now - this is the greatest party for my eyes."

Top work, everyone! May the Papal fever never be cured!

As predicted, little Sunday Rose Kidman Urban continues to be a source of incredible non-news, whether it be Nic and Keith - OMG! - leaving the hospital to go home, or Sunday Rose burping, or Keith Urban going to the kitchen for a Milo and a Milk Arrowroot, we're sure to be updated on every minute detail of her young life.

So, I give you this "source"-based news, via about twenty different actual news sources:

The new mum and her singer husband are undecided whether to release a photograph of the newborn tot, but if they do it will be for free, reports The Sydney Morning Herald.

A source said, "They don't think it's appropriate to make deals. They are still deciding how they feel about (it) - if and when they will release a photo at all. But they realise there is enormous interest from the public and they are grateful and appreciative of that.

"Nicole and Keith have been enjoying their first few days at home with their firstborn tot - Nicole is thinking about things like breastfeeding right now."

Mmm, substantialicious!

Seriously, though, the whole Sunday Rose hysteria did lead to at least one bit of notable journalism - News Ltd blogger Jack Marx whipped up a very funny post beating the unimaginitive punning subeditors of the world to the punch with a lifetime of Sunday Rose-related headlines. My favourites are:

What A Difference A Day Makes
A sure Walkley winner should it accompany photos of Sunday laughing along with Nicole's publicist, Wendy Day.

Mostly Stormy But A Cool Change Sunday
Should suit a series of paparazzi pics showing Sunday in a dreadful mood then, at last, smiling coyly for the cameras.

Go to it, you'll lose less brain cells than you will reading the women's mags.

KISS versus Michael Jackson. But of course.

As reader Elmo (the spunky lass who sent us the clip) so nicely puts it, "WHAT IN THE SHIT IS THIS?"

Bad news for those who were hoping Charlotte Dawnson and her sassypants would snatch the Australia's Next Top Model hosting spirit stick from Jodhi Meares after her, er, underwhelming (i.e. nonexistent) performance in the role come grand finale time: Foxtel sez Meares isn't going anywhere.

Somewhere in the suburbs of Sydney, Charlotte Dawson is contacting Fiona Horne to see how she can make a Wiccan career spell out of a pile of Tigerlily samples and a can of kerosene.

The pay-TV channel's CEO Brian Walsh slammed reports claiming executives on the model contest were "furious" after Meares pulled out of the live decider over stage fright.

"Nothing could be further from the truth. I rang Jodhi on Friday and reiterated the fact she has our full support and apologised for the media circus it's become," Walsh told Confidential yesterday.

"We won't be discussing contracts (for next year) until next month, but I told her to go have a holiday and forget about it."

Blah blah, whatever, but what's most exciting is that at the very least, as the piece goes on to note, it looks as though big things are planned for Dawson anyway:

Walsh had good news for Dawson too, revealing the Foxtel femme had been "earmarked" to host a major new series for the network next year.

"I haven't talked to her about it yet but it has a big live component with a studio audience and I think she'd be great," Walsh said.

And, rumour (read: The Vogue Forums) has it that Dawson and Alex "Tiny Mouth" Girdwood will be muscling in on Demelza's Vogue shoot, which would be amazing and create hilarity for all.

So you see? All is well with the world.

It's always fun when a Shiny Happy People show like Full House, The Partridge Family or The Brady Bunch is unveiled as a breeding ground for future meth addicts, domestic abusers, and on-screen mother/son duos still bitchily feuding decades after their stars have burnt out. And the Brady cast is by far the most over-achieving bunch of fuck-ups to efficiently destroy any warm and fuzzy associations we may have had with that humorless bundle of 70s saccharine. Following Jan and Marsha's fictional sibling rivalry leading to a non-fictional lesbian porn, little Cindy Brady showed up to a radio interview last week reeking of vintage wine and memories, excusing herself to vomit during commercial breaks. And now, reality trainwreck Christopher "Peter" Knight has taken down the last remaining beacon of Brady light, Florence Henderson, by involving the (until now) scandal-free actress in a messy online war of words:

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Stop us if you think you've heard this one before, but we've repeatedly stumbled upon cocktail chatter lately in which the topic of Juno—the Oscar-winning 2007 teen pregnancy movie that ushered in a whole generation of pact babies—has come up. More specifically: that there exists a 2005 movie from Korea, called Jeni, Juno, about high school sweethearts who conceive and see their baby to term. According to the movie's Wikipedia entry, Juno screenwriter Diablo Clody was unaware of the other movie's existence when she wrote her screenplay. We've posted the trailer above, with some helpful translation courtesy of Molly McAleer. Beyond the title and basic premise, we think you'll agree the two films couldn't be more different.

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It's arguably the most anticipated movie of the last five summers—the second installment of a rare franchise resuscitation, helmed by a maverick suspense master with nary a misfire to a short but stellar career. Weak links would be replaced. Tragedy would strike. And then a lucky few got to see it, instantly dislodging an avalanche of superlatives. The Dark Knight has, until now, been enjoying the best advance word-of-mouth of any release in a surprisingly bountiful mind-candy season that included Iron Man and Wall-E. In fact, it's until only recently been coasting at an astonishing 100% Rotten Tomatoes score. What changed? Two Daves of note filed their pans: The New Yorker's David Denby (who just lavished his highest praise upon Hancock, so take that for what it's worth), and New York's Dave Edelstein. The cumulative effect of the Dave-naysaying? A sizable dent in the dark armour, with the movie's RT score tumbling to 88% at post time. As for our worst fears—that Ledger isn't posthumously Oscar-worthy, just hammy from the grave—Edelstein confirms every last one of them after the jump. We're seeing it tomorrow, after which we'll try to get our Defamer Instant Review up as quickly as possible, for those who are just dying to know how categorically good this movie is, in easy-to-digest IM format.

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Service With a Smile: More than a little blandness was bound to result from any overlap of Playboy and The Olive Garden, an illegitimate union no one (least of all us) quite saw coming. But then Kendra Wilkinson dragged her leftover fettucine alfredo to the Playboy Mansion in a porn-y April plea to servers nationwide: Send in your pictures, ladies, and you could be chosen as one of Playboy's Girls of Olive Garden! We have no idea if any of the women featured in the resultant Web pictorial are actual waitresses at the nation's least-convincing Italian chain eatery, but just in case: Let's all salute "Amy," the pride of the OG in Arcadia, having reached the pinnacles of both the local food service industry and international Web smut in less than three months. And to think we never believed that the Olive Garden's Culinary Institute could take a girl places. We're kind of happy to be wrong, though. [Playboy via Goldenfiddlr]

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Poor little Vivienne Marcheline Jolie-Pitt. Not only does she face a future of scratch marks on her chubby cheeks wielded by notoriously jealous Zahara, but the female half of the Chosen Twins has to compete with older sister Shiloh for a spot on Hollywood's Best Dressed Little Girls list. OK! has released their juvenile version of Mr. Blackwell's annual rundown, awarding gold stars to everyone from newborn Harlow Madden, with her "mix between chic and rock," to 2-year old Shiloh's ability to "navigate the line between girly glam and tomboy cutting edge." Yes, well done, Chosen One. What skill and grace it must take to lie back, spit up a few gaga goos, and wait for personal dresser Brad Pitt to equip you with a pricey new cashmere-and-diamond onesie. The rest of the list, including the mag's pick for #1 most fashionable little doomed diva, after the jump.

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We don't know how many more young Hollywood power-couple breakups our hearts can bear: Days after learning that Drew Barrymore would never again look the Mac Guy in his built-in iSights, cooing, "You're so unbelievably special and have a huge, amazing heart. You really do have the soul of a manatee—free and strong and beautiful," out of the side of her mouth, comes word now that Sarah Silverman and Jimmy Kimmel's open-fucking-relationship is no longer. (Sure, this seems like Matt Damon's perfect opportunity to swoop in and bag the potty-mouthed Jewess of his dreams, but we'd argue that it was the illicit nature of their mini-bar rendezvous that really fuelled the affair. Now that she's available, we doubt we'll be hearing any musical odes to fat Damon moustache rides.) While their flacks would only offer, "Jimmy and Sarah will have no further comment," usmagazine.com spotted Silverman with "a male friend" at WeHo bruncherie Hugo's, where they obsessively chronicled her every menu choice, facial expression, and A-list tableside condolence:

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While the French and those who somehow love them celebrate yet another Bastille Day, July 14 has even more festive repercussions around Defamer HQ and Hollywood at large. To wit: Megaproducer/amateur publicist/career advisor Joel Silver was born on this day in 1952. The pride of South Orange, New Jersey, Silver made his first impact in 1970 as the co-creator of Ultimate Frisbee and never looked back. NYU Film School preceded his journey west, followed by an assistantship (and eventual partnership) with producer Lawrence Gordon and, before long, his own shingle — Silver Pictures, the epicenter of bullying, intimidation, projectile paperweights and bona fide blockbusters like Predator, Die Hard, Lethal Weapon and The Matrix. The flops came as well, including Hudson Hawk, Richie Rich and House of Wax — the latter of which is avenged in a little tribute video we cobbled together after the jump.

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· Meryl Streep dazzles foreigners with her ability to perform the splits in mid-air, as the early international release of Mamma Mia has audiences around the globe wishing every paternity test could be set to the infectious pop-standards of ABBA. [Variety]
· GLAAD pats ABC on the head for being gays-friendly, but FX is still the most transgender-curious network on basic cable! [Variety]
· Greg Berlanti signs a five-year deal with ABC Studios, where he'll continue to oversee his current three series Brothers & Sisters, Dirty Sexy Money and Eli Stone, while helping the studio in their ongoing mandate to borrow great foreign show ideas. [THR]
· Jon Heder and his identical twin Dan are producing Loudermilk, about "a Napoleon Dynamite-like oddball who becomes contaminated with a substance that gives him what might arguably be considered superpowers." Great World of Sound writer/director Craig Zobel has been hired to attempt to make it not suck. [THR]
· DVD and Blu-ray Disc sales and rentals are doing strongly despite the rest of the economy floating in the Andy Gump. [THR]

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As with any story involving Lindsay Lohan, we have good and bad news to report. We noted back in March that the queen of all things Lesbian Chic would finally follow in every other bored starlet's wobbly footsteps and design a clothing line. And, being the non-traditionalist that she is, Lohan intended on sticking to leggings. Which made sense, considering the practical usage of leggings when taking a walk of shame, in need of a secure and moisture-proof hiding place for substances, and stretching out one's legs while passed out in SUVs. And leave it to Lindsay to turn the otherwise boring piece of clothing into a racy collection of pieces custom-made for any girl looking for a comfy place to rest her knees mid-blow job. Not to mention a surefire way to slip on a pair of "ankle gloves" and alert every male within 30 miles just how eager you are to spread said ankles:

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The revelations unfolding this summer over at Diddy Blog — your home for crystalline cultural commentary by P. Diddy himself — have enlightened us on subjects ranging from Barack Obama to black superheroism to Lil' Wayne's bulletproof success tips. But we aren't sure how Diddy will surpass the insight of his most recent entry, in which the mogul clues viewers in to an unforeseen crisis devastating everything in its path. We also can't determine to what degree we ourselves are responsible for the "bitchassness" and other Internet hating cited herein, but last we checked, our non-ashy lips and robust weed supply suggest Defamer is not responsible for any part of the epidemic — whatever the epidemic actually is. Anyway, an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure, so read on and watch your back. The bitchasses are coming.

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We've already seen how Corey Haim's first day of work on the Lost Boys sequel—what should really have been a day for triumphs and smiles—quickly turned into a bloodsoaked, Euripidean tragedy. But what if we were to turn the clocks back to eight hours before his trailer meltdown? Thanks to The Two Coreys, we become a fly on the wall of Haim's improbably plush living quarters, watching him pace nervously as he attempts, via repetition of the mantra, "Breathe, dog," to locate his canine center.

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If we had just produced an entire feature film in about 12 days like the gang behind Oliver Stone's W, then we, too, would probably have been in a bit of hell-raising mood when it was all said and done. We're not sure if getting arrested would have been on the agenda, but we'll grant newly shorn Josh Brolin and Jeffrey Wright the benefit of the doubt, anyway: The duo, who play President Bush and Colin Powell in the film, spent some time in custody early Saturday after coming to the aid of a rowdy crew member at a bar in Shreveport, La.

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Another day, another provocative pictorial series starring a scantily clad Miley Cyrus. The latest batch of photos featuring the 15-year old Billion Dollar Girl staging her own personal Playboy Jr. shoot for boyfriend Nick Jonas has surfaced online, thanks to a hacker who claims he got a hold of everything on Miley's iPhone. We've already seen Miley's makeout sessions with various girls and boys, eating her clothes off and, of course, daringly flashing her bare back in Vanity Fair. But now we have the (uncomfortable) pleasure of seeing the then-14 year old showering in a wet t-shirt, photographing her widely seen midriff and, in a highly anticipated step closer to actual kiddie porn, totally topless. And judging by Miley's posing style, stances, and familiar Blow A Kiss act, this is not a matter of kids growin' up so fast these days. If you're looking to point fingers, look no further than original self-produced porn star Lindsay Lohan:

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Four ways to jump start your Monday morning: 1. Moisten fork prongs with mouth. Place end of fork between teeth, press prongs into nearest wall socket. 2. Fill microwave-safe cup with water. Microwave for 2-3 minutes (times vary). Remove cup, pour contents directly onto eyeballs. 3. Have a co-worker hold a duct tape gun to your left ear. Spin in counter-clockwise circles until your entire head is mummified inside a sticky cellophane prison. See how long you can last without breathing before slicing open at mouth. 4. Read the box office numbers!

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Congratulations this morning to Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie, the latter of whose womb has reportedly yielded its blobby, twinsy bounty at last. We think. It's official, isn't it? The Chosen Two are here? After InTouch called it Saturday afternoon, Extra overrode it an hour later and the rest of the world simply hedged somewhere in between until Jolie's exhausted doctor fled the delivery room craving a stiff drink, we can finally, confidently move on to the postgame show. Select reactions, including an overjoyed grandfather, and a French bureaucrat with paperwork, after the jump:

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School Reunion: We're learning more today about the tearduct-tweaking, franchise-ready School of Rock "reboot" that Mike White teased us with at the LA Film Festival; Variety has word about School of Rock 2: America Rocks, which Scott Rudin will produce and to which Paramount has attached Jack Black and director Richard Linklater. And as opposed to White's cruel stonewalling last month, the plot is apparently now safe for public dissemination: Black returns as teacher Dewey Finn, who leads "a group of summer school students on a cross-country field trip that delves into the history of rock 'n' roll and explores the roots of blues, rap, country and other genres." No word yet as to whether or not Black will exercise his newfound clout to add in an autobiographical narcotics-dabbling interlude, or if he and White will save that for the inevitable School of Rock 3: Rehab High. [Variety]

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