So, yes, buttery-voiced leadflipper Morgan Freeman is recovering from injuries sustained in a terrible car accident, in which he and a female passenger who wasn't his wife— 48-year-old Demaris Meyer—were lucky to emerge alive. There were whispers, of course, about the nature of their relationship—rumors not likely to die down now that it's been confirmed that the Dark Knight star is in the process of divorcing his wife of 24 years, costume designer Myrna Colley-Lee. From AccessHollywood.com:

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Trophy Case: Four-time Suspenders Aficionado magazine coverboy Larry King is on the offensive after rumours surfaced that he will leave his current wife, Shawn Southwick, after she finishes a stint in rehab. "His PR spokesman told AOL Television exclusively that those stories are not true; King tells us, 'I love her.'" [AOL Television]

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We realise it's challenging to keep up with this whole A-Rod/ Madonna/ affair/ divorce/ something-about-Lenny Kravitz business, a convoluted celebrity love-polygon which we wouldn't be the least bit surprised to learn also involved Gary Coleman, Eliot Spitzer, and a Coors Light Twin. Still, you wouldn't want to be caught at some swanky dinner party filled with effete liberal elites and not have your talking points straight. Here's a round-up of the latest:
· A personal trainer present at the exact moment Kravitz learned he was embroiled in the primordial tabloid ooze said he "looked like he was going to throw up." The link between he, Madonna, and A-Rod is manager Guy Oseary, who told Kravitz he was going to "pimp out" the singer and Yankee. Whatever that means, Kravitz disapproved of it, and fired the manager a couple weeks later. He claims to have never had an affair with Cynthia Rodriguez; this was just a retaliatory smear campaign. [NY Post]

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A grieving flack has emerged from Drew Barrymore and Justin Long's Shiva-House of Love, mascara smeared, lapel torn, and offering a somber, "I can confirm the split but have no other comment," before adding, "And if you'd like to come in to pay your respects and have a nice piece of kugel, you're more than welcome." Our deepest condolences to both families.

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But what of little David Banda? For whatever reasons, that was our first reaction to rumors that the marriage of conical-bra-popularizer Madonna to lad-flick director Guy Ritchie was all but over. Well, when we actually stop to think about it, we can figure out the reasons: Lourdes and Rocco are half Ciccone--meaning their DNA is hardwired to withstand just about anything life could throw at them. What's more, were there a divorce, the two elder siblings could access their respective biological dads at virtually any moment with little more than an international mobile calling plan. But not little David: His known world would be splintered apart, one parent flouncing off to the country of hot dogs and baseball, the other staying put in bangers-and-cricket land. His real dad, meanwhile, was a world away, catching glimpses of the domestic unrest in his local Malawian celebrity tabloid, and second-guessing all the while his decision to sell his son to the global pop icon for a year's salary and a signed copy of "The Immaculate Collection." We prayed--oh, how we prayed!--that somehow these two would make it work. Clearly, God hates us:

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There really is no pleasant way to spin a story in which one the great American comedy icons is accused in a court filing of chronic infidelity and physical abuse (save your comments—Charlie Sheen is far from an American comedy icon), so we'll leave it to The Smoking Gun to fill you in on the ugly details of the Bill and Jennifer Murray divorce:

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The ongoing drama surrounding Jodie Foster's split with longtime lover Cydney Bernard has the tabloids thoroughly devastated. They only recently got confirmation the two were a proper Sapphic item - and now their blessed union has been torn asunder? Tragedy!

The Daily Mail has published a lengthy piece titled "They were Hollywood's gay golden couple, so why has Jodie Foster left her lover of 15 years?", with journalist Alison Boshoff attempting to get to the bottom of the shocking turn of events which led Oscar winning actress Jodie Foster straight into the arms of spunky thirty-something writer Cynthia Mort.

The opening paragraph made me laugh a little, I must admit.

As the news spread, the words "mid-life crisis" were heard being whispered over expensively whipped hot drinks and wholemeal muffins in fashionable coffee shops across Hollywood; it certainly left the entire lesbian community of Los Angeles thoroughly agog.

What have we learned from the above?

The entire "lesbian community" -

a) gives a shit about Jodie Foster's love life (perhaps, much like how women who live together often find their monthly visit from the painters becoming synchronised, members of Club Muff - your card and badge comes with your first copy of Ani DiFranco's Living In Clip record, I believe - eventually become emotionally entwined with all other local lesbians, meaning that even one break up in the tribe devastates every lady-lover within a 200km radius)

b) will only sup on "expensively whipped hot drinks" and nibble on "wholemeal muffins". Why not mention the Birkenstocks they're all wearing, Alison? Are they playing with their crewcuts? Flicking through Riot Grrl Monthly in a feeble attempt to distract themselves from the devastating soul-blow the Foster/Bernard break up has caused them?

Also -

And while Jodie's old love Cydney was a slightly frumpy older woman, a weather-beaten blonde who had been content to ditch her career for the past 11 years to devote herself to Jodie and their boys, in her new lover Jodie has chosen a media- savvy powerhouse.

Her youthful Mediterranean looks (strong brows, dark hair as shiny as a conker) are the precise opposite of Cydney's wholesomeness.

I think the last time I read something along the lines of "dark hair as shiny as a conker", it was in Black Beauty, and someone was describing a horse for sale.

Bravo, Daily Mail! A billion points! I MOCK YOU BUT I WILL NEVER STOP READING YOU, YOU TRASHY SHAMELESS BEASTS! HIRE ME! I WILL MOVE TO LONDON!

*Well, you know... amongst other things. Ahem. I'll get my coat.

Oh, what's to be done with Denise Richards and Charlie Sheen. They may bicker incessantly and claim they can't stand the sight of one another, but deep down, you just know they're hoping the other contracts feline AIDS. With her E! reality series set to premiere on Memorial Day, Richards has been hitting the talk show circuit harder than Richie Sambora in a bathroom stall at the LAX wrap party. This included some face-time with fossilised CNN grand inquisitor Larry King, where she explained that the show comes directly out of need; not, surprisingly, the need to be on TV, but rather the need to feed and shelter her two children, abandoned by their father to follow his tween-outfitting, trampoline dreams. Now, a "Sheen insider" tells Page Six that Richards' claims are absurd, as the actress is regularly greeted by the beeping sound of a Hollywood Alimony Services dump truck backing into her driveway to release that month's child support payment:

But, "Denise gets $52,000 a month tax-free in child support," a Sheen insider fumed. "Most people in America can figure out how to live on that, but Denise can't?"

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Let there be no mistaking it—the National Enquirer owns the story of the disintegration of Jodie Foster's 14-year lesbian relationship to her beautiful Cydney. Now, their unprecedented access to the Rubyfruit Mafia's high-ranking Donettes gives us yet another shocking exclusive: Foster has parked her U-Haul outside the home of Cindy Mort, the creator of HBO's stunt-cock popularizing, prosthesis-core drama Tell Me You Love Me. From their report:

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Bravely taking the Larry King Live lukewarmseat last night to promote her new E! reality series, Denise Richards: I'm Hateful, the actress fielded a barrage of intermittently relevant softballs from the broadcast legend ("Charlie Sheen: Father of your children?...Good guy?...What does he bench press, around?...Iron Man: your kind of movie?...Where do you fall on tofu?"), which she dutifully answered with refreshing candidness. Sadly, she and Sheen are not currently speaking, with Richards relying on her commando-nanny go-between to shuffle their children between the households, deftly avoiding concussion on her mad dash back to the Land Rover at the hands of a Sheen-manned pneumatic tennis-ball cannon. [Larry King Live]

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