• What do you want to be when you grow up? This is the question you must ask yourself now, Rachel. Out of scandal comes opportunity. But you must know what you're pursuing if you are to achieve it. Think about it. We have some ideas too!
• Only talk to your friends. The corollary of this being, "Know who your friends are." The New York Post is not your friend, Rachel. It is not anyone's friend. So why oh why did you give them the big interview today? The gist of your interview was "I barely know Tiger Woods and nothing happened between us." The cover headline: "TIGER & ME: Beautiful 'other woman reveals the truth about her relationship with sports' biggest star." See how that does not serve you well, since many more people will read the headline than will read your actual words? Yes. A "friend" in the media is an outlet that will cede you friendly coverage in exchange for access. And don't go too far downscale. RadarOnline, for example, would just make you seem like more of a nut. Aim for Barbara Walters. Settle for Bob Costas.
• Pick an image and stick to it. From a BlackBook interview, June 2008: "Although I've been romantically linked to a famous baseball player, a Broadway star, a musician, and various film and television actors, I will never kiss and tell!"
  From your New York Post interview today: "It doesn't look good because of stories in the past about me and other celebrities, and everybody thinks I'm just a celebrity f - - -er. Well the truth is, I live alone, I don't have a boyfriend, and I have my gay best friend staying over most nights. I'm a recluse. I don't go out, I stay home with my dogs and friends."
  So which is it? Clearly, it is "Celebrity fucker," in truth. Which is okay! Many people in this world aspire to become a celebrity fucker, but few ever live that dream. You have, and you should not be ashamed. Just go with it.
• Work that nightlife angle. Hmm, what would be a perfect industry in which a woman such as yourself could use the fame associated with vague celebrity sex scandal to her advantage? An industry in which the mystique cultivated by more silence, Rachel,selective silence, could be beneficially used to draw people into your orbit? And industry in which you already know everyone? Yes. Nightlife. You should right now be out hustling investors to open your own club down the road. A sexy and dangerous club. A club where the notoriety that goes along with fucking Tiger Woods et al. will not be shameful. It will be celebrated. It will make you popular. And you will win.
• Calibrate your edginess carefully. Nightclub, yes. Porn, no. You're no Ashley Dupre.

Pandorum
The Story: Two astronauts wake up on a space ship to find they can not remember why they are there. And a monster is attacking them.
The Pitch: Alien meets Momento
Who It's For: Screamers; people with other things they can do during the movie.
Cause for Hope: Remarkably, stars Dennis Quaid; films set on a space ship get an automatic gentleman's C.
Cause for Concern: Produced by Paul WS Resident Evil Anderson.
Residual Cause for Hope: Produced by not directed by Anderson
Gawker Enthusio-Meter: 2

SURROGATES trailer in HD

Surrogates
The Story: In the future, people live life through robot versions of themselves. But when someone starts killing the robots, future cop Bruce Willis must investigate.
The Pitch Westworld meets Streets of San Francisco
Who It's For: Nerds who like to dream about having sex with robots.
Cause for Hope: Director Jonathan Mostow helmed that better-than-expected Terminator 3.
Cause for Concern: You've probably seen every single frame of this film in four to twelve other movies.
Gawker Enthusio-Meter: 3

Fame
The Story: The kids of Performing Arts High dare to dream.
The Pitch: Fame meets High School Musical
Who It's For: Every aspiring dance crew in America.
Cause for Hope: Stars So You Think You Can Dance's Kherington Payne.
Cause for Concern: The sound of Bruno Martelli and Alan Parkers' ghosts crying out in agony will haunt your dreams forever.
Gawker Enthusio-Meter: 7 (It's the song. We can't help ourselves.)

Capitalism: A Love Story
The Story: That lovable cut-up Michael Moore is back, this time poking fun at everyone's favorite economic paradigm: capitalism.
The Pitch::Michael Moore meets Michael Moore with a bit of Michael Moore thrown in for good measure.
Who It's For: The already converted.
Cause for Hope: If this is your cup of tea, your cup will runneth over.
Cause for Concern: The hammer fell off the sledgehammer Moore uses to write his jokes.
Gawker Enthusio-Meter: 5

Brief Interviews with Hideous Men
The Story: A researcher decides to study mens' desires in a series of taped interviews.
The Pitch: My Dinner With Andre meets High Fidelity
Who It's For: People who like to be seen thinking big thoughts.
Cause for Hope: It can't actually last forever.
Cause for Concern: David Foster Wallace, the big screen version! The Office's Jim trying to outrun his day job. Did he mention he went to Brown?
Gawker Enthusio-Meter: 2

Coco Before Chanel
The Story: Headstrong young Coco dreams of shaking up fashion.
The Pitch:: La Vie en Rose meets Devil Wears Prada
Who It's For: Those who like to swoon to period design.
Cause for Hope: Looks harmlessly charmante.
Cause for Concern: Isn't this why God invented made for cable movies?
Gawker Enthusio-Meter: 5

I Hope The Serve Beer in Hell
The Story: The adventures of internet cretin Tucker Max
The Pitch:: Porkys meetsa snuff film purchased for three dollars out of a box on the sidewalk in the East Village
Who It's For: The aspiring date rapist next door.
Cause for Hope: This will almost certainly be the end of Tucker Max's film career.
Cause for Concern: You will still share a Universe with him.
Gawker Enthusio-Meter: 0

The image associated with this post is best viewed using a browser.Step One: Winning Hearts and Minds, but Mostly Hearts
When she first trundled on stage during the prelims of the British competition show, Boyle seemed sad and dowdy and homely, one of those myriad miserable people that reality show producers across the globe like to trot out for their embarrassment and our snickering amusement. So everyone was relieved and giddy and just simply thrilled that, when she opened that pie hole of hers, Boyle could blow. Sonorous, classically-tinged mezzo-soprano that could hold up ably in some supporting funny role in the West End. Good for everyone for finding an unattractive woman fanciful and fun! We're not such terrible monsters after all.

The image associated with this post is best viewed using a browser.Step Two: But, Uh, About That Unattractive Thing...
Yeah, she's not Princess Di. And once the initial warm surprise of Boyle's singing ability began to wear off, everyone started looking at her with cocked heads and saying "Hmm..." Most culture vultures (gag) took this as an opportunity to say what's wrong with ugly people?, which was nice and true, sure, but also just the teensiest bit smug. And, oh yeah, you're still calling the poor lady ugly. So what happens next in the narrative? I think you know.

The image associated with this post is best viewed using a browser.Step Three: Makeover!!!
Susan Boyle got a leather coat. And maybe had her hair blown out. And everyone said that the inevitable makeover had begun. And it made sense, really, because if you were on one of Britain's biggest TV shows you'd probably want to look your best too. But did it maybe start to engender some backlash? I mean isn't it awfully vain and prideful to dare make yourself look better? How dare Susan Boyle think she's people. She's not people! She's our Edith Piaf Scottish troll lady idol. I mean, what fun would Shrek be if he looked like Harry Hamlin, y'know?

The image associated with this post is best viewed using a browser.Step Four: The Dip
It was bound to happen. Some other vaguely unsettling novelty act ascended the BGT stage and nearly erased all memory of Susan Boyle from our fickle, fiendish hearts. Someone like the bespiked castrato, who isn't quite as pleasing as Boyle, but boy is he weird and fascinating. Plus, Boyle's second go around on the show wasn't quite as stirring, probably because, yawn, been there, seen that. So it looked like the Boyle party train might be slowing to a standstill.

Step Five: It's Infected with Rage
So apparently Boyle was watching BGT at her hotel and one of the judges said that SOMEONE ELSE had the best vocal of the show so far, which sent Boyle into a rage blackout in which she told hecklers to "fuck off" and threatened to quit the show. (And then there was a little bomb dropped about how she maybe suffered brain damage during birth? Ugh.) So she's back on top of the filthy news pile! But at what cost? Will she lose the support of those who just want her to be the ugly frog lady with adorable little probably-not-gonna-pan-out-in-any-significant-way-in-the-end dreams? Perhaps. Or maybe she's just a person under a lot of pressure and people under a lot of pressure have been known to lash out at people who are actively trying to get her goat, as the two hotel patrons were supposedly doing.

What's next for ol' Boyle? Well, the rest of the competition, for one. But beyond that there are further steps in the fame trajectory. She hasn't yet had a true taste of validity, which maybe she'll get when she's offered a role in a West End show. Then it'll be all pints and good times, then it'll be dwindling offers, then it'll be another, shittier reality show, and then it'll be... well who knows. Most likely that merciless void, known to some as obscurity and, to others, as life.

Makeover pic via Getty, singing pic via AP

Jaxson has been a publicist for the likes of that one girl from The Cheetah Club for Girls or whatever, plus he attempted a gossip site called J.J.'s Dirt that, well, never went anywhere. He and his mother used to be professional talk-show guests (discussing Jaxson's deadbeat dad), which prompted Jaxson's fame-hunger and pushed him toward the gossip industry. Mostly he's popped up on Jacksonville, FL local news broadcasts and rehashed celebrity news that everyone already knew as if he'd just scooped it. Perhaps sensing the tidal change away from the scuzzy pink celebrity trashing of yesteryear, Jaxson has shifted his efforts toward a wiser and self-reflecting view of show business.

Because the memoir has worked so well for esteemed figures like Tori Spelling and Chelsea Handler, Jaxson is sending out a proposal for a book sadly titled Don't You Know Who I Am Yet???, a look back at his rollercoaster life and career. In the very-rough drafts of chapters he sent to us, Jaxson issues ruminative ruminations on his troubled childhood:

It was ... my obsession with the happiest hours of my life, the Rosie O'Donnell Show that kept me desiring fame, as I thought it would be my escape to always be financially secure and finally make a life of my own with friends that could last a lifetime. This is when I realized how it may be possible for me to finally meet my father on a talk show while aquiring that 15 minutes of fame I had always desired.

Then he moves on to hissy, non-scandal celebrity outings and partying stories:

Bungalow 8 was the place I met Ms. Mary-Kate Olsen. I was extremely disappointed in finding out that the Mary-Kate I was meeting was cocained up and completely wasted on booze. It was sad really. Really sad. It was during NYC Fashion Week that I was there with celebrities, Kim Kardashian, Chudney Ross, Evan Ross and Cuba Gooding JR.

Finally he urges the reader that he is d-u-n done with all that drama. Because he's been in it, man. He's been in the shit. But now he's seen the light.

Chapter 10: The 16th Minute
(Life beyond fame; making a difference; maturity)
The sucidial moments, the emptiness, the feeling of being lost, development of sever anxiety and the multiple turn of events that made an impact on my life to write this book and begin a new chapter and focus on my life.

Unfortunately for Jaxson, even on the off chance that some tiny publisher does mimeograph a few copies of this thing and distribute it at rest homes, it'd still be a few years too late. That gum bubble has burst, leaving everyone, but some more than others, looking pretty sticky.

Let's get this out of the way first: Although the balance of available evidence would seem to indicate that Chad Lindsey is, in fact, a gay hero, it hasn't exactly been spelled out yet. Queerty asked him whether fanatical blogs such as this one are trying to turn him into the next gay hero:

Hmm. That hadn't occurred to me. It seems we live in a world where we're past that. I know we're not and I have a good idea that we don't, but I don't know. I'm trying to be judicious about how much I even talk. You know what I mean? I mean, "Look dude, you jumped in the train and got someone out, now shut up already." You know? It's enough to say I'm an actor. People are already rolling their eyes.

Never! This cycle of intense and fleeting adulation is all perfectly normal, Chad. Enjoy it before it fades away, next week. He told Queerty he's barely even had time to read the blogs, but when he spoke to Playbill yesterday he'd obviously had time to read the comments of you, the Gawker readers, who hurt his feelings:

"'Smoldering' is hilarious," Lindsey said. "Later in the blog they have comments and somebody wrote, 'We have obviously lowered the level of smoldering considerably.' I was like - Ouch."

We hope you're very proud of yourself. How would you feel if that was the last thing you ever got to say to Chad?

Queerty: Well, if there's anything people should take away from your story, what should it be?
Chad: *car honks* Oh, God, I almost got run over.

Chilling. Chad, now we know you're reading. Email us at once.

The Roughneck.

Megan Joy Corkrey. Potential 13th place finisher?

The laboriously hyped Lil Rounds.

More Megan Joy (which will totally be her stage name should anything actually come out of this.)

The undeserving Jasmine Murray.

The effusive Jorge Nunez.

Ugh. The nefarious dead-wife-pimping Danny Gokey.

Ugh. The nefarious dead-wig-pimping Adam Lambert.

Allison Whosiewhoo. A dark horse to win it all.

Matt Giraud had better get himself behind a piano.

A happy family. That will be split apart in a week.

"Will I look back at what in ten years and weep?"

Alexis. A bright horse to win it all.

O swoon, here comes your boyfriend. Your boyfriend Kris Allen. Who's reeeeally Jesusy.

There he is again!

Scott. Must avoid tactless jokes.

Anooooooop! Wouldn't it be funny to become a brief, flash-in-the-pan celebrity because your name was fun to yell?

Fig. 10: The family before we died.

More of her.

There they all were, glinting in the sun. Their smiles buffed and waxen. Their hearts turning to cold metals—to silver, to nickel, to noisy, rattling tin.

Probably the most troubling thing of all is how greedily we've slopped all this stuff up. But after making celebrity baby covers the biggest sellers for the likes of Us, People and OK!, we get the freakshow news we deserve. Still hungry for more and more babies, we've turned to the circus disaster that is regular lives made alien and shocking when bad choices mixed with a few bits of bad luck and stories were born.

Maybe it coms from exhaustion with all the other media. First it was scripted television shows, and then their high-concept reality descendants. And now we've sifted through every last layer of story until we've gone and found a low, universal denominator. People come out of other people's vaginas sometimes. The more that come out of the same one or the younger the owners of the necessary body parts are, the more we're interested. 220 channels and nothing else was on, so we've settled on the baby zoo currently on display on TLC or sitting in a dimly-lit room across from Ann Curry.

While Suleman's desire to go and get herself knocked up with octuplets when she was already a cash-strapped mother of six probably had far more to do with some murky and deep-seated emotional cataclysms than it did with a desire for fame, the end result has been a raft of high profile TV appearances, implied hopes for a reality series, and a website asking fans or followers or whomever to donate money to this Elephantitis-suffering family. Ms. Suleman has become a rickety celebrity simply by making the wreckless decision to bring many children into this world for whom she had no way of caring. Good for us!

Little Mister Patten may not have been courting fame when he got his young girlfriend pregnant, but now he's likely being paid exclusivity fees by the Sun. And, in the wake of the media frenzy surrounding the unsettling story, two more boys have come forward, claiming paternity of 15-year-old Chantelle Steadman's daughter. There are posed photos of the two boys, aged 14 and 16, on Splash, the photo agency where I find many of the silly celebrity pictures I use for Open Caption.

It had become fairly routine for celebrities to profit off the act of procreation, what with the big glossy magazine industry and whatnot. But now common folks are saying "me too!" and the troubling thing is, if you don't already have a certain degree of popularity, you have to make your babymaking pretty sensational to get any attention. And what's sensational is often ugly. Again these folks probably didn't enter into reproduction with designs on tabloid notoriety, but once the first publicist calls or newspaper camera flashes... Well, the Siren call is tough to resist.

Though humanity has its limits, and the public outcry against Nadya Suleman—and the sad revulsion expressed over the Patten thing—suggests that maybe there is a limit to this mayhem. But we don't suspect it will die down quickly. Prepare yourselves for other strange stories, for other curious and unpleasant parlor tricks of the body. After all, while everything's being torn down around it, Coney Island still has its sideshow.

1) "Which disturbed loser is more of a cad than we thought? He's spilling the beans about his former flame's kinky sex habits to anyone who'll listen. " [Gatecrasher]

2) "This really could be something that is not a blind item, but the person who gave it to me really wants it as a blind rather than with a big screaming EXCLUSIVE all over it. I don't have the why yet, but it is supposed to be very interesting. You have a B- list television actress from one of the best television ensemble comedies of all time and she is getting divorced from her well connected industry husband who has had a sporadic career despite his connections. Even though they have a very, very, very young child the marriage has no chance of making it." [CDaN]

3) "Which singer held up rehearsals for a sporting event after getting overly friendly with a fan in the changing-room showers?" [Mirror]

4) "Which actress pretends to loathe the paparazzi, but actually has her publicist call them to staged photo ops? Her unsuspecting celebrity boyfriend can't understand how the paps know exactly when they will be walking the dog or going to the market or how they know every other private move the couple makes. Well, we're going to provide Mr. Naïve with a big box full of clues. Your girlfriend is known as a successful TV actress, but her film career has been less than stellar. Since her own career and life isn't interesting enough to warrant lots of attention from the paps, she needs you in the photos with her to guarantee publication. Every time you are going to do anything together, she makes that stealth cellular phone call to her PR flack, who in turn notifies the press." [BlindGossip]

Even the celebrities who do theoretically have a level of fame sufficiently high enough to provoke a large number of fans to buy their branded tennis skirts or perfume or t-shirts or other crap are seeing their projects fold. The smarter ones just do endorsements; for the greedy ones who couldn't do without their very own brand, business sucks right now. Thanks to the recession (they hope).

Even celeb lines that were selling well have been pummeled. Low-price retailer Steve and Barry's went bankrupt last November and will liquidate all 270 of its stores this year, leaving Sarah Jessica Parker's Bitten line of clothing — perceived to have been a hit — without a retail partner, at least for the foreseeable future. Other Steve and Barry's refugees include Amanda Bynes' Dear line, tennis star Venus Williams' Eleven and surfer Laird Hamilton's Wonderwall.

Not Sarah Jessica Parker's Bitten line of clothing! Daisy Fuentes is struggling, too! And LL Cool J's Sears line might even go out of business, now that it's, uh, done its job of saving the company. The only way to be successful now is to be smart. Rip people off:

Pop star Gwen Stefani's fragrance Harajuku Lovers is technically more expensive than her first top-tier scent, L, but is being sold in bottles five times smaller than the industry standard, and therefore at lower prices per unit. Harajuku Lovers, launched in September, quickly broke into the top 10 fragrances this holiday season.

Math! [Ad Age]

Even the totally uncool New York Post hops onto the Poster Boy train today, ID'ing him with his government name: "Henry Matyjewicz, 27, of Bushwick, Brooklyn." Why, we remember way back in '08, when we first met PB, before all the fame and cops and paparazzi came into the equation. Those Banksy comparisons may prove to be more accurate than we ever wanted. Let's focus on the good; five newer pieces from Poster Boy's Flickr stream, below:

It is probably actually Tom Cruise!

And that construction is so odd. "The most famous living person in the history of the world" means he is the most famous person currently living? More famous than than any other person in history during his lifetime? Like, Jesus is maybe the most famous person ever (or Abraham or something), but Obama has the edge because he didn't become superfamous thousands of years after his death? What about Napoleon? Or is it because there are just more people in the world now, thus making Obama more known to more people?

And hey, what about George W. Bush? The entire world just spent eight years hating him! He represented our entire nation, and we are the most famous nation on Earth! People have been cursing Bush's name and hanging him in effigy across the globe, and honestly they only just got to know this Obama character. Surely news hasn't yet reached some far-off places where the name Bush still gets a laugh.

No, sorry, Dee Dee, we know you have a magazine to sell, but we're not buying it. The most famous living person in the history of the world is George W. Bush, which is why we are in this mess.

The book, out next month, is by Mark Ebner and he delves into the lives of many sordid types—sloshy actress Tara Reid, solo porn star and MTV VJ Simon Rex (with whom Hilton also made a sex tape), various Playboy Playmates, and of course Girls Gone Wild impresario Joe Francis. And they all seem, in one way or another, to orbit around the great Dark Planet created by one Paris Hilton.

Hilton is infamous for the One Night in Paris sex tape that was released "without her consent" by the gentleman in the video, sleazy sideliner Rick Solomon. Rumors later circulated that Ms. Hilton was complicit in the leaking of the tape, so long as she saw some of the profits. The whole book basically paints Hilton as a duped-into-doing-it-on-camera victim for hire.

Riley, who is in prison for robbing, sexually assaulting, and blackmailing Joe Francis, says that, for sure, Hilton was in on the whole first sex tape charade. And, he alleges, it wasn't the last time the Simple Life reality stain filmed herself in flagrante delicto. Riley supposedly got a hold of several ssseeecret tapes of the nightclub fly. By, you know, stealing them from some "Russian kids" who had stolen them from her house. One tape in particular showed a litany of bad behavior: drugs, racism, taxicab fingerbangs. Riley gives Ebner some details about the tape:

Paris, of course, has said she has no idea who Riley is.

The new cover of Star magazine has giddy speculation that Michelle Obama might be pregnant in the top right corner. They're hoping for a boy! Presumably so the new son of the Dark Prince will reign for a thousand years, bringing Husseinism to the land while throwing your money at lazy people. Yes, Michelle Obama's uterus has joined Angelina and Jen's as a tabloid topic of speculation.

Then TMZ asks us "Did Barack and Michelle ... You Know ... Do It?" And, let's be honest, we all wondered it as we watched them slow dance over and over again, whispering sweet nothings into each other's ears, but still. Sheesh. Presidents and First Ladies don't "do it." They "boff austerely" or give each other a "dignified rodgering." The phrase "doin' it" should be reserved for guttersnipes like the Jonas Brothers (who First Kids Malia and Sasha met again last night.). For what it's worth—which is nothing—we don't think they did. They looked "exhausted" at the last of their many Inaugural Balls. TMZ readers disagree with us, though. A resounding 73% of them think that the First Couple did, in fact, thoughtfully knock boots.

And if it wasn't already bad enough, we learned this morning that some American author living in England has written a Barack Obama musical. You know who else had a British musical written about them? Jerry Springer. Sad.

Obviously all the buzziness will die down soon enough, once people become inured to a nation presided over not by a snickering, unrelatable elf but a young, coltish sex bomb. I mean, everyone stopped clamoring over JFK's celebrity sex life eventually, didn't they? Oh. Oh right.

Pop singer Spears and her teenage, be-babied sister Jamie Lynn used to get paid for giving exclusive content to the gossip rag, but now new publisher Kent Brownridge has tightened the belt and Spears patriarch Jamie refuses to do business with them. OK! has banned its staffers from attending any Spears-related events (State Fair pickle jar guessing contests, Arby's ribbon cutting ceremonies, etc.) as well. As the magazine industry declines on its own, its peripheral celebrity remoras will just have to fend for themselves.

Much like kinda-celebrities who survive on appearance fees, another facet of the famous face machine that seems in decline, will have to strike out alone on their own two wobbly legs a bit more than in years past. Sure some folks like Chloe Sevigny still get hefty sums to show up to parties and look bored, but New Year's Eve proved to be lonely and profit-less for many a Z-list red carpet hog. Reality stars, who rely pretty much solely on useless appearance payouts to subsidize their crappy condos, will especially suffer in this new, miserly world—in which they have no practical talent or ability. The nightlife industry—restaurants, clubs, burlesque houses—are all immediate victims of recessiony tough times, and we'd bet that some of the first things to be whittled away from budgets will be the exorbitant sums once spent to have some Real World cast member show up and do shots in between yawns.

This decline seems partly the fault of the whole industry becoming just way too transparent. Even celebrities who give their magazine hauls away to charity, like Angelina Jolie, are catching heat for their pay-me-because-I'm-famous deals these days. A celebrity who's way less altruistic, but still as public about their big money arrangements with magazines and various nightclub venues, looks to be facing some insurmountable odds—as people become grizzled and hardened by stark economic futures, these bozos' pursuit of splashy, glittery lives achieved through very little work becomes less forgivable (may we be venturing into "unconscionable" territory?) People are just too concerned with actual important things (i.e. themselves) to tolerate all of this high-gloss chicanery. (For example, last night's Golden Globes broadcast brought the ceremony its lowest ratings in 12 years.)

We'd offer our condolences to some specific peeps, only we can't remember any of their names right now.

Charity money! You should buy it! Though, the bid is currently over $2,000. But still it's kind of worth it. There's ScarJo DNA on that tissue. So you could make a clone. And, you know, do things with it.

Like play checkers!

Her album Circus sold like gangbusters! Her sad TV special got lots and lots of ratings! she's basically skinny again! It's time we turned our curious, worrying, leering gazes on her unknowable future.

Step 1: Bring Me the Head(s) of Kevin Federline
Britney—on a near-hallucinogenic high from her rocket back to hitsville—will take back her ferrety little backup dancer ex-husband (and father of her two gooey sons, Peekaboo Johnson and Jada Pinkett). The press will cry "what an idiot!!!" but they'll also be so curious, maybe even hopeful that these two processed young people will work all this craziness out and be a fambly again. But then the true nefarious plot will be revealed: Britney is staging a wicked revenge on the fellow. Wasn't it he, after all, who basically dragged her barefoot through the garden of earthly gas station bathroom delights? So, on a stormy evening, she'll sweetly coo "Kevin... come to the White Room [you know she has a White Room]. I have a surprise for you..." Off to the plush den he'll galoompf, only to be grabbed by one of Brit's trusty bodyguards and chained to a chair. His eyes will be forced open and he'll be made to watch her film Crossroads over and over again until the end of time. The sweetest revenge.

Step 2: Booze Company
T'won't be the meth or pills or whatever it was that broke her the first time that will send her back into the abyss. Naw, it'll just be nice old fashioned liquor that brings her roaring back to the heady days of hedonism. Well, not exactly hedonism, more like old-timey Elaine Stritch-esque drunken, gimlet-eyed crackle. She'll do the small club circuit and spend more time talking than she does singing, but you'll hang on every word. If her crazy showbiz stories are made up, you don't want to know and don't really care. They're just too good. Of course this could kind of be offset by the fact that she's not some kicky old lady like Stritch. She's just in her late 30's. So yeah. Um. Maybe it is a little weird. Never mind.

Step 3: Hit Me Baby Within the Next Ten Minutes
Infomercials! Britney will sell products! Newly smoothed over and infused with a Janine Turner-style Christian smarm, the wobbly "mid-40's" Entertainer will start hawking various lines of jewelry and exercise products in soft-touch, late night sit downs with an aged and crumbling Leeza Gibbons. They'll be horribly sad, sure, but there will also be something almost whimsically noble about the fact that Ms. Spears is still out there, workin' it every day. Say what you will about Britney and her public, but don't say she doesn't love them. Because she does. Really, she does.

Step 4: The Goodbye, Hollywood! Tour
Having now been through as many heartaches (and as many rounds of cosmetic surgery) as Dolly Parton, a 50-something Britney will take to the twangy road, soft crooning tunes about survival in a bitter, mean world that is so rarely kind to nice Southern girls—like in her song "Dimwits, Dummies, and Dolts" which features the lyric "I've got complex points 'a view / Thicker'n a pot of gumbo stew." It'll be a hit with her now aging female and gay ultra-core fan base, who will come out to the various casino lounges where she's strumming away and everyone will sway and feel happy and sad all at the same time and things will go on like this until everyone shuffles off and all that's left is a near-disappeared billboard in Kentwood, LA that proudly heralds the town as the home of some singer once who was famous way back when named Britney Spears.

After the jump: Can Martin Scorsese save HBO?

· The Death of the Pilot Era is itself now dead, as the last crop of pilot-free primetime stinkers suggests pilots might actually do some good. [THR]
· Speaking of pilots, Steve Buscemi is nearing a deal to star in Boardwalk Empire, a Martin Scorsese-produced pilot for HBO that follows hooch-runners in 1920s Atlantic City. Did we mention they're also vampires? They're vampire hooch-runners! (OK not really.) [THR]

• Fashion—Remember Monica Lewinsky's successful line of handbags? No you don't, because her handbag line was not successful. She harbored the illusion that women would choose to spend money to have a fashion item with her personal aura hanging off their arms. It turns out women do not want their fashion labels to convey a reputation for, primarily, blowjobs. Not fair, but a fact. Fashion lines without an extremely cheeky touch are doomed to fail.
• Music—We hear you want a music career. Do you have deep and unique talent? Not from what we've heard. Skip it.
• Talk Show—You could give this a shot, right? I mean, how hard could it be to be the next, say, Ricki Lake? She probably gets around too amirite? (SEXIST). The truth is that hosting a successful talk show is way harder than it looks. I'm sure you could convince some desperate off-brand network to give you a talk show, Ashley, but once the novelty wore off, it would either have to get really sexual really fast, or die. Or you would have to turn out to have some heretofore unknown media skills, which we doubt. Stick to being interviewed yourself, not the other way around.
• Advice Column—Now this is an idea! There are several advantages to an advice column. Initially, people would read just because you're famous. But then, if you had good (SEXY) advice, people would read just to hear that! And you can always hire a ghostwriter. And this isn't dependent on your looks! Save this as a retirement plan. But use a current photo.
• Write a Book—You might have a good, trashy tell-all in you, Ashley, but you'd have to be willing to tell all. These People magazine and Diane Sawyer interviews you're doing now are child's play. You can look sympathetic and respectable on the book's cover, but if you don't give up the (SEXY) goods inside, people aren't going to drop $25 at the airport book store. Do this in the next six months, if you need the cash.
• Politics—It would be funny! Vote for the only New Yorker who could defeat Spitzer, LOL! Actually this would only work if Spitzer restarted his political career and the Republicans were very desperate for an opponent. Though you do have a promising career as a political symbol, Ashley.
• Porn—We have to level with you: this is the most lucrative thing you could possibly do. The sad fact is that women who get famous for sex scandal reasons are always branded, foremost, as sex objects. Sucks if you have actual life aspirations! But you can in fact make millions and millions by doing porn, then take your money and go live in Belize in peace. This would also get you out of Jersey. Think about it.

Joe the Plumber

Who?: Samuel Joseph Wurzelbacher, an Ohio plumber who was caught on film asking Obama the tough questions about his tax plan, and was mentioned 74976 times in the subsequent debate by John McCain, who tried to use Joe as a symbol of everyday Americans. Turned out to be not quite the all-American guy he seemed.

The Next Step: He's already signed with a publicist and a manager and is pursuing a book contract and a country music career. Both are bound to tank, because Joe fails to realize the fleeting nature of his fame. A better plan: become the best darned plumber that Toledo has ever seen. Your brand is already established! Now go forth and plumb.

William Ayers

Who?: Former member of the 60s far leftist group The Weathermen, now a professor of education and run-of-the-mill activist in Chicago. He is the "terrorist" that Obama "palled around with," according to credible source Sarah Palin.

The Next Step: Ayers has been keeping his mouth shut, doubtless at the request of the Obama campaign. He's probably just waiting for the election to end so he can go back to his normal liberal activism. Way to blow an opportunity, dude! You want to reform education? Why not start the Bill Ayers School Of Political Activism? Train peppy young liberal ideologues to infiltrate our nation's school boards. It worked for Christian fundamentalists!

Jeremiah Wright

Who?: Obama's pastor at Trinity United Church of Christ in Chicago. He made some remarks about perhaps not being in love with white America for all it has done for African-Americans, and was made into a prime symbol of Obama's sympathy for the radical black agenda of hating white people! According to the McCain campaign. He initially tried to talk in his fiery way to rebut the smear campaign, but the Obama campaign managed to make him be quiet, like Ayers.

The Next Step: Open an Obama-themed gift shop and mail order business, just to "support the church." Slowly expand. Roll out your own line of hot sauce. Wake up one day four years from now and realize that you have become George Foreman. Later, sign commentator contract with Fox News. Slowly become friends with Pat Buchanan.

Bernard Kerik

Who?: Remember way back when Rudy Giuliani was considered a serious candidate? Ha, yes that was a while ago. Kerik was Giuliani's Police Commissioner in NYC during 9/11, and became a de facto "hero" just like his boss. Rudy had big plans for Kerik in his cabinet, until Bernie was indicted for fraud and conspiracy and then everybody realized he was basically just a big incompetent lug who hung out with gangsters and did nothing in his ill-fated position in Iraq and generally had nothing going for him except for the fact that he was friends with Rudy Giuliani, who turned out to be a loser.

The Next Step: Even hard-line Republicans and hapless corporate dupes have come to understand that Kerik has no political future, or good ideas about anything. He should go ahead and go to prison, make friends with mobsters on the inside, and come out as a full-fledged mafioso. That would be cool. One day they could make a movie about it.

Obama Girl

Who?: Pretty girl who made an insanely popular YouTube video about being a pretty girl who has a crush on Obama.

The Next Step: Cheerleader for the Washington Redskins. Playboy centerfold. Have a fling with a Congressman. Make friends with Julia Allison.

Bristol Palin

Who?: Sarah Palin's poor pregnant daughter.

The Next Step: Once your mom loses the election and you turn 18, move as far away from Alaska as you possibly can. Do not get married. Go to college and get a regular job, like a teacher. Try to live a normal life. Jesus, we feel sorry for you, Bristol.