Regan claims to have an incriminating tape, which she is using as leverage in her lawsuit against News Corporation. Rupert Murdoch's media conglomerate fired the unpredictable publisher after she published a thinly-disguised confession by O.J. Simpson, accused of murdering his wife years ago. Regan also had an affair with Bernie Kerik, the corrupt aide to Rudy Giuliani who could sink his already holed campaign for the presidency. Who's on the embarrassing tape? In Manhattan book circles, word is none other than Jabba-like Roger Ailes, former Nixon aide and founder of Murdoch's Fox News.

The cookies look a lot like Martha! 1970s stoney Martha.

And these look just so much like Howard Stern and yet they do not smell of personal lubricant.

That sign also says in tiny type, "Don't fuck with my motherfucking tree, you fucks."

"She had people working around the clock to make these books happen, in art, editorial, and production, and yet she always needed to be the sole person taking credit for everything."

But: wanting something as pathetically petty as a transparently 'pseudonymous' art direction credit? Well, that was just par for the course. "She wanted to take credit for the toilets being cleaned, too," our source said wryly.

This same source finds it funny that Judith mentions having a chance to catch up on her reading in that Harper's Bazaar story, guessing that maybe now she'll have a chance to sit down with some of the books she published. Because "she never read anything but the flap copy."

Like it or not, the holidays are upon us. I'm sure when you were stumbling home in the wee morning hours of November 1st in your slutty Madeline Albright costume, you saw the shopkeepers ripping down witches and vampires and putting up pictures of a fat old man who breaks into your house and tries to woo your children with toys. But there's also that other holiday in between, that one dedicated to an afternoon spent face-down on the shag carpet, woozy from tryptophan and big-bottle wine. A time when you listen to and look at your family and wonder "Who are these people??" I was thinking about this the other day and, in the immortal words of Mr. Ed: later that night, I got to thinking. I've decided we'll have a new Thanksgiving. A Gawker Thanksgiving. It's so corny! I know! But, I get sentimental this time of year.

So. How will this work? I think we'll start with the location. Naturally Laurel Touby, founder of MediaArby's, will be our "cyber hostess." (Ugh.) We'll all meet sometime around noon. Julia Allison will bring her darling dog Lilly and Jakob Lodwick will bring his darling fashion lenses. Tinsley Mortimer will arrive wearing an old, soiled Santa suit and just blink confusedly at everyone. (She'll disappear for much of the night, only to be found in the backyard, stuck in a bear trap.) Kristian Laliberte will arrive with his new boyfriend, Elijah Pollack. They'll be so in love! (Later, during dinner, Anna Wintour will lean in close, her breath reeking of gin and clamato juice, purring into your ear "Aren't they just divine together? They're like Paul Newman and Katherine Ross in Butch Cassidy. Except, you know, gay and, um, young.") John Fitzgerald Page will come crashing through the foyer in his Beemer, Eiffel 65's "Blue" blasting loudly, and shove a sweaty bucket of fried chicken into Laurel's hands. Then, just as we think all the guests have arrived, we'll hear a strange hum, a demonic orchestra tuning. As the whole house rumbles, Sean Hannity will shriek, jumping up and down and clapping his hands, "Rupey is here!" Mr. Murdoch will disembark his flaming humpback whale nuclear stagecoach and shove a sweaty Judith Regan into Laurel's feather boa.

James Lipton will utter a dinner bell clarion call from deep within his diaphragm, and all the guests will be seated at the long oak table. There will be a beautiful centerpiece fashioned out of the rawhide remains of Jocelyn Wildenstein's face. The feast will consist of many bottles of Coppola Vineyards wine, PinkBerry soufflés, and turducken. Robert Olen Butler will be the first to get drunk and hurl recriminations at people. "Elizabeth!!" he'll shout across the table at Jann Wenner, "No one poops in South America! It wasn't a sign! It was nature!!" Chris Crocker will defuse the awkward situation by stripping down to his skivvies and doing an old-style fan dance/Britney Spears hyper-sexual mash-up that erotically incorporates Janet Robinson's famous green bean casserole. ("It's the fried onions that really make it work," he'll say in a post-performance YouTube interview with himself.)

Once all are sated and sufficiently boozed up, plates will be cleared by Laurel's faithful butler, Neel Shah. Then, it's on to charades! Mandy Stadtmiller will start. She will pantomime long walks on beaches and summers spent murmuring on porch swings about the big, bright future. In mere seconds team partner Alyssa Shelasky will shriek "SuperPreppy!!" Commenter KarenUhOh, who has been quietly assessing the legal ramifications of all this, will dryly deadpan: "I thought the category was real people." Mandy will run out of the room weeping and farting, having had her hideous secret revealed. Graydon Carter will be next. He will act out a strange series of lilts and affectations, and Lizzie Grubman will yell with delight "Spike! Spike! It's your little fey creature of a son!" A few more rounds will come and go, and of course it will end in a tie and all will be smugly satisfied with their own accomplishments.

The rest of the evening will be devoted to that most revered and corny of Thanksgiving traditions, the actual giving of thanks. The list of thanks will be long and varied. Selected highlights will be:

Tionna Tee Smalls: The film Ishtar
NewToJezebel: Jewish people.
Jeffrey Epstein: Those High School Musical: The Ice Tour tickets he managed to score.
Christopher Hitchens: Religion and Bic razors.
Atoosa Rubenstein: The well-meaning gypsies who style her and, in a bold extension of an olive branch, the Omega Kitties.
Senator Larry Craig: Feet, and a willful spirit.
Josh Schwartz and the rest of the Gossip Girl team: Blacks and Asians.

And, finally, the yoga stick of thanks will be passed to yours truly. And your friend LolCait will say this:

"I find the word 'thanks' inadequate, or even inappropriate. 'Thanks' implies expectation, a resigned 'Phew! Of course these good things were coming after all.' So I'm not thankful, I'm grateful. Things of late seem pretty awful and, truth is, I've Done Nothing During The War, and yet some good things keep coming to me. Six months into my participation in this bizarre social experiment, it is quite baffling to have found both silly entertainment and keen insight on this most cold and unfeeling internet. So I am grateful for a strange new home, for precarious new friendships."

All will be quiet for a moment, and then I will fall down, completely drunk. I will be scooped up by the ever-friendly Josh Ferris (swoon!) and taken from the room.

The night will end as nights do, with sloppy hugs and prolonged, slurred goodbyes. Dear James Kurisunkal will be passed out in the broom closet, spooning a snoring Spencer Pratt, who will still be in his 'Vincent from the Beauty and the Beast television series' Halloween costume. (Or is it a costume??) Ira Glass will dejectedly try to coax Merry Miller into his cab. The Gawker editors will wander off into the night, a bottle of champagne shared between them (with a pour to the sidewalk, remembering Balks, Shafrirs, Spiers, Oxfelds, and others long gone.) Nick Denton will open his umbrella and float whimsically away into the purple night sky. And I will ramble off, thinking of puns and light bulb jokes for the next week. But, before I turn the corner, I will feel a tap on my shoulder. "Don't be alarmed," a voice will say. "It's only me, Douglas." I'll messily grin at him, this most famous of Queens landlords, and say "Oh Douglas. I'm not alarmed. I'm just grateful... Just wonderfully, queasily grateful."

Douglas will shrug his shoulders and walk away, headed off to yuk it up with Michelle and Emily, happy to have been included at all.

"Who are all those strange people?" Patrick Moberg will ask as he stands on the stoop and watches this all unfold. "I don't know," his new wife Camille will respond, robotically petting his arm.

"I've only just met them."

DUH, YES. See: "Probably my finest skill relates to art directing the process, which includes the design, the marketing, and the sales. The books on my list were so beautifully designed, I used to take art direction credits under a pseudonym—I didn't want anyone to know. And I had the best art director in the business."

And she's recording an album! God, what can't this woman do!

Also, throughout the article, a "source with knowledge of her thinking" is quoted. We aren't exactly sure who this person is, but wow. What a terrible knowledge to have.

Ha. DUH, NO! She's Judith Regan. Judith "Golden Vagina" Regan. Judith 'my cock is so enormous' Regan. The woman who has inspired almost a mini-genre of books and screenplays about what a mythically hilariously insanely evil boss she is! Judith! Regan!

Here's how she describes herself as a boss, by the way: "I was the perfectionist manager who wanted everything better. My author's book covers had to be perfect ... the title had to be changed 20 times ... the sales goals had to be revised .. the content had to be reconstructed. I was never happy unless it was done and done right."

So we've heard!

So she can dish it out, but can she take it? "People were afraid to come to my defense ... it disappointed me to the bone and broke my heart." Also: ""It was a vulnerable moment for me." Aww! So: no.

You know how, after a traumatic event like a breakup or a firing, sometimes you find yourself unable to think in any terms besides the lyrics of pop songs? That seems to be what's happening to Judy. Not only does she repeatedly quote her karaoke fave 'My Way,' she also writes,"They tried to hurt me, and maybe they did, but I know this much is true: You can take your punches, and you can take everything away from me, but no one will ever hijack my imagination, my drive, my creative spirit, or my dignity."

Yes: Lucky for Judy, she long ago discovered The Greatest Love Of All.

Send your photo to kreepiekats at gmail dot com and you could have a holiday fling with Klonopin the Kreepie Kat! All entries must be received by this coming Wednesday. Kreepie Kats and Gawker Media accept Zero Liability for any and all STDs you may get from dating a Kreepie Kat or simply reading this line of text! Good luck!

Indeed, Judith Regan's spellbinding, marvelously paced legal complaint, prepared by attorneys Brian C. Kerr and Seth Redniss and filed yesterday in State Supreme Court, should serve as a warning to us all.

After all, "Regan is a self-made, hard-working, dedicated, single mother who supported herself from the age of 14, worked her way through school, and built (against all odds) one of the most diverse, provocative, and colorful imprints in history."

But as a section entitled Defendants Defame Regan By Claiming That She Made Anti-Semitic Comments tragically illustrates, the self-made and hard-working are no match against the manipulations and machinations of a group tiny in number but limitless in power and ambition:

106. The most outrageous piece of defendants' propaganda was disseminated in the December 18, 2006 edition of The New York Times, in which defendants stated that the real reason Regan had been fired was because she had made anti-Semitic comments during a telephone conversation with Jackson.

108. Defendants made sure that their false accusations of anti-Semitic comments were disseminated globally by having a News Corp. representative speak to The Associated Press on December 18, 2006.

111. Defendants' defamatory statements were disseminated in every major media outlet—on television, radio, the Internet and in print—subjecting her to worldwide vilification and scorn.

4. NOT A SINGLE ANNOUNCEMENT WILL REACH THE PUBLIC WITHOUT OUR CONTROL. Even now this is already being attained by us inasmuch as all news items are received by a few agencies, in whose offices they are focused from all parts of the world. These agencies will then be already entirely ours and will give publicity only to what we dictate to them.

Lawyers: Kerik Welshing On $200,000 Bill [TSG]

From the daily Howard Stern recap of yesterday's show:

Howard said that Robin is looking even thinner these days. Robin said she was out detoxing with Judith Regan over the weekend. They did the detox themselves. They got some juices from a place that delivered. They drank the stuff every 2 hours and went out to see some concerts and stuff.

Robin said that she and Judith gave themselves coffee enemas while they were doing this detox. Howard had to find out more about that so he asked her about how exactly they do that stuff. Robin said they dark brew some coffee, cool it down and then shoot it into their asses with an enema bag. Robin said she lays on her side and sticks the tube into her ass about 7 or 8 inches and then shoots the coffee in there. Howard was surprised to hear the 7 or 8 inches thing. She said it goes in there pretty easy. She said that it's very simple to do that and it all comes with the enema bag. Robin said the bag hangs above you and the coffee runs in their by gravity. She said it just takes a couple of minutes.

This is a few days late, but I just saw that retarded animal-balloon email from HarperCollins HR and wanted to share what Judith thought of Harper hr's constant stream of ridiculous emails from back in the day. HR used to send these emails ALL the time (I guess they still do) with the most ludicrous, useless subjects. The best part is how she took time to make things colorful and then cc'd her staff and selected enemies. You could hear her chuckling down the hall when she sent it. I was only there for a few months but this is probably the only time I laughed at something she said while there. The rest of the time I just tried not to make eye contact and hoped she wouldn't do any lasting physical damage.

HARRY: You're the head of this hugely successful publishing house ... how could you miss little me?

JUDITH:
You're adorable and the older men in this city are cretins.

HARRY:
What about Isaac Hirsch?

JUDITH:
He's dead, Harry.

HARRY:
That's ... heartbreaking.

JUDITH: (FLIRTY)
Are you making fun of me? Don't make fun of me, Harry.

HARRY:
I'm amusing you, Judith. Isn't that what I do? Amuse you?

JUDITH: (STANDING TOO CLOSE)
When am I gonna see you again?

HARRY: (HESITANT)
Soon. I promise. This week.

JUDITH:
How about tomorrow night? You wanna amuse me tomorrow night?

JUDITH touches HARRY'S dick through his pants.

HARRY: (TIGHT, LITTLE VOICE)
Tomorrow night sounds great.

JUDITH smiles, quickly baring her teeth, then turns away.

Here is an official response, approved by Eric Schaeffer, author of I CAN'T BELIEVE I'M STILL SINGLE: Regarding the Gawker.com post "Did Judith Regan Intercourse With Eric Schaeffer?", the answer is no. Eric Schaeffer appeared on Judith Regan's television show a couple of years ago and almost signed a book deal with her. While he is fond of her and finds her very sexy, he never had anything other than a professional relationship with her. The blowjob came from another publishing house.

We went on a second date, and she said, "I want to have a baby in a year and a half," and I said I don't want to have babies for five years. I risked that deal going away. And so I said, "I guess we can't date." And the book deal went away. Surprise, surprise.

Mickey Mantle Novel 7 Finds A Publisher [NYT]
Even Bitches Have Feelings [NYMag]
Related: Mickey Mantle, God Among Men [Deadspin]

Today, former Star Editor in Chief Joe Dolce and former ReganBooks Editor in Chief Judith Regan announced the formation of their literary agency, Free Agents. The agency will provide "a voice for the voiceless," according to Regan: the kind of criminals and D-listers that dirty lit-man David Vigliano is actually too skeeved by. "I made the decision to represent these books, and to sit face to face with killers, because I wanted them, and the men who broke my heart and your hearts, to tell the truth, to confess their sins, to do penance and to amend their lives. Amen," Regan said. Dolce said that they are currently looking for staffers to fill a few more positions at the nascent agency. "We're talking to Lloyd Grove, but I think something Judy said in the interview about "biting his dick off" might have thrown him," Dolce said.

Why I Did It By Judith Regan [NYP]

Earlier: Coverage of Joe
Coverage of Judy

On several occasions, we almost got involved. Aside from her being with my best friend, I sensed, even then, that it was not a good idea to be on the descriptive end of her running commentary (from Judith, I know things about the intimate behavior of other men—when they cried, how they begged, where they like to insert sharp objects—that may have altered my fundamental view of humanity). Years later, she told The Washington Post that I was gay, that I had a thing for her college boyfriend. I got off easy.

Update: We knew the whole "I knew her when she was just Judy" thing sounded familiar. A sharp-eyed tipster reminds us that Michael has tilled this barren patch before, in New York. Sigh.

The Trouble With Judith Regan [VF]

Earlier: Vanessa Grigoriadis's Sliding Doors Moment

Earlier: Vanessa Grigoriadis's Sliding Doors Moment

A few years ago, after I wrote a story for this magazine on the then-burgeoning Internet-dating scene, timid young editors from ReganBooks began to call to ask if I wanted to write books on various topics, such as the man with the biggest penis in the world. Um, no. Regan asked me to lunch, and we instantly bonded. To a woman, there's something enticing about Regan's anti-plastic surgery, pro-sex feminist stance, mixed with a She-Devil-ish anger at the power men have in the world (even though she sometimes expresses it by saying that she's going to eat their testicles). She told me that I reminded her of herself when she was younger and that she could give me a great job, show me the ropes, take me on a tour—perhaps one day I would even become as powerful as her. "I used to be a writer, too, but I wanted to do more in the world—don't you?" she asked. Yes! I told her I was worried about managing a career and a family, and it seemed like I could have only one or the other. You can do it all, she said—don't let anyone trick you into thinking it's a choice. Wow. Aren't you sick of playing by men's rules, having male editors, writing about what men want you to write about? she asked. She was building her own gang, her own posse, to take on the publishing industry, and I was going to be her capo. We had to make our own group, she said, like the Jews.

Update: Perhaps by "delved into it further," Vanessa really means "ghostwrote The Truth About Diamonds"? A tipster seems to think so. Thoughts?

Even Bitches Have Feelings [NYMag]

As [Simpson] tries to move forward, she's stuck in self-destructive reverse, acting and dressing like a teenager with her twat in a snit and, rumors reach him, hanging with a bad crowd.

I don't know why he did it - why he did the book, and sat for the interview. Was it his own disturbed need for attention? Did he have remorse? Was he ready to come clean and make amends and do his penance? I wouldn't know until I sat down in a chair across from him.
What I do know is I didn't pay him. I contracted through a third party who owns the rights, and I was told the money would go to his children. That much I could live with.
What I wanted was closure, not money.

Contract Details Specifics of Payments Between OJ and HarperCollins [Hollywood Heat]
Why I Did It [NYPost]

Last year, as an editor at Rodale, she published Al Gore's "An Inconvenient Truth," Bill Maher's "New Rules" and Noah Oppenheim and David Kidder's "The Intellectual Devotional." Now, Haber has been given her own imprint, Modern Times. She's already signed up O magazine columnist Martha Beck and Newsweek chief of correspondents Marcus Mabry. "Leigh Haber is recognized in the publishing industry as an accomplished editor and a champion of writers, with a keen eye for new ideas that will resonate with readers," said Rodale President and CEO Steve Murphy.

FORGET Judith Regan - the new female publishing powerhouse in town is Leigh Haber.

Star Imprint [Page Six]

If you've been paying attention to Gawker this year, you should recognize most of the names on this list. (We've given you a little preview at right. We'd never leave the Tinz off our list!) They're the people who've distracted you, intrigued you, and sickened you (often all at the same time!) in 2006. If you've fallen behind, consider this our New Year's gift to you. We're feeling magnanimous.

Without further ado, the list of Gawker's Personalities of the Year, in no particular order, after the jump.

Ted Turner - Ah, Murdoch's first big American kill. One could lay the blame for CNN creator Turner's ultimate biz demise more properly at the feet of Time Warner, but Turner vs. Murdoch was too classic a matchup not to believe in. The conservative, rapacious Australian tabloid mogul versus his bizarro-world counterpart — an American redneck news hawk with liberal, philanthropic delusions of grandeur. These days, Turner can only seethe about Murdoch's lack of charity, when it's pretty certain that Turner would be more than willing to cross the street to kick him.

Dennis Potter - The grim reaper's touch has placed the caustic British TV dramatist beyond Murdoch's vengeful reach. That must be particularly galling, since in a 1994 interview shortly before his death, Potter famously noted that he had named his cancerous tumor after Murdoch.

John Malone - Perhaps the first serious challenge to the Murdoch family's dominance of News Corp. came via John Malone's Liberty Media. The American company had amassed a considerable though not yet controlling stake in News Corp., which Murdoch interpreted as a threat; Malone's complaints about Murdochian "empire building" at the expense of shareholder return also didn't help. The threat evaporated with a deal trading the News Corp. shares back as part of an $11 billion asset swap, including the transfer of a controlling interest in DirecTV over to Liberty. Malone and Murdoch are talking sweetly of each other and the deal now, but the Malones are probably off the Christmas card list for a year or two, at least.

Sir Richard Branson - After his NTL cable company lost its bid for commercial broadcaster ITV to Murdoch's British Sky Broadcasting, Branson called Murdoch a "threat to democracy" and agitated for a government breakup of News Corp. — or to put it in terms Murdoch would understand, a "regime change." Branson is yet another flavor of billionaire wackjob in his own right, and his knighthood can't make the famously establishment-hating Murdoch love him any more.

Silvio Berlusconi - Murdoch has been tangling with Italian media boss and former prime minister Berlusconi for quite some time, and the former's dogged persistence has brought growing penetration of Italian media. Add that to Berlusconi political downswing and his propensity to collapse on camera, and Ruperto looks buonissimo by comparison.

Kerry Stokes - A not-so-miniature Murdoch in the making, Stokes controls Australia's Seven Network, which has already tangled with News Corp. over a failed channel meant to compete with Murdoch's Ozzie properties. Stokes and Seven are on the rise now though, after opting into a AU$4 billion joint venture deal that frees up lots of cash for acquisitions and new launches.

George Michael - Called Murdoch "the devil" and a "media dictator." Michael claims Murdoch is out to get him, but the pop singer may launch a vicious retaliatory strike at any time.

Judith Regan - More on the shit list than the enemies list, due to the whole OJ book thing. But it's very easy to get promoted to enemy status, by way of something relatively innocuous, like say, a lawsuit. Developing.

[Photo: Getty]

Phil cleared his throat and held up his index finger. "Number one: Under no circumstances should you give her or anyone in this office your home phone number. Not for any reason. You won't get a moment's peace." "Really?" Vivian's assistant had just emailed me asking for it this morning, but I hadn't had time to write back. "But what if — " Phil waved his finger to silence me. " Give her your cell, fine. Not your home number. Do I make myself clear?" "Um, yes. I got it." "Rule two: don't trust Graham — nicknamed Himmler by the assistants — a whit more than you trust Lulu [the office bitch]. In fact, trust him less. All the abuse that Vivian heaps upon him, he dumps on the poor assistants here. His tantrums are almost as legendary as hers. It's terrible to see. Oh, and the same goes for the entire HR department. A bunch of goons. They'll betray you time and again if it means a moment in Vivian's favor." "Got it," I said uneasily. "Number three," — Phil reached into his pocket and fished out a business card, which he handed to me — "a good therapist. Start going now. This woman has been working with Grant Books employees for years, so she knows the drill. She's expensive, and our insurance policy doesn't cover it — but HR will. Grant Books has put her kids through graduate school at this pont, but believe me, it's the least HR can do." "Thanks, but I really don't think I need — " "Yeah, I know you don't now," Phil interrupted, "but just wait. Rule four: Okay, I'm not saying our phones are tapped. I'm just saying that it's not a bad precaustion to leave the building when making a private call."

Earlier: Gawker Book Club: Extra-Timely Edition

"So, you thinking about having babies anytime soon?" Vivian wore a black power suit and an impressive emerald necklace, but her sprawled pose — a leg hooked over the chair next to her, an arm draped across its back, finger twirling her hair — evoked a woman of leisure, not a powerhouse publisher. It was as if we were two girlfriends out for a relaxed Sunday brunch. "Hmm?" I responded eloquently, figuring I must have misheard her. "Babies," she repeated, as if it were the most natural question with which to open an interview. "So many of my female editors tell me they're waiting for kids — waiting to meet Mr. Right, waiting to get to a certain place in their careers. One of my editors must be, like, thirty-six? Thirty-seven? She's married, but waiting for God knows what. I don't know what she's thinking. I tell her all the time to get on the program! If I'd taken that approach, I wouldn't have my sons. Women are supposed to get pregnant in their early teens, you know. We make such a big fucking deal about preventing teenage pregnancy, but that's what nature intended. Girls are really supposed to get knocked up at thirteen."

*(kidding, but there is better stuff to come.)

Regan was known to make outrageous, offensive statements, and that it was accepted at HarperCollins as the norm. The New York Times reports that Regan had an HR reprimand three years ago. An HR reprimand, three years ago. That says "slap on the wrist, now please resume raking in boatloads of cash" if anything does. The more evidence there is that Regan talked trash like this all the time, the harder it will be for HarperCollins to suddenly claim that they were shocked — shocked! — that she would dare speak that way.

That Regan Woman: The Latest Roundup [HuffPo]
Earlier: Today In Judith Regan: More On The Mezuzah Thing