Zings 'n' Cha-Ching!

We give Britney Spears our surefire Sick-Sick Six ways the popped tart can keep her kids, and gab Batman babes with Christian Bale. Also, what's really brewing between Adrian and Paris? Plus, an über-expensive Blind Vice!

Britney Spears is in serious trouble, y’all—as if that fact wasn’t as obvious as Dems who want to take back the White House ain’t in deep doo-doo, but 'nuff about that sorry-ass poop. Instead, let’s focus on things gone awry, Malibu style: Federline is handin’ out subpoenas like hotcakes to everyone in Britney’s camp, natch. B.S. has been photographed hittin’ every bar and Hell-Ay hot spot east of Sepulveda, and, according to the rags, Spears' biggest concern about her babies is that their teeth are white enough for the resulting pics. Guess regular bedtimes and good nannies are so last year.

Well, we mama-bear types here at the Awful Truth wanna help Brit out. So, here’s our Sick-Sick Six list of things Ms. Bee needs to do pronto to prove she’s a competent parent and retain custody:

6. Ditch the extensions, weaves and wigs and rock that mom haircut you have underneath already, girl! You cannot underestimate the importance of coiffure in Hell-Ay courts—just ask Phil Spector.

5. Adopt Lindsay Lohan, postrehab, and make sure she stays on the straight and narrow. If you can be a good mother to that wayward bitch, surely you’d make a suitable 'rent for Sean Preston and Jayden James!

4. Reunite with your mama, Lynne, and pose for the cover of People mag (and don’t ditch mid-photo shoot). In the requisite tear-jerking interview, announce the two of you are penning a follow-up to your first literary effort together, A Mother’s Gift. This one will be nonfiction and offer advice on having healthy parent-child relationships in Hollywood. Brills!

3. Keep your clothes on and yourself covered. Take a page out of soccer mom Katie Holmes’ playbook and invest in some high-waisted pants, turtlenecks and a Burberry trench coat. And don’t forget the granny panties!

2. Stop getting busy with every backup dancer, college coed, assistant and magician you stumble over (or trip while they’re running away). Announce you’re taking a virginity vow until your next marriage. Remember how you used to blab back in the day about how you’re saving yourself? Ah, the halcyon days of Britney.

1. Record lullabies for your next album and dedicate them to your tots. Sure, it’ll bomb commercially and won’t be played in the clubs, but you can’t put a price on keeping your tots now, can ya?

T-town got a little more tumbleweed in Westwood for the 3:10 to Yuma premiere at the Mann Theatre. In attendance were the fiery flick’s just as incendiary leading dudes, Russell Crowe, who was donnin’ denim 'n' a scruffy punim, and the utterly gorgeous Brit-muffin (much more so than R.C., sorry) Christian Bale. For ince, R.C. was def less red carpet edible than the suited-up Mr. B.

Considering Russ-doll’s rumored Oscar sniffs for said flick that I mentioned last week, I was way curious to find out the real chaps-wearin’ deal with R.C.’s badass character, Ben Wade.

“I don’t like the guy,” R.C. admitted to a swarm of us snoopy types. “But I like playing the guy. I wouldn’t want to hang out with him, though.” Totally agree, dollface. Gettin’ shot in the bum ain’t my idea of fun, either. Sorta like havin’ a phone thrown at your noggin, eh? Still, who doesn’t root for the bad boy sometimes? I know I do.

“Yeah, but that’s totally the sickness of your society,” R.C. shot back.

Your society? Excuse me, American ways (effed-up or otherwise) are only good for doling out Academy Awards, but then it’s a hands-off policy? 

Then again, isn’t that precisely why we just love you, Russ-cakes?

Not as keen on throwin’ punches or pickled words was Christian-poo, who tried to keep as mucho mum as poss on just how Maggie Gyllenhaal matched up to Katie Holmes now that Miz Mags is reprisin’ the same lovelorn role in the Batman Begins sequel, The Dark Knight. I mean, enough of the western theme, 'kay?

“You know, I’m not going to compare the two,” Chris-babe scoffed. “They’re great different people, and Katie did a wonderful job, but Maggie is doing a wonderful job. I’m not going to compare the two of them. It’s chalk and cheese.”

Obvs C-babe’s bat wings must be on too tight, 'cause how can you not compare them? They are playing the exact same gal who gets to knock tonsils with ya, right? Right.

And what’s with this chalk 'n' cheese thing? Which one’s which, I wonder? Chris, are ya sayin’ Katie’s too cheesy since her hookup with Tommy C? I know, I know, this is how nasty goss gets started, so never mind.

Further dish from peeps closely connected to Adrian Grenier’s paparazzi doc job, which seems to be starring Paris Hilton, as of late: Insiders suspect HBO, home of Entourage and A Shot in the Dark, Adrian’s first documentary, is most likely funding his latest foray.

An doc insider also swears there’s “no romance” between P 'n' H. But we here at Awful Suck-Face Central still believe Paris is interested in Adrian, even if the feelings aren’t necessarily mutual. As for the A-man, our source swears he’s simply using P to attract the subject of his project...the paps. Smart guy, that Grenier, because what babe is better than P. Hil at attracting snappers?

So, if they’re not hot 'n' heavy, as this one camper swears, what does Paris get outta the sitch? Simple, really. She’s trying to get some much-needed credibility by palling around with a “serious actor” type  (heaven forbid A.G. qualifies as such, but you get the desperate drift, I’m sure). Bonus that Adrian’s into green issues and is a major player on a hit show. Don’t be surprised if Paris gets a choice cameo in Entourage after this little liaison is over and done with.

And while one Simple Life chica cavorts around Hollywood, cameras in tow, her sidekick Nicole Richie has been doin’ her darnedest to avoid the scene—and spotlight—lately...that La Conversation stopover mentioned in the Hum notwithstanding. The mama-bear-to-be was spotted Monday evening at a strip-mall sushi joint in the Valley, of all hideously unhip places. Fellow fish munchers report Nic had a torched-eel roll and “didn’t eat much.”

Our first thought was that pregnant peeps aren’t supposed to be eating sushi, right? Guess “torched” technically means semicooked, but still, why risk it? And second, Nic’s expecting, obvs—we always thought one of the best things about being a mom is license to eat whatever the hell you want. So, why not forget the light and dainty fare, hon, and go hit the nearest In-N-Out, already?

Or is that Paris’ turf?