Vote of Confidence?

Is Al Gore makin' a bid for the Oval Office again in 2008? We're passin' along deets on his very possible presidential plan...Plus, Toothy Tile considers coming out to two megamags, while Star Jones Reynolds tosses softballs Isaiah Washington’s wily way, quelle crappy surprise!

“Only if he’s absolutely certain the other candidates could not win.”

—A top Al Gore coworker, regarding the almost-prez’s thoughts on running for the top job in 2008

Still want the guy who coulda been a contender to be our prez? There’s hope. Even though many, many folks (including Gore himself) have eschewed the likelihood of Tipper’s main man participating in the spectacularly self-flagellating process of campaigning for the post of U.S. chief honcho, I’m told by high-up Gore campers this political surprise distinctly remains a very real possibility.

"He would do it,” continued the A.G. blabber, “but only, absolutely, if it looked like nobody else could take it.”

I dunno, call me a pessimist (I am gay and over 40, so what the ef do you expect?), but Al-babe, I think your time has arrived. Throw your damn hat in, already! I’ve been reporting for eons that my Washington pundits—admittedly, a bunch second only to T-town types for being full of hot O2—say no way in Hades could Obama or Clinton ride victorious right into the Oval Office, where Hillary’s hubby, natch, used to play with the interns.

So sorry to digress on that soiled little bit, but I’m doing it for a reason. See, the Republicans on the Potomac whom I correspond with (and, trust me, got more than a few) have assured me their ilk will make it their mission to drag up every female-dallying doing Bill Clinton ever participated in should Hillary get the Dem nomination. Totally inappropriate, natch, but still will not be a pretty campaign, to say the least.

And Obama? Can he win?

Be prepared, Al, be very prepared.

Paris Hilton, hittin’ up yet another charity event. This par-tick party was a benefit at the Malibu Inn for a local kid with cancer. Beachy snitters report Hilton didn’t seem wobbly-bobbly, was wearing a semidemure outfit and looked “all right...not the best.” Is anyone else yawning yet? We miss the table-dancing days! Shakin’ some booty in another beachside spot was...

Patrick Ewing, partyin’ with just a li'l bit o’ sweat, Aura nightclub Wednesday night. Bahamas. The former New Yawk Knickser was sippin’ Fiji water all night long while chillin’ with his toothy entourage (that doesn’t mean they were gay, so calm down, everybody). The B-ball bud got his glistening gyrations on way into the early ayem hours, according to movin’ ‘n’ shakin’ types. Also on vacay elsewhere was...

Nate Berkus, Oprah's certified right-hand designin’ man at the Wiener's Circle. Saturday. Chi-town. The decor-minded dude, sportin’ jeans ‘n’ a button-down shirt with rolled-up sleeves, tried to lie low as he chowed down on char-dogs all evening with a mystery male. “Nate seemed shy and didn’t want to be recognized,” reported our wiener witness. Also noticed were N.B. ‘n’ friend's choices of bling. “They were wearing matching gold watches.” Too cute. Grillin’ weenies of another kind was...

Dog, of A&E’s Dog the Bounty Hunter, talkin’ deets in DeeCee last Thursday. The Fairmont Hotel. Decked down in a white tee, black jeans ‘n’ no glasses, the brawny blonde was gabbin’ cell-side on one of the hotel’s balconies. “He was attached to his cell phone,” said Desk Canine. Wonder if the legally embattled bounty hunter was yappin’ to his lawyer? Or more likely, trying to get to the friggin' bottom of just where the hell the First Lady's hiding out from Dubya, right?

Not to further frazzle anybody’s already entirely tortured same-sex detective efforts, but got some news on Toothy Tile, the young actor who just can’t seem to make up his mind on whether or not he wants to come outta the closet. T.T. has spoken—discreetly, of course—to both Time and Newsweek about the possibility of declaring his sexuality publicly. So far, no go, as T.T. prefers to lie low and protect his private life with an increasingly domesticated home front, i.e., procreating with the b-f and all that reproductive jazz.

Jeez, and I thought it was a little much when Jon and I got Margo. I mean, Toothy’s, like, headed down total Beaver Cleaver Lane! (Only in some fashions, mind you.)

As long as we’re about to make each other throw up, let’s just go all the way and gab—so veddy quickly—on Star Jones (who just dropped the "Reynolds" from her pro name, soon to be followed by the hubby himself, mark my very gay, gossipy words). Catch her first show on Court TV? Don’t worry, didn’t miss much other than her kissing Isaiah Washington’s ass more than I smooch Oprah’s derriere.

Oh, actually, there was one itty-bitty bombshell, ya hear it? S.J. referred to Washington’s reported scurrilous antigay remarks as a “dustup.”

Dustup? Not even saying if Washington’s guilty of said homophobic crimes, Ms. J. (though my Grey’s sources assure me the hothead certainly is), but are you telling me if any honky dude had been notoriously accused of calling somebody the N-word, you’d interrogate said white guy about his “dustup”?

You sure are a rich bitch, bitch! (And I ain’t talkin’ green.)