Revs 'n' (Eye) Rolls!

Britney Spears stops surprising, while Nic Cage starts his (possibly legal) engines. Plus, you will be delightfully so not shocked by how Dubya’s being dissed not just by several bookish types but by his own damn party! Who says Monday’s can’t be cause for celebration?!

Poor A.J. Hammer. The sassy Showbiz Tonight host I like so much just had me on last week to talk about the “startling” news that Britney Spears might have made some sort of deal with the pap agency X17 to let them know of her whereabouts, just so they could document her every delicious, depraved detail.

First of all, of course, Spears has an arrangement with X17 (we happen to know, fer sure, here at AT). But anyway, that’s sorta like wondering if certain brow-perf actresses with hunky hubbys (times two) have had Botox, know what I mean? Like, I told A.J. to get real. Klieg-light hungry hell-raisers such as Lindsay and Paris and Brit-Brit do this all the friggin’ time!

Excuse me, Mr. H, if my manner was less than polite. Growing up a fruit in right-wing Texas left me terribly scarred—not that I’m excusing my tacky manners, mind you. Far from it. And certainly more hideous on the bad-behavior front would be that sleaze-toy the Britster’s hangin' with right now, her “manager,” Sam Lutfi.

Did you all know this joker had two restraining orders issued against him? Once in 2004, then again in 2005. For alleged verbal and physical assault. This is who Britney wants her kids hangin’ around? Should the careless mama ever decide to leave Petco and go and try to give a cat’s ass and get her boys back from the courts. Doesn’t look to be happening any time soon.

Nic Cage’s publicist sent us a very bossy letter. This, of course, was in response to a small item we did on Cage’s former costar, the big-ass boss-broad herself, Kathleen Turner, and her new book, Send Yourself Roses. We barely skirted the dirt in that tell-all, and—faster than you could say Tom Cruise-like—we got a letter declaring how Cage never did all the heinous things Kathy-love said he did. Only thing is, we never repeated the accusations. So, what? We’re supposed to print Turner’s book excerpts, so we can then, in turn, print Cage’s denials?

Think we’ll pass on that one.

But look. What’s really going on here? Bitterness. I mean, isn’t that usually the best s--t that makes for good Hollywood tell-alls, anyway? Look at Julia Phillips’ You’ll Never Eat Lunch in This Town Again, if you don’t believe me.

K.T., much like Sunset Boulevard’s famed veteran broad, Norma Desmond, is at that age when Tinseltown thinks it’s squeezed everything it can get out of an actress, and any new contact is just mere formality. The woman may be getting on in years, but she’s damn regal doing it. Kate’s self-penned book attacks film legends like Michael Douglas, Nicolas Cage and Burt Reynolds, taking their celebrity down several naughty notches in the breathy process. But could K.T.'s slipping silver-screen secrets in her life story be from some major pent-up jealousy?

Kathy’s had both stage and screen acclaim, but she hasn’t achieved the same superficial success as her male costars—at all. Douglas is worth approximately $200 mil. Nic Cage ain’t poor, that’s fer sure...He’s buying up $10 mil mansions all over the country. That’s National Treasure moolah! And, ‘course, he gets about $15 million per film now. Did he get that much for sucking in The Wicker Man? Never mind.

The point is, even though I know Turner’s a wildly unpredictable, not exactly professional (look at her book) be-yotch, she operates in a game that’s clearly geared much more taking care of the dudes—not the babes. No wonder she’s printing potty-mouthed poopings! The dame’s incensed.

(It’s also exactly why I plan on buying the book, once I can get myself outta the coma I’m currently in while reading Andrew Morton’s Cruise “tell-all.” Oh, please.)

Let’s get the heck out of Hell-Ay for a mo' and check in with the infinitely reliable Desk DeeCee, shall we? Our sources at La Maison Blanche say the hubbub inside is pretty positive it’s gonna be McCain vs. Clinton, come election time. They figure them Dems will pick Hills as their number one girl, confident she can one-two punch McCain off the presidential pedestal—or at least she’s got a stronger chance than Obama-babe, poor guy.

Gotta say, I’m all shrugs when it comes to picking the clear candidate. But I’m def dead-set on not starting another four to eight years under the leadership of a prez with some personal issues to work out...Knowing gab is that John McCain has a très terrible temper that could heat up the Oval Office more than Monica ever did. And yet people are still worried about Hil having a moody time of the month, like she'd release a nuclear attack ‘cause of cramps.

Desk D.C. insists the White House is being royally snubbed—by its own party! See, the Potomac poop is that none of the (Republican) White House hopefuls are returning calls from any of the current Bush staff to climb aboard their campaigns. Gee, wonder why? Maybe Dubya can fill in some of the blanks for us

Also, GWB is planning on writing a book once he’s up and out of the White House. I know what you’re thinking—a coloring book? A pop-up book? Surely, it couldn’t possibly be an actual memoir, chock-full of verbs and nouns and all types of punctuation?

Alas, my lovelies, it may very well be just that. Think Bush will actually dig down deep about his drug-addled past, his back-to-back terms of mayhem or his deteriorating relaysh with the First Lady? Allow me to roll my eyes with a resounding not on your life. Prezzi B’s reached out to about seven or eight writers to help him out with the big words like president and the difference between there and they’re, but no one’s biting to help pen the book.

No one.

Makes sense. I’d rather reread Andy Morton’s yawn job every week for a year.