Slippery When Preset

Paris Hilton has found not only yet another way to get us to gab about her (a crime like no other, I kid you friggin' not) but the former jailed babe has found herself a new friend: Adrian Grenier! The Entourage stud-sausage and the hottie-heiress arrived together for the Forest Ethics screening of Leo DiCaprio's new doc, The 11th Hour, Thursday night. And not only did they saunter in together—via Adrian's eco-friendly Prius, natch, as A's a veddy quick learner to all things Professor Red Carpet, P.H., has to teach—but even more importantly, the rather odd couple also left together, before the movie even started. Now, Adrian had already seen said flick the night before and was only there to support Forest Ethics, but Paris was supposedly scheduled to stay and watch the eco doc. Where were these two single strutters hurrying off to, I wonder? An advanced seminar in suck-face studies? Much more green, girlie and gonzo gab from P and A.G. comin' atcha next week...

But for now, let's dish on the designing dude who took a hot-tub dip with Britney and landed the cover of Us Weekly. Also raisin’ moist eyebrows are myriad celeb air-brushers and stand-ins—not to mention Lindsay Lohan’s taxed amigas, most of whom are fed up with the demanding gal!

If you don’t know who Matt Encinias is, you probably will once you hit the checkout line this week. He’s the shirtless spa-goer featured on the cover of Us Weekly in the swirling, steamy waters with a topless Britney Spears. The chiseled coed spent a night with Brit-Brit after being an extra in her music vid, and b-friend was savvy enough to take pics. Although chlorine-stained insiders claim Matt didn’t get paid for his interview with the mag (or for other studly services), he did enjoy mucho green for those wet ’n’ mildly wild photos with the mindless mama. One in-the-know ink-stained type tells us the chiseled chump got around 50,000 smackers for the salacious snaps.

Matt also apparently didn’t know he was gonna get the cover spot when the flesh finangler rang up Us to peddle said story. Idiot! What, he thought UW’s editors were going to opt for Spielberg’s fracas with the Chinese over their participation in Sudan? Nevertheless, the aspiring actor was quite pleased with his front-and-center placement. “He was so stoked,” dishes a source. “He thinks this will help further his career.”

Uh, so don’t know about that devilish desire. Remember Jason Alexander? Then again, this heartless posturing (kinda) worked for Kevin Federline, so maybe he’s not totally dumb. Read on for other weighty dynamics considering our gal B.S.

Just asking here, folks, but what the ef’s with the hell-raisin’ hullabaloo over Britney’s utterly surprising bod parts for her new perfume campaign? This is a gal who’s essentially taken a machete to her soul and facade for more than a year now, and people are gasping that the former pop-hon ain’t fessing up to how she really looks? That’s like asking Star Jones Reynolds to ’splain what other happenings she’s participated in besides stomach stapling.

Take a look at Ebony. I realize she’s far less theatrical to poke round (SJR’s hot-tub exploits, 'course, aren’t nearly as breathless to behold), but the new, honest, improved, whatever Star is anything but. Hey, at least Britney is honest about being a walking Taco Bell disposal—it’s the campers who never are.

(And why in the wondering world is nobody nosing around Showtime’s Californication campaign? David Duchovny wishes he had tits that firm.)

Regarding those who hang, tongues dangling, by a celeb’s side 24/7, it’s hardly a surprise, but Lindsay Lohan’s buds have just about had it:

“She’ll take your BlackBerry,” fessed a just-thisclose-to-falling-out Lindsay BFF, “and demand to know why you’re messaging somebody other than her. And this is while she’s right next to you!”

Well, doesn’t everybody BlackBerry their mouths now instead of using them the old-fashioned way, as they were intended—you know, for kissing Josh Duhamel’s bum ’n’ such? “She’s incredibly paranoid about being left out—she must be involved in everything all the time,” the Lohan amiga added about the meltdown dame’s mindset.

“She can’t bear to be left alone,” remarked another fellow party-till-you-post-bail chum. “She goes crazy if she’s by herself.” Which is why life after rehab never works for L2. Hey, if you can’t stand to stay one friggin’ night alone in your pad (as I’m assured Lindsay is incapable of), then how the heck are you gonna handle being alone, even though you’ve got a billion buds? Linds, hon, what in the world are you running from that you don’t want to face when you’re in that too-rare quiet time? Tell us! We won’t tell anybody, swear.

Also chatted with Jaime Pressly recently when the My Name Is Earl gal hit up last week’s Maxim dig. J.P. was dishin’ out more A-list advice, including weight loss in H-town.

“Everybody wants this miracle drug,” the recent birthin’ babe said. “I’ll be quite frank: I busted my ass in the gym (and still am) two hours a day, five days a week, and have watched what I’m eating.”

Me, too, girlfriend! And the only thing I’ve mothered lately is a 12-pound mutt from the pound named Margo (who poops more than most babes in this town eat, mind you). Sturdy J.P. elaborated:

“It’s like…get your willpower. That’s the miracle drug.” If only all those air-thin gals could hear you, Jaime-doll! I’m sure they would so get to grabbin’ their gym bags instead of bags of stuff, eh? 

Not as keen on tough love at the same shindig was Kathy Griffin, who weighed in on Whoopi’s new stint at the The View ’n’ how another lighthearted lady voice might help the frenzied femmes on set. 

“I’m very excited to watch Whoopi,” K.G., who, reportedly, was in the final running for one of the host spots, gushed. “I just absolutely love her. I’m glad they didn’t shy away from a comedian, because I know people were like, 'Oh, too many comedians,’ but comedians are different, as women are different—she’s very suited for that job.” 

Okay, that’s quite enough, Kath. Grace is not your strong suit. I was buyin’ it up to a point, but when you—notorious belle of the cojones-bustin’ ball—didn’t razz on Whoops one iota, I knew you were seething!