Naughty and Vice

Who's really been knockin' Ryan Phillippe's busy bedposts, and what makes Kate Hudson think amour's gonna work with her prob ex this time? Hollywood, so badass, it's almost boring. Almost. Oh, and we got a lovely little groin-obsessed Mini-Blind for ya, too evil!

Adore that my old E! colleague Howard Stern questioned the crap out of hubby-with-the-leastest Ryan Phillippe the other day, remember? Had Reese's ex practically squirming with questions on who R.P. banged—and did not bang—before, during and after Ryan and Reese's marriage. Really sleazy, fun stuff. And hard as Howie was pressing Ryan to admit it was indeed Abbie Cornish who finally doomed Ryan's already shaky marriage, Ryan actually evaded correctly when he didn't exactly say that was the case.

For one salacious thing, a marriage that isn't ready to end doesn't. Isn't that what Angelina Jolie was so busy bitching to everybody who'd listen, when Jennifer and Brad busted up? (This was back before Jolie became the baby-magnet otherwise known as Saint Photo Opportunity, 'course.) And for two salacious things, Abbie is not entirely to blame—should you take that sexist, tired, home-wrecking stance over the demise of the Witherspoon-Phillippe union. 

Now, what I don't get, is how Stern—who's known for grilling public figures with all the finesse of a meat cleaver, when it comes to sexual appetites of all kinds—completely missed on what else (and who else) he should have been giving R.P. the third penile degree on. Why's that, Mr. S? Thought you were the best.

Which oh-so-famous young couple parted ways not that long ago, he and she both of multitalented varieties, over her fairly indiscreet dalliances? Can you imagine, perhaps, who we are inferring? Sure ya can! Guess what? Just found out what caused that poor hon to be so naughty with other dudes while she was off filming on location. Turns out, while back at home in Hollywood, missy's hubby had a "light switch" for a penis (so reports a switch-witness). Hence, philandering wifey—we'll call her Inpenna Never-Trated—felt totally at a loss and doomed, sexually speaking, until she was woken up by costar X, soon to be followed by dude Z and the rest of the male alphabet. Girl was dee-lighted to discover what she'd been missing!

If at first you don't succeed, try, try again, right-o? Guess that's Kate Hudson's motto, since the not-exactly-pregnant-lookin' lady flew down to Miami to meet up with re-ignited flame Owen Wilson, who's in Ef-Hell-Ay while filming Marley & Me.

Surely in the spirits for some cinema, the two checked out a flick—wonder if they saw Drillbit Taylor at the megaplex, or maybe Fool's Gold down at the dollar theater? The patched-up pair partied on St. Patty's Day, dining at intimate eatery Michael's Genuine Food & Drink in the Miami Design District.

Don't worry, Ow-hon kept his distance from imbibing any green beer on the rowdy holiday. We hope the funnyman's sobriety is inspired by doctor's orders. We all know thou shalt not glug back any Guinness while on meds, fer sure.

Every face in the damn place couldn't keep from glancing over at the gorgeous blonde and her slanty-nosed beau, but Michael's is certainly known to be star-friendly—the whole cast of Marley has made the eclectic eatery a second home of sorts. O.W.'s costar Eric Dane was the first to rant and rave about the restaurant, and Jennifer Aniston has cozied up in a booth with her BFF and tress-setter Chris McMillan.

Chrissy-boy has been by J.A.'s side through all her romantic foibles—cue the corny Friends theme here, folks. I mean, you know this, already, right? The fagola fella's a nice safe bet for a date. He's also stuck with his hairiest customer around through things thick and thin (not to mention tattooed and brunette).

Bet ya wouldn't catch Angie being anybody's fag hag, mostly 'cause every gay man I know admits that they'd straighten up if they got a shot with Miss Jolie-Pitt. Strike that as another zing for Jenny. Gal can't ever win, can she?

David Blaine was seen not in a block of ice, buried underneath the ground or levitating in front of shrieking strangers, rendering him completely unrecognizable—'cept for that smug look always plastered on his mug. The magic man dined with five pals at In-Why-See's SushiSamba on a Tuesday night, sporting an average Joe look of a blah-'n'-bland T-shirt and jeans. Personally, I like my magicians elegantly dressed to the nines in a tux-and-cape combo, à la Copperfield, thanks. 

The chummy sextet slurped up the sake and sushi. Soon enough, Dave decided he needed a little attention and started doing magic tricks—my bad, illusions—at the bar. No levitating this time, though, since no cameras were around, not that we're insinuating the legitimacy of Blaine's biz, of course. The DJ appropriately played the Steve Miller Band's '80s hit "Abracadabra" to Dave-babe's delight, and D.B. and his crew went poof!, disappearing right before the bar closed.

Religion's a taboo subject even in a respectable-like newspaper, and when it winds up in a gossip column, you know there's gonna be some controversy a-comin'. No, for once we're not squawking about Scientology, so don't speed-dial your lawyers just yet, Cruisey-boy.

Scarlett Johansson's directorial debut is a five-minute short in the upcoming hodgepodge of Big Apple anecdotes, New York, I Love You, and it turns out these five Manhattan minutes are stirring up a whole lot of hullabaloo. Believe it or don't, it's not ScarJo's questionable filmmaking abilities that people are arguing about.

The miniflick stars the other Boleyn girl, Natalie Portman, as a Hasidic Jew about to get hitched. But it's Nat's onscreen Hasidic hubby-to-be, newcomer Abraham Karpen, that's causing the commotion. Karpen, who's both an aspiring actor and Hasidim in real life, was forcibly ousted from the film, as you may have heard, by his rabbi, who said no-no to any involvement in the vignette.

Apparently, the ultra-orthodox chosen peeps are forbidden from flipping TV channels, catching a flick or navigating the Net, not to mention starring in a high-profile pic. But how do you complain about how frustrating Lost is if you can't watch it? Or how Simon Cowell's becoming a friggin' recalcitrant rabbi himself, with his absurd AI dismissals?

'Course, we respect all religious views here, but it seems pretty upsetting that Abie-babe's kids were threatened to be kicked out of their religious school if A.K. kept up his acting activities. Isn't there enough time in the day to please God and an art-house audience?

And can you imagine if Scientologists had the same restrictions as the Hasidim? Then the world would never see Tom Cruise, Kirstie Alley or John Travolta in a movie again. On second thought...Oh, and looks like Scar-hon's back to auditioning another mensch for her movie. Just please don't throw a yarmulke on Ryan Reynolds, doll.

Dear Ted:
Leave Nicole Kidman alone. She didn't attack the paparazzi, her bodyguard did. Paparazzi should keep a decent distance from someone to get the shot—not scare them by chasing/pushing/being aggressive.
  Julie
  Seattle

Dear Wants It Both Ways:
If you really want to take a stand, don't buy or patronize any celeb-centered journalistic entity that employs any safari-like coverage whatsoever—a rag collection that you'll soon discover is right around the number, oh,  zero. And Nic pays the salary of the guy who supposedly clobbered the schmuck photographer. Sorry, the blood's on her hands, too.