In a last-ditch attempt to keep her ass out of jail, Paris Hilton may be bringing yet another lawyer onto her team, celeb DUI lawyer Richard Hutton. Paris met with him yesterday, and was caught on video sobbing in a car as her mother tried to console her. This video is so, so staged. She’s an awful actress. This car has tinted windows. Why were they rolled all the way down? So that the paparazzi could get this video and everyone can see just how hard this is for Paris. Yeah, right.

Paris is so damn concerned about this DUI arrest that she is driving a car again. Please remember, people, her license is still suspended, and driving on a suspended license is why she’s sentenced to jail. And yet, inexplicably, she decided to take her Bentley out for a little spin yesterday. Argh. Whatever happened to public stonings? They fell out of fashion in the U.S. for some reason, and I think now is an appropriate time to bring them back. Who’s with me?

Paris. Hilton. Is Fucking. Goddamn. Driving.

The soon-to-be jail bird was snapped driving her £100,000 blue Bentley convertible less than a week after being handed a 45 day jail term.

The 26-year-old was given the sentence for breaking the terms of her probation in an alcohol-related reckless driving case.

Despite having her licence suspended, Paris was followed by photographers as she lost her way in LA, finishing up in a dead-end even after reading print-out directions.

Photographers also reported she pulled three u-turns in a search for her final destination.

Oh my God. My head hurts. I can’t talk about this right now.

Samuel L. Jackson can look cool doing anything.

Chilling on Melrose yesterday.

And I’d just like to take a minute to apologize to all of you who don’t live in Los Angeles right now, because it has been 80 degrees and sunny for the past, like, four days straight, and it reminds me why I pay what I do in rent to live here. Plus everyone looks sexier when it’s a beautiful day, and Mr. Jackson is no exception.

Photo courtesy of our friends over at Buzz Foto.

Extreme Makeover host Ty Pennington was formally charged today with two misdemeanor DUI charges stemming from his arrest Saturday morning. Pennington had a blood alcohol level of 0.14, which is nearly twice CA’s legal limit of 0.08.

Um, it appears Ty’s going to need the services of the design team over at Extreme Makeover: Public Image Edition. Leslie Sloane-Zelnick hosts.

Brooke Hogan dons a surprisingly non-nauseating outfit to prance around Tokyo promoting her debut album, Undiscovered, which is, frankly, a pretty fucking gutsy thing to name your debut album. At least make us work for the mean headlines when it flops, Brooke.

This movie Georgia Rule comes out Friday and it’s very odd. It will make around $40 at the box office because the masses are still lining up to see Spidey but I thought I’d mention it anyway (as sort of a community service).

It’s sort of about molestation. Yet it tries to be funny most of the time. Exactly.

It is from the guy who directed Pretty Woman, where it was completely glossed over that Julia Roberts sold her body for money, so I guess I get the ambition. They thought they could get away with this strangeness.

But they didn’t. Lohan is sometimes good, sometimes bad, and her stardom is still way more based on her lady business than it his her skills.

Wonder how long that can last?

Oh, one more thing, despite how the picture looks Jane Fonda’s floating head isn’t a focal point of the film.

OMG you guys I am sooooo excited. I was talking to my boss last night, and somehow the topic of Cathouse came up (no, I have no idea how that happened. I’m still trying to figure it out). Anyway, he was like, “You know, a new season’s starting soon,” and I was like “Do not fuck with me about Cathouse,” and he was like, “No, I’m not kidding, it starts again on Saturday.” So I just now crossed my fingers, said a little prayer, and went to the website. And, sure enough, new episodes start on May 12!!

AIRFORCE AMY!

SUNSET THOMAS!

ISABELLA SOPRANO!

WELCOME BACK INTO MY LIFE!!! I was so sad without you guys.

The episodes will air monthly, and there’s only six of them, but just in case you don’t have HBO, guess who’ll be recapping them? Yes, that’s right. What? You thought I’d pass up the opportunity to recap porn? Fuck no.

Bring it.

Jesus, how many more of these are left? Three hours sleep last night — the insomnia is back — but I’m feeling pretty good and rearin’ to go.

Ryan starts out by saying that there are “three girls, and only one guy.” The camera pans across their faces — Jordin grins, Melinda fake-grins, LaKisha fake-grins, and Blake looks like you just told him you’d actually love it if he’d put it in your ass, and please don’t use a condom, because it won’t feel as good and it’s not like you can get pregnant that way.

This is American Idol!

Oh man. Everyone’s singing twice tonight. All the music comes from Barry Gibb, who I guess started as a member of the BeeGees, which makes sense because his initials are B.G. Huh. I feel like I learned something today. So basically, kids, prepare yourself for an evening of the songs your parents listen to. Or, for some of you, your grandparents, because your parents are, like, my age. Because I’m old. But let’s not dwell on that.

Ryan’s all like, “We are so going to run over time tonight. And that’s awesome because it’s my responsibility to keep us running on time, and I’m the one who takes shit in notes because Randy has to name-drop and Paula has to slur and then Simon has to berate everybody and every week, somehow, this is my fault. And yet, strangely, I still don’t have a producer credit on this show. Can someone explain that? Seriously. Jesus.”

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