Here’s to Cell(block) Phones for the Tap ‘n’ Tell Set

A 27-year-old Studio City photographer just got busted by the FBI for allegedly eavesdropping on a cellular phone conversation between Hollywood film stars Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman, then selling what he knew to one of those “Oprah Weds O.J.,” “Madonna Gains 100 Pounds,” “Hillary Warns Monica: He’s Mine!” tabloid rags.

I keep thinking one thing:

He’s a photographer.

Why isn’t he selling photographs?

“Hello? News of the World? I just heard Tom and Nicole talk on the phone. Is that news of the world?”

“Depends. What did they say?”

“She asked Tom to bring home a quart of milk.”

“Go on.”

“And a loaf of bread.”

“OK, kid. Come get your money.”

Kidman, Cruise Out of Bread, paper reveals.

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I am against the death penalty, but am willing to discuss exceptions being made for men who murder, rape and sell celebrity cellular conversations.

Talk about sleazeballs.

Hey, go through Tom’s and Nicole’s garbage, why don’t you? At least that would require some physical labor.

Here’s a prince of a guy, according to the feds, who adapts a radio scanner so he can intercept private cell phone calls. What a wonderful occupation. How proud his relatives must be.

I saw this gentleman referred to in the paper as a “paparazzo.”

That’s funny. I thought paparazzi used cameras. Call me crazy, but I was always under the impression that a paparazzo’s ambition was to take pictures of interesting people, such as Tom and Nicole, and then see if any newspapers or magazines would care to print those pictures, even if people such as Tom and Nicole didn’t agree to have their picture taken.

Not always nice, not always noble, but not exactly new.

For most of this century, Hollywood’s stars have had flashbulbs going off in their faces, like it or not. Sometimes they flash back all 32 teeth at the photographers. Other times, they flash one of their 10 fingers. It depends on the star. On the whole, celebrities understand that somebody out there is always looking to capture them on film.

But their private phone calls?

A wife speaking with a husband?

Every time you think human beings can’t sink any lower, they find new bottoms to feed off. I mean, what next? Tom’s ATM code? Nicole’s dental X-rays? Audiotapes of Tom’s snoring? Never-before-seen video of Nicole flossing?

This wasn’t a “scene” between a Hollywood couple at a swanky restaurant, where the wife splashed a martini in the husband’s face. This was a telephone call. It wasn’t even a public telephone, where Tom or Nicole were accidentally overheard by some chump who couldn’t resist trying to pick up some change. It was a portable phone that was virtually tapped by an eavesdropper trying to do just that.

If convicted, Mr. Photographer, you could get up to 15 years in prison. Good. You can call the tabloids with tips on how Big Vinnie and Mad Dog McGurk over in Cellblock B are planning to bust out. Or you can call to tell everything that’s happening at night in your cell. Then you’ll really have a cell phone.

“So,” some large individual with tattoos will inquire, “I hear you were a peeping tom.”

“No, peeping on Tom,” you can say.

Then you can have a nice conversation.

I’ll tell Tom and Nicole to slip the warden a few bucks so he can monitor your private chats. Then they can call the tabloids.

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This has happened before. It happened to Britain’s royals. I understood photographers trying to get a photo of Princess Diana and her new companion in public a lot more than I understood somebody trying to get her or Prince Charles’ private phone talks.

The leader of the U.S. government could lose his position soon, partly because some other sleazeball secretly taped a phone conversation of his lover.

I haven’t heard so much phone eavesdropping since Doris Day lived next door to Rock Hudson in “Pillow Talk.”

Tom and Nicole are good-looking people. I don’t mind looking at pictures of them. I also generally like looking at their motion pictures. But I have no need for their pillow talk or phone calls.

I just want them to come to the photographer’s trial. They could both shoot pictures of him, saying, “Just one more. Just one more.”

Mike Downey’s column appears Sundays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Write to him at Times Mirror Square, Los Angeles 90053, or e-mail mike.downey@latimes.com