Criminals, Detectives, And French Jewels

 

Hunt Continues For Missing Jewels After Brazen Theft From The Louvre

Paris (Reuters) The strange case of the Louvre jewel theft in October continues to captivate the world, even with four suspects in custody. Several pieces stolen in the brazen theft, done in less than ten minutes by a group of thieves using a cherry picker lift from outside, are still missing. Security at the famous Paris museum is being raked over the coals for the inept response. And the greatest law enforcement officials in France continue to work the case. 

On October 19th, thieves used a cherry picker machine to intrude into the Louvre in broad daylight by breaking a window and making off with multiple crown jewels held in the museum. An estimated haul of 102 million remains unaccounted for, after one item, the crown of Eugenie, was dropped during the escape. It was all done within minutes. The group fled on scooters from the scene, enraging the country's populace. The cherry picker had been stolen several days prior to the theft.

Prosecutors believe the four arrested individuals to be petty crooks and not professionals tied to organized crime. They do note that petty crooks are becoming more daring in their acts, as this highlights. "It is an embarrassment to the country as a whole," one said under anonymity. "The Louvre is a jewel among museums of the world, and for this nonsense to happen... it is unthinkable. This sort of thing makes you want to bring back the guillotine."

Police continue to hunt for additional suspects, and the remaining jewels have not yet been found. Unlikely suspects have been named and dismissed. The security team at the Louvre is being questioned for any involvement, as well as their own ineptitude in the matter. Interpol is keeping an eye on unscrupulous dealers who might think that they have a chance of moving the jewels to unscrupulous customers. And one of France's greatest detectives is leading the response to the case. "We will find them wherever they may hide, let me assure of you of that," he told reporters outside the Louvre. "They think they are clever, and they may be, but they are not so clever as Inspector..."

"Clouseau!" came a voice from across the street, as loud as could be.

"That is not my name, monsieur!" Chief Inspector Charles Aznavour cheerfully called back.

Some in the media have suggested the involvement of Harvard symbologist Robert Langdon, who is known for an incident at the Louvre years ago, among several others. Langdon has been known to get involved in pot boiler plots that make him initially appear guilty before being proved innocent after unravelling byzantine schemes and secrets linked to art. He also bears a striking resemblance to actor Tom Hanks. Langdon denied being anywhere near Paris. "It's been six months since I've been in Europe," Langdon told reporters in a conference call. "I've been working on my latest book, which explores the hidden secrets in the painting American Gothic, by Grant Wood."

Regardless, French authorities are eager to arrest anyone else involved in the theft, especially if they hang around with Daniel Ocean. These are cultural treasures, after all, and must be recovered. Fears of their disappearing into anonymous vaults forever are out there, but police are determined to find the suspects. Aznavour, after having words with the heckler who compared him to a bumbling film detective played by Peter Sellers, said as much to the press. "They are running out of time. They cannot hide, for the strong eyes of the law are searching for them. And if they should attempt to cross the ocean, we have friends in Interpol over there who will intercept them." 

One of those friends is the legendary Mountie, Canadian RCMP Inspector Lars Ulrich, often mistaken for the Metallica drummer of the same name, even though they look nothing alike. Ulrich is fresh off an epic five hundred kilometre chase of Mad Jack Munro, who in the space of three months robbed sixteen banks through the Canadian west until being brought down by the fearsome lawman, who threw him into Dead Man's Canyon before arresting him. Ulrich was reached at his detachment in the Alberta foothills. "If they need my help, I'll give it," Ulrich said. "But I know Inspector Aznavour. He's the best they've got. Even if people keep mistaking him for a dead singer."

A Haunting On The Maine Coast

Mysterious Deaths Plague Maine Coast; Spectral Activity Or Serial Killer?

Portland, Maine (AP) It is a landscape with a rich history, tall tales, and dark superstitions, if you pay heed to the old timers sitting outside the small town general stores swapping stories. The coast of Maine has always been a place of the sea, of ghost stories and wild woodlands, of strange sightings and things that go bump in the night. As of late, that appears to be weighing heavily on the minds of people living along the Atlantic coast, where in the last two months, a mysterious series of unexplained deaths have been taking place.

Seventeen people have died in mysterious circumstances. Police have confirmed that in each case, while no physical injury has been inflicted on them- at least by another party- each have been found with an expression in death being one of sheer horror. "As if they'd seen a ghost," Captain George Allen of the Maine State Police said at the scene of the latest death, where a seventy eight year old woman had been found on a beach, having had fallen from a bluff below. "Her injuries appear to have been sustained in the fall, but her face was locked in terror."

She remains unnamed pending notification of family, but she was last seen the prior evening in the local town of Cabot Cove at a library board meeting before being found by a beach walker at dawn. 

In each case of the seventeen dead, all were known to be well liked in their communities. "Who would have wanted to hurt my dad?" teacher Cassandra Tupper said. Her father, Lyle Tupper, was an area doctor who was the first to be found dead, in a similar state, in his backyard in early March. Neighbours had heard an unearthly scream. When Tupper had been found moments later, he was seen to be alone, fallen on the ground, his face locked in horror. No one had been seen to leave the yard, or to enter it. At least not by living eyes. 

A doorbell camera across the street did capture something- but it only raised more questions. Police are tight lipped about it, but one source, speaking anonymously, said, "for a few seconds, this misty shape can be seen emerging from the side laneway, and then disappears off screen. I don't know about you, but I know ghosts when I see one."

A ghost of who, that is the question. Doctor Tupper was a resident of the small town of Cabot Cove. Son of the sheriff. Brother of another sheriff. A well liked doctor, affable and friendly. With not an enemy in the world. No one to speak ill of him in any way. A common thread with the other victims in these cases.

But Cabot Cove has a dark history. 

It was once the home of the world's most prolific serial killer. The murder mystery novelist Jessica Fletcher, who died in a Canadian prison in 2022 after being brought down by the world's crankiest lawman, exposed for having had committed thousands of murders over decades. 

Her final resting place is in Cabot Cove, alongside her late husband- who, ironically, was her first victim. She died on Hallowe'en night, 2022, in solitary confinement after killing another inmate sixty years younger than her. Stories that went around after her conviction indicated that of a deranged, psychopathic, remorseless monster who would speak of eating the heart of the very lawman who arrested her. Her loved ones were shocked by the allegations, the arrest, the conviction, and her ultimate end. Her home in Cabot Cove remains empty, despite being held on the market by her nephew Grady. Not even the bravest children dare to trespass, warning each other what might happen if they do. Stories are shared more and more of a spectral shade wandering the coast, late at night, of an unseen female voice with an English accent speaking about torture.

Local psychic Dru Blaise has her own perspective. "All of the people who have died. I believe they may have been on her to-do list. She knew everyone here. And we were all fooled by her. Is it possible that she meant to kill all of us over time? I don't know. But my dreams have been dark as of late. I see a malevolence in these parts, offering tea with arsenic and an English accent."

Sheriff Angus Tupper, who has spent years since the arrest of Cabot Cove's most famous and infamous resident trying to understand the depth of her depravity, had this to say. "Well, if anyone could claw their way back from hell, it would be her. Which, if you'd asked me twenty years ago, I wouldn't have said so. But I've read her journals, and she was into some serious dark ****. Now, the idea of her also doing in my brother? Where does it end?"

Grady Fletcher, the dimwitted nephew of the murderer, sighed and shook his head. "I don't know. I don't get it. She's dead. I'm still trying to accept that my sweet old aunt was this psychopathic monster. But people don't come back from the dead. Ghosts? They're not real. But all the same, I think we've got to play it safe and call in the Ghostbusters on this one."

When told that the Ghostbusters aren't real, Fletcher looked even more confused. "Are you sure?"

Whatever the truth is, residents of the coast, particularly of Cabot Cove, are looking over their shoulders a lot more these days. 

The last word belongs to the lawman who ended her reign of terror. Legendary Mountie Inspector Lars Ulrich was found at his detachment in the Alberta foothills by a group of real reporters. After being assured that the real reporters were well aware that he was not the Metallica drummer Lars Ulrich, the inspector appeared to be at ease. "Whatever is happening out there does sound odd. But it doesn't mean it's a ghost."

"Hypothetically, though, if her vengeful spirit clawed its way back from the dead. Should you be worried? She swore eternal revenge against you in particular," this reporter noted.

Ulrich shrugged. "Let me put it to you this way. I don't believe in ghosts. But if ghosts were real, then I wouldn't be scared of them." 

He paused. "But they should be terrified of me."

At this point, there was the sound of footsteps and a raised voice. "Lars! Lars!" The reporters turned, seeing a goofy looking fresh faced guy in an ill fitting suit, followed by a cameraman. The reporters backed off, well too familiar with what the Mountie did to entertainment reporters. "Bobby Burns, Lars, Entertainment Tonight. Good to meet you. Lars, what the whole world wants to know is, what's the truth about the rumours that Metallica is doing an album with Adele?"

Ulrich looked ready to throttle him. "I am not that Lars Ulrich."

Burns looked confused. "Are you sure?"

What happened next wasn't pretty. Ulrich threw one hard left handed punch, sending Burns crashing twenty meters away. And then Ulrich started chasing him, as the entertainment reporter fled. It ended with Burns in a body cast, whimpering over and over about his favourite drummer kicking the crap out of him.

The Place Where Dreams Go To Die

Leafs Nation In Collective Mourning; Rest Of World Shrugs And Moves On

Toronto (CP) It's been a few days since the Boston Bruins beat the Toronto Maple Leafs in Round One of the Stanley Cup Playoffs, sending the Leafs packing early yet again. A game 7 finale which went to overtime saw the Cup drought in Toronto extend now to 57 years. There is much wailing and gnashing of teeth, questions being asked, blame being laid in Leafs Nation. Bars are doing a brisk business soothing the pain of the fans. Leafs management and players are wondering who among them will take the fall this time.

The game in Boston saw the Bruins win in overtime and advance to the next round. Thousands of fans gathered in Maple Leaf Square in Toronto watched and had their hearts dashed to pieces yet again as their Leafs blew it. Again. Generations of fans saying, 'next year' will continue unabated, though perhaps a few might take the hint and realize that next year will never come. Their team is cursed, and the curse is not getting lifted anytime soon.

"For lack of a better term, it's a collective delusion," sports psychologist Warren Alliston told this reporter. "People conditioned for decades, by their parents and grandparents, into believing that this year could be their year. That the Leafs would rise to the occasion. Instead of dealing with reality, which is that the Leafs suck."

When asked if that was a professional opinion, Alliston shrugged. "Not at all. I'm an Edmonton fan."

Wreaths have been placed around Maple Leaf Square, along with hats, t-shirts, and even jerseys in a state of mourning. People in familiar blue and white attire have been seen crying and holding each other for support in the downtown streets near the arena. Some of the more bitter have been seen burning a  Leafs jersey and vowing that they've had enough- though in fact they did the same last year, and will be replacing that jersey over the summer and giving their boys one more chance.

Head coach Sheldon Keefe was fired in recent days, part of the fallout of yet another broken season. "These things happen," he told reporters with a dismayed shrug afterwards. "It's part of the game. Nobody lasts forever in one team. I'll move on, do other things.... say, is anyone hiring?"

Team president Brendan Shanahan, who's been part of the Leafs for a decade with little to show for it, is under pressure from Leafs Nation to do something. "I know it's hard for the fans to have hope, but things will get better," Shanahan told reporters after the Keefe firing. "We're going to get the guys out on the ice next year and they'll play better and everything will be just as you dreamed of all those years when this team was floundering. I promise."

The fact that he's been saying pretty much the same thing in post-season press conferences for years is another matter entirely.

"We're doing great business," bar owner Ted Davis said from his downtown watering hole, The Penalty Shot. "Yeah, folks are feeling down about the guys losing like that, but that's what alcohol is for. It soothes the pain you're feeling in your heart and tells you that everything is going to get better. It's the best thing for you."

"Are you taking money from the liquor companies for saying that?" this reporter inquired.

"How did you know that?" Davis asked, heading back inside to feed the misery of a horde of Leafs fans.

"It's not fair!" one fan told this reporter afterwards, in the company of two friends. "That Cup belongs to us! It belongs to our boys! And we keep getting robbed of it. There's this great big ****in' conspiracy to keep the Stanley Cup out of the hands of the Leafs. And that ****er Bettman is right at the heart of it. He ****in' hates Toronto. Me and Harry and Jack, we're the biggest fans of the Leafs. Ever. And it breaks our hearts every year seein' this happen. Again and again and again. Our boys deserve this win. They deserve it! Am I right, boys?"

Harry and Jack nodded. This reporter inquired if they had considered that it might be time to give up on the team. "**** that! And what, root for the Jets?" 

It seems there is no reasoning with Leafs Nation. The grieving process continues. Some have channeled their pain in healthier ways and have moved on to root for the Blue Jays, since their season is just getting underway. But the pain for many continues to be drowned by alcohol, and punctuated by denial and bargaining. They continue to feed themselves the lie- that next year will be a better year, that all of this will be forgotten. And come October, they'll be back, crowding the Scotiabank Arena, earning their reputation as the most hated fans in the NHL all over again.

The last word goes to a man who seems to be the very definition of a Canadian. A legendary Mountie who's among the most formidable, dangerous, and grumpy people walking the earth today. RCMP Inspector Lars Ulrich was found by reporters at his detachment in the foothills of the Rockies in Alberta. The Inspector, whose low opinion of entertainment reporters is well known, was reassured that they were well aware that he was not the other Lars Ulrich. This seemed to lighten his mood. He was asked how he felt about the entire matter.

"I find it amusing. I'm an Oilers fan myself," Ulrich admitted. "And watching a bunch of Leafs fans tie themselves into knots of agony every year... well, it's hilarious."  

"Lars! Lars!" a voice called out from the back of the crowd. Reporters turned and saw a fresh faced entertainment reporter coming along, followed by a camera. "Lars, good to see you. Brad Bradley, Entertainment Tonight. What everyone wants to know, Lars, is why Metallica didn't attend the Met Gala. Any comment on that?"

The real reporters backed off to give the Inspector plenty of room. Ulrich glared at Bradley. "I am not that Lars Ulrich."

Bradley laughed. "Oh, such a kidder, Lars!"

What followed next was one left hook from the Inspector that sent Bradley flying forty meters. Ulrich was already pursuing him before Bradley even hit the ground. Bradley got up, with the Inspector hot on his heels in what became an epic chase all the way to Cemetery River. It ended with Bradley in a body cast in hospital, groaning incomprehensibly. 

This is what happens when you insult the world's grouchiest lawman.

An Annual Star Studded Waste Of Our Time

The Oscars are coming this weekend. As always, I will not be watching, as I'd rather have broken glass dropped into my eyes than put up with that. However, it's been my tradition to write how the Oscars ceremony should go. Complete with my own continuity from previous Oscar years.

Five days before the event actually is scheduled to take place, fans will start camping out for places around the Dolby Theater in Hollywood. They will be spending their time sharing gossip on the nominees, who will be wearing what, and who might be the sore loser of the nominees. In the interim, they'll be spending their time irritating nearby shop keepers with requests to use the washroom, and giving the Ubereats drivers plenty of business.

Producers Katy Mullan and Raj Kapoor will appear at the offices of the ABC network president to assure him that the ceremony will finish on time.

The president, fully aware that will never happen, will nod and assume that his network will be backlogged with delays all night and probably into the next day. He knows this from previous experience.

This year's host, Jimmy Kimmel, will be wondering how many times he can get away with Barbieheimer references.

Three days before the ceremony, at a local funeral home, morticians will be busy on the annual touch-ups of the body of Jack Nicholson. The actor, who died years ago during an Oscars ceremony, left a will that stipulates that his corpse be placed in the front row for each ceremony going forward. The morticians will periodically muse on how many seat fillers will have to be paid extra to sit around the embalmed body.

At a psychologist's office in LA, Leonardo DiCaprio will be attending a session. As is usually the case with Leo at this time of year, the subjects will be his deathly fear of Marisa Tomei and his habit of dating women under the age of 26. Left unsaid will be what the therapist writes on her notepad: "this guy looks ridiculous dating women half his age."

Tom Cruise will be at home. Faced with a restraining order forbidding him once again from coming near the Dolby Theatre after multiple years of breaking in anyway, in a series of daring stunts involving the physical maiming or deaths of multiple accomplice waiters/ wannabe actors, Cruise will shrug it off, already planning how he'll pull it off this year.

On the day of the ceremony, Will Smith will be at home, feeling sorry for himself, still deep in a ten year ban from attending the ceremony after the hitting Chris Rock fiasco. His wife Jada Pinkett-Smith will be upstairs, playing tonsil hockey with her son's best friend.

Determined to keep her away from the ceremony, Mullan and Kapoor will send a runner to the residence of Barbra Streisand to whisk her off to her supposed trip to the Oscars, but in fact a one way trip to St. Agnes' Home For The Deranged. The runner will find out that Barbra has sustained a head injury and doesn't remember who she is.

John Travolta will finish getting dressed to attend the ceremony, despite having had spent the last few years not doing anything remotely of acclaim. He'll nod to himself in the mirror, and say, "time to go, Julio Telesta."

Mullan and Kapoor will meet with their designated enforcers in the theater. Marisa Tomei and Tommy Lee Jones are going to be ensuring that nothing gets out of hand. "By the way, this includes run-time of winners speeches," Mullan will say.

"No it doesn't," Jones will reply back.

Tomei will agree. "We're here to kick butt and take names if anyone makes a scene. Not keep you on a schedule."

Stars will start to arrive on the red carpet. Gushing entertainment journalists will take the chance to talk to them. Onlookers will hope some of them are in the mood to come over to the stanchion lines and say hello. 

Despite being a musician and not an actor, let alone being nominated, Bjork will arrive, wearing an outfit consisting of studded ripped jeans, psychedelic halter top, faux-yak scarf, and cowboy hat. Fashion journalists will pronounce her the style maven of the year.

Katherine Heigl will arrive with her wife, Katherine Heigl. The narcissists have been together for years, after this dimension's Katherine Heigl crossed worlds to find the one true love of her life- herself- and brought the other Katherine Heigl into this one. And ever since then, they've spent time making a scene of themselves at every opportunity, being exhibitionists along the way. They'll go down the red carpet, making out and fondling each other, while others wonder how they scored an invite.

In Canada, legendary Mountie Inspector Lars Ulrich will wrap things up for the day at his detachment in Alberta, fresh off beating up Mechagodzilla and making it cry. He will sleep well knowing that there is not a single entertainment reporter in the country.

Barbra Streisand will be examined by doctors in a hospital in LA. The doctors will be astonished by her amnesia, and will hope it's permanent. Her husband James Brolin will be outside waiting and wondering. "Guess we're not making it to the Oscars," he'll say to no one.

Jack Nicholson's corpse will be in its customary front row position, flanked to either side and in the row behind it by a team of seat fillers. He'll be wearing his customary sunglasses and tuxedos, with his face stuck in that half smirk of his. The seat fillers will make a point of breathing shallowly to lessen the experience of the embalming scent.

Will Smith will be watching the red carpet arrivals on television. "Hey, Jada, honey? If I hadn't lost my temper, that would be us right about now. Jada?"

Jada will be too busy screwing her son's best friend upstairs to hear.

Leonardo DiCaprio will arrive for the ceremony, with the latest twenty four year old model he's been dating on his arm. He'll look around the slowly filling theater, and see Marisa Tomei down near the stage with Tommy Lee Jones. He'll start shaking in fear. Tomei will turn, see him, smirk, and run a finger across her throat in a threatening way, and then point at him. Leonardo will stifle the need to cry.

In a warehouse a few blocks away from the theatre, Tom Cruise will have assembled a crack team of wannabe actors spending their time as waiters, and Scott Baio. He'll explain the intricate details of his plans to break into the Oscars. It will involve most of them causing mayhem and chaos and distracting security in the efforts to lead them away. All while he gets in from the side. "Operation Distraction can't fail," he'll say. "I've got a guy on the inside, and he's going to get me in the back door."

"Maybe we should just watch the ceremony on television," Baio will say.

"Shut up, Chachi!" Cruise will snap at him.

Jimmy Kimmel will open the ceremony with a monologue that will speak to the elephant in the room by making fun of Jack Nicholson's corpse on full display. "Come on, guys, this is not Moscow, and he's not Lenin."

Somewhere in hell, Jack Nicholson will fume.

John Travolta will laugh, and say to the person next to him, "Jerry Norbert isn't Lando? Who'd have thought?"

In hospital, Barbra Streisand will continue to put up with the examination by doctors, absently saying from time to time, "I feel like there's somewhere I should be."

Cruise, Baio, and the rest of the team will head in the direction of the theater. Cruise will not be looking like himself. He'll have taken a page out of the Mission Impossible movies and be wearing a prosthetic mask to pass himself as someone else. Someone who looks remarkably like the actor Julian Sands, who disappeared last year on a hike, and whose remains were found months later.

The first award will be handed out. The winner will start giving their speech. After about thirty seconds, the orchestra will start playing music in an attempt to get them to cut it short. "Come on, guys, we're not doing that," they will tell the conductor. The conductor will back off and give in. It will be the benchmark for the rest of the evening.

Cruise will split up with his cohorts, sending them to the red carpet. They have explicit instructions, and a time to do so. Cruise will duck down a back alley. "Can I come with you?" Baio will ask.

"No, Chachi!" will come the sharp reply.

"That's not the only role I did!" Baio will protest.

Chris Rock will saunter on stage to present an award, basking in the goodwill of the audience after being so graceful in the aftermath of the Will Smith debacle. "Ladies and gentleman, and Will and Jada watching at home..." he'll say, grinning at the camera and waving.

At home, Smith will feel despondent, wondering why he let his life fall apart like this.

Jada will be too busy in the basement, fornicating with the chauffeur.

John Travolta will laugh, and say, "Werner Simmons and Josie Pesco-Simmons must be regretting that whole night."

Baio and company will be posted near the red carpet, waiting for the cue. They'll receive the expected text, and as one will stride out onto the red carpet, bypassing the stanchion line and annoying the onlookers. "Shave the whales!" Baio will announce.

"We're here with the Shave The Whales Society!" another of the group will loudly say as the group as a whole chant Shave The Whales repeatedly.

"Did you know whales can't grip a razor, and can't shave? For just twenty dollars a day, you can help the Shave The Whales Society set up ocean barbershops to help the whales live a better, smooth shaved life," Baio will tell onlookers.

Word will quickly reach the security team lead about a bizarre group of protesters outside.

While the Oscars security team comes out and shuffles off the Shave The Whales protesters, Tom Cruise will take his chance and head deeper into the side alley, unseen. He'll advance to an access door for the theatre, and knock twice. The door will open, and his inside man- an usher who thinks Mission Impossible is real- will let him in. Cruise will navigate his way through the back stage to find a spot to wait until he feels the time is right to take the stage.

Scott Baio and the rest of the Shave The Whales Society will be drummed off by security, with Baio protesting, "Come on! You can't do this to Chachi!"

Doctors will tell James Brolin that his wife may recover her memory shortly- or never. "It's a fifty fifty chance, either way," the assessment will come.

Brolin will nod. "Can you do anything to keep her from singing?"

The ceremony will carry on. Speeches will go on and on without end.  People will find themselves dozing off in the seats. Mullan and Kapoor will realize that they are already four hours behind schedule, and will wonder if this year will mark the longest Oscars ever.

Kimmel will make his two hundred and fifteenth Barbieheimer joke of the night.

Cruise will wonder if he should come out of hiding and make his grand entrance on stage yet.

The March of the Dead, in which the Hollywood dead of the last year are shown on screen, will commence. Those who are known will be met by applause. Cinematographers and screenwriters will be met with 'who is that again' confusion from the audience.

At some point during the March of the Dead, a video clip of Julian Sands will be shown, along with the subtitle 'we're sorry for that whole disappeared thing we did last year for him'. The apology will set off a controversy about how out of touch it seems.

John Travolta will sigh and say, "that wasn't quite thought out, was it? Poor Jim Styles dies alone on a mountain, and the Academy fumbles it two years in a row."

At home, Will Smith will be watching, and will be outraged when his face appears, and the subtitle 'Will Smith's career is still dead' is seen below it. "Baby? Jada? They're saying my career is still over," he will call out to no one.

Jada won't hear, as she's down in the basement screwing the gardener.

Margot Robbie and Ryan Gosling will present an award together, and make a casual remark about how viral the whole Barbieheimer thing has gone in the last few months. The camera will cut to Chris Nolan, who's gotten a little tired of the Kimmel remarks all evening long.

In the hospital, James Brolin will sit at the bedside of Barbra Streisand and tell her they're married. "We are?" she'll say. "I don't remember."

"Don't worry, there's video," he'll say. "You like having your life documented, and that was a big day."

"What do we do for a living?" she'll ask. 

He'll shrug. "We're sort of retired."

Jennifer Lawrence will head to the stage to present an award. True to form, she'll trip and fall over with odd grace. This is in keeping with her secret kink- she gets off on tripping in public.

John Travolta will nod. "Wouldn't be an Oscars if Jessie Logan didn't fall."

Scott Baio will be booked by police for causing a disturbance, along with the rest of the Shave the Whales Society. "This is a mistake! You've gotta call Tom Cruise! He put us up to this! Don't you get it? I'm Chachi! You can't do this to me!"

Tom Cruise will realize that the ceremonies must be coming close to an end, given that they're into some of the big categories. "Here goes nothing," he'll say, and head out of his hiding area back stage.

Leonardo DiCaprio will hear the nominees start to be called out for Best Actor. His name will not be on the list, but out of nowhere, he'll sum up some courage, get up, walk towards the stage, and take the stage. "I have something to say!" he'll exclaim.

Off to the right, Tommy Lee Jones and Marisa Tomei will start moving to intercept.

Tom Cruise will be emerging from back stage left, and show himself to the audience. "I have something to say too!"

People will gasp, seeing that with the mask, he looks just like the deceased Julian Sands- only shorter. Jones will assess his height inside of a second and realize it's an imposter, and also that it has to be Tom Cruise from the sound of his voice.

John Travolta will be oblivious to the truth, as he is oblivious to calling people by their actual names. "Jim Styles is alive?"

Cruise will tear off his Julian Sands mask and stride forward onto the stage towards DiCaprio. "I'm more important than you! Get out of my way!"

"You get out of my way!" DiCaprio will fire back. Neither of them will notice Jones and Tomei closing in on them from behind DiCaprio.

Streisand will wake up suddenly in the hospital bed and sit upright. "I remember everything! James, what day is it?" She'll look up at a television screen as Brolin wakes up from a nap in a nearby chair. The muted screen will be showing the Academy Awards. Streisand will realize she's missing attending the Oscars yet again. She will begin to scream. The scream will be heard as far away as San Francisco, and register on the Richter scale.

At their current residence somewhere in California, with their non-existent kids nowhere to be found, Meghan and Harry will be watching. Meghan will be fuming. "I should be best actress. I should be queen."

Harry will be smoking some dope. "What was that, Megs?"

Cruise and DiCaprio's confrontation will be interrupted by Jones and Tomei, who will begin beating both of them up. Jones will throttle Cruise, while Tomei will kick the hell out of Leonardo DiCaprio.

John Travolta will laugh at the spectacle, and exclaim, "Teddy Curtis and Lowry Denny can't fight worth a damn."

Best Actor will be named, and Cillian Murphy will accept the award.

The Best Picture will be awarded. Chris Nolan and the entire Oppenheimer team will graciously take the stage and thank everyone for the award. Their remarks and celebration will add another twenty seven minutes to the running time of the ceremony. 

Will Smith will be passed out on the couch at home, while Jada will be upstairs, banging the chauffeur again.

The ceremony will end, ten hours past its expected end time, with morning rush hour traffic in L.A. already gone and done. The guests will file out, heading for limos to go home and sleep it all off. Jones and Tomei, having had beaten the crap out of the usual suspects, will shake hands, having had a good time, and part ways. 

In a hospital a few blocks away, Tom Cruise will be treated for a broken arm, two broken legs, multiple contusions and bruises, and a strained back. He'll get a look at his reflection and gasp. "My face... my beautiful face!"

A few rooms away, doctors will be treating Leonardo DiCaprio for broken ribs, a broken nose, a groin injury, and a fat lip. He'll be heard crying hysterically from outside. "Marisa Tomei hurt me again!"

The Wrath Of A Bomb Cyclone

 

North America still recovering from winter bomb cyclone blizzard; has unintended side effects

Calgary (CP). The late December blizzard of 2022 that wrecked havoc with holiday travel, caused deaths and massive power outages, and was a general Scrooge to Christmas, will live on in memory. Termed a 'bomb cyclone' by meteorologists because of how quickly pressure dropped in the low pressure mass, the storm held much of the continent in its grip, leaving a lot of snow behind, especially in areas that tend to get off with mild winters.

Scientists and meteorologists are already writing extensive follow ups on the storm. Power utility workers have been busy finishing up repairs. Insurance companies are fretting. Television forecasters who panicked and told people to be ready to eat the dead have been removed from on-air responsibilities. And bomb cyclone has become a buzzword to start the new year off with in an unusual way.

One of the millions who experienced the storm first hand was an egomaniac who spends most of his time in the warmer climates of California. Director Michael Bay, the explosion happy creator of films like Pearl Harbor and Armageddon, found himself stranded at the very epicentre of the storm, Buffalo, New York, where four feet of snow fell. This week, Bay appeared via video link to make a statement to reporters. He was clad in a heavy hooded parka, appearing to shiver constantly.

"It's going to take me months to warm up!" Bay complained. "I'm not meant for cold weather!"

Bay related that he had been on a Southwest Airlines flight diverted into Buffalo before the blizzard hit and spent several days in a Buffalo hotel with nothing to do. "It's Buffalo! I don't care if I was staying in a Hilton, it's still Buffalo! I mean, are you kidding me? Buffalo? In the winter! Gotta say, that's not good. But while I was there, freezing in ungodly cold- yes, the hotel was heated but still, I'm a California guy and I like warm weather- watching the blizzard outside, watching the news about the bomb cyclone, I got an idea for a movie."

He took a long swallow of hot chocolate, apparently his go-to at the moment, and continued. "Yes, that's right. Bomb Cyclone, the movie. Starring Nicolas Cage as the heroic scientist who has to stop a global snowstorm that's going to trigger an ice age, and save his son stranded in the middle of it. I'm sure I'll be able to figure out how to work lots of explosions into the whole thing. That's a great idea if you ask me, and you are asking me."

It is left to the reader to decide if Bay has ever heard of The Day After Tomorrow.

While the Buffalo Chamber of Commerce decides whether or not they want to issue a formal statement chastising Bay for his criticism of their city, the work continues to dig out from the storm. It's left enough snow in a lot of places that winter total numbers records for snowfall might be broken.

Those who deal with seasonal affective disorder are busy counting the minutes until the first day of spring, and having dark thoughts about the groundhog predicting a longer winter in February.

For a local take on the storm of storms, reporters sought out the world's greatest and crankiest lawman. RCMP Inspector Lars Ulrich was at his detachment in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. Upon being assured that all reporters present were aware he wasn't the other Lars Ulrich, he appeared more at ease. "It's just winter. You get through it, you push on. Keeping moving forward. No big deal, really," he remarked.

"Lars! Lars!" an excited voice called from a distance, striding towards the group of reporters with a cameraman in tow. This reporter and his colleagues saw an Entertainment Tonight mike in his hand. "Chip Chandler, Entertainment Tonight, Lars. What everyone wants to know is, when is Metallica releasing a duet album with Mariah Carey?"

By now all of the other reporters had backed away to give the inspector clearance. Ulrich spoke in a low but menacing tone. "I am not that Lars Ulrich."

"Are you sure?" Chandler asked. He didn't have time to say anything else, as Ulrich threw a punch that sent him flying down into a snowpile near the road. What followed was an epic chase across three hundred kilometres of mountain landscapes that ended with Chandler in a body cast in hospital, muttering about Metallica cyclones.