Faith Can Move Mountains... But Dynamite Works Better
Showing posts with label Tommy Lee Jones. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Tommy Lee Jones. Show all posts

Wednesday, February 26, 2025

The Mysterious Case Of The Overblown Ego

 The Oscars are coming up this weekend. I would, of course, rather crawl through a kilometer of broken glass than watch the ceremonies. That said, it is my tradition to ridicule the entire thing each year by saying how the event should go, and of course referencing my previous continuity on the entire thing. Enjoy!


Four days before the ceremony actually begins, people will have been camped out outside the Dolby Theatre in Los Angeles. They are looking for photo op and autograph opportunities. They will pass the time gossipping with each other about the nominees, annoying nearby businesses with washroom requests, and giving the local food delivery industry a big boost.

With the show being broadcast once again on ABC, the network president will receive a visit from producers Katy Mullan and Raj Kapoor, returning again to the job. They solemnly promise that this time, the event will be on time. The network president will remain dubious of that.

Conan O'Brien, hosting the ceremonies, will be busy with a team of writers on his opening monologue in the days in advance, hoping to score a few easy laughs.


Three days prior to the ceremony, an annual tradition will be underway at a local mortuary. Morticians will be doing the final touch ups on the body of Jack Nicholson. The legendary actor died several years ago at an Oscars ceremony, and has left strict instructions in his will that his body always be in attendance in the front row at the Oscars. After multiple embalmings, the morticians will be wondering how long this can go on.

Mullan and Kapoor will meet with the producers of the Razzies in a top secret endeavour to ensure Barbra Streisand won't attend this year's Oscars. The Razzies producers, amused by the idea being proposed, will agree to it.

Conan will have put the last touches on his monologue, finding the right balance of smarm and charm.


In the offices of his psychologist, Leonardo DiCaprio will be attending a session. There will be much to be discussed. His inability to commit in a relationship. His eagerness not to date any woman over 26. His overwhelming fear of Marisa Tomei. The therapist will ask at one point, "have you considered not attending the Oscars?"

At home, Tom Cruise will make some calls, looking to gather a crack team of operatives to get himself into the Oscars, despite that restraining order forbidding him from attending. First on his list will be Scott Baio, the washed up actor. "All right, Chachi, listen up," Cruise will tell him.

"I did more parts than Chachi," Baio will point out.

"Shut up, Chachi!"


The night before, the Razzies will be held, honouring (or dishonouring) the worst of the year in films. A surprise announcement will be made on stage. Barbra Streisand is being given the Lifetime Razzie as Most Annoying And Overrated Actor And Singer Of All Time. A montage of Streisand in film, as well as footage of her yelling at people, will be shown on screen at the theatre.

The announcement will go viral on social media. Within five minutes, Streisand's agent will call her at home to warn her of what's exploded on the web. When Streisand, possessor of the biggest ego in Hollywood, hears that she's been awarded a Razzie, she will first start screaming a deafening scream, horrified by the disrespect. And then she will collapse. Paramedics will be called.


The day of the ceremony, Jack Nicholson's corpse will be installed in the first row at the Dolby Theatre. Mullan and Kapoor will speak with the team of seat fillers assigned to sit around him, well paid for the job. "I know it's morbid, but the guy's will was specific, and we have to go through with it," Kapoor will say.

Mullan will add, "besides, it's just embalming fluid."

Still banned from attending the Oscars, Will Smith will be at home, watching the pre-show chatter in his living room. Since that fiasco involving slapping Chris Rock, his life has never been the same. His wife, Jada Pinkett-Smith, will be too busy to console him, being busy upstairs banging the gardener.


Barbra Streisand will be in hospital, still unconscious. Doctors and nurses will be glad for this, because they've dealt with her shrill temper tantrums on previous occasions. "Let's keep her heavily sedated," one will recommend, answered with nods from everyone else.

John Travolta will be busy getting ready at home, despite having had not appeared in anything remotely Oscar worthy in years. Satisfied that he's managed the bow tie properly, he'll nod to himself in the mirror and say, "showtime, Jamie Tedesco."

Jennifer Lawrence will finish getting ready at home, still wondering to herself if she should just spontaneously trip at the Oscars or plan it out for the right moment. This is, after all, her secret kink- tripping in public on Hollywood's biggest night of the year.


Mullan and Kapoor will speak with their designated enforcers, Tommy Lee Jones and Marisa Tomei, back again for another go around. Tomei and Jones will promise to keep things in line. They will stipulate that this does not include keeping the run-time down. "That's your job," Tomei will insist.

People will start arriving for the red carpet. Entertainment reporters will rush up to them, asking who designed what they're wearing.

Bjork will turn up, despite having nothing to do with the Oscars, and be wearing a mix of Doc Marten boots, ripped jeans, camo-pattern chemise, and a hat that looks like it's been through a blender. Fashionistas will call her a cutting edge genius of style.


Tom Cruise will be finishing up his master plans of how to get into the Oscars this time. It will involve motorbikes, Scott Baio, and a team of waiters and bit part actors. Gathered in a secret warehouse location a short distance from the Dolby Theatre, they will be going over their plans. Baio will interrupt, "but what if..."

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

John Travolta will turn up at the red carpet, smiling in that addled way of his. "It's so good to be here," he'll say to an entertainment reporter. "After the Las Abelianos fires of the last few weeks, it's been a tough time for all of us, and we need to celebrate the best that Hollystone has to offer."

The entertainment reporter, too dumb to recognize that Travolta keeps getting names wrong, including places now, will simply gush.


Leonardo DiCaprio will arrive at the ceremony with the latest model he's been dating, all of 24 as fits his pattern. The fact that he's twice her age is irrelevant to him. He will look around, feeling anxious and uneasy. And then his eyes will fall upon the enforcers down near the stage. Tommy Lee Jones and Marisa Tomei will be in conversation. DiCaprio, remembering the frequent beatdowns he has sustained at the hands of Tomei, will start trembling. Tomei will look up through the seating and spot him. She will smile, point at him, and draw a finger across her throat as a threat, or a promise.

"Oh, God, she's going to kill me," he'll mutter.

The Oscars will start late, a harbinger of the entire night to come. Conan O'Brien will come out on stage, smile in that delirious smug way of his, and start things off by making fun of many people. 

Somewhere else, the ABC president will be wondering how far past the program will go past its runtime.


At home, Will Smith will be shaking his head. "I should have been there. It should have been me walking that aisle and mugging for the cameras. But instead I'm at home. No kids around, because they hate me. And a wife I'm barely married to who's never around. Where did things go so wrong?"

Upstairs, Jada will be too busy shagging her chauffeur.

The first award will be given out for the night. The winner will start making a speech, discreetly interrupted by the orchestra. They will point at the conductor and say, "no, we're not doing that. I've got some people to thank." This will set the tone for the rest of the ceremonies, with Mullan and Kapoor making side bets as to how long this whole thing is really going to go on.

In Las Vegas, bookies will be doing brisk business taking bets on when the Oscars ceremony will actually end.


Tom Cruise will be giving a final briefing to his Mission Impossible team as to his expectations and timing of this year's Oscar insertion. The fact that Scott Baio is the only other survivor of such previous insertions should disturb the team of waiters/ bit part actors/ collateral damage, but it doesn't.

One of the seat fillers around Jack Nicholson will find themselves wondering if the dead actor just moved.

James Brolin, cursed to be husband of Barbra Streisand, will be in the hospital sitting and waiting, wondering how bad the cluster tantrum will be when his wife wakes up and learns she's missed the Oscars again.


The first reference to the Hollywood fires of the night will be made by Meryl Streep while presenting an award.

John Travolta will nod and mutter to the person sitting next to him, "Molly Sutton knows what she's talking about."

The night will carry on. Mullan and Kapoor will look at their watches, and realize they're now an hour behind their expected time. They will wonder if they'll ever be called back to do another Oscars. They will decide that can't be a bad thing.


Leonardo DiCaprio will be in his seat, feeling overwhelming dread. From time to time his eyes will wander to the object of that dread. Marisa Tomei, looking so innocent and kind, but experience has taught him to be terrified of her. He subconsciously checks his nose, which she has broken before. "Calm, Leo, calm," he'll tell himself.

"What was that?" his date will ask him.

"Nothing, Katie," he will reply.

John Travolta will notice the tension of DiCaprio, and tell the person sitting next to him, "Lothar Daggett needs to learn inner peace." 


Tom Cruise will look himself in the mirror. A television broadcast of the Oscars will be going on nearby. It's too early, he knows. He must choose the right time to unleash his Mission Impossible. "You're the greatest, Tom, the greatest. The best there ever was. Everyone who says different is jealous of your greatness. And tonight we'll show them..."

Chris Rock will take the stage to announce a winner. His first words will be accompanied by a wave. "Hi, Will, hey, Jada, are you enjoying watching at home?" This will be accompanied by a grin. The audience will applaud, because let's face it, he deserves it.

Will Smith, watching at home, will start crying.

Jada will be upstairs banging her personal trainer.


The March of the Dead will be unleashed. Images of those in the film industry who died in the last year will be shown on screen and on televisions around the world. Famous actors and directors will be applauded. Cinematographers and designers and special effect wizards who have died will be met by a collective 'who the hell is that' response from the audience. 

Somewhere, a long retired screenwriter will sigh with dismay and tell his wife, "Honey, the Academy seems to think I'm dead."

John Travolta will shake his head when an image of Donald Sutherland appears on screen. "That Delbert Salinger was a really good actor."


The night will drag on. Cruise will be biding his time, watching the telecast, waiting for what he feels is the right time to show himself. One of the waiters will walk over and ask him if he can get a part in the next Mission Impossible. "Silence, minion!" Cruise will tell him.

Little does the waiter know that in a little while, none of this will matter, that he won't be able to tell anyone how curt Cruise is.

Two acting nominees from the same film will break out into a fight when one of them wins in their category, while the other one didn't in theirs, live on stage. The fight will be broken up by Jones and Tomei, who will drag both of them off stage. 


Conan O'Brien will announce to the audience that there's a correction to the March of the Dead. It seems that one of the screenwriters is in fact still alive, and apologies to him and his family and all of that. Because he's a screenwriter, no one will care.

When going to the stage to present an Oscar, Jennifer Lawrence will trip.

Cruise will tell his team that now is their time to make their move. A rolling door will be opened up. Ten people will mount motorbikes for an epic stunt ride to the Dolby Theatre. Scott Baio will look over at Cruise, nod, and say, "this is fun!"

"Shut up, Chachi!" Cruise will snap back.


Tomei and Jones will be standing by backstage as Mullan and Kapoor speak with the two actors involved in the fight. Most of the producer's ire will be focused on the sore loser who started the whole thing and attacked the winner.

Cruise will lead his motley gang of Mission Impossible wannabes through the streets of Hollywood, closing on on his target, looking forward to getting to have his say.

One of them will get second thoughts about the wisdom of all this and veer off to the left and take a side street and drive away. Ten years from now, after his big break into Hollywood, he will be glad he decided not to go through with Tom Cruise's crazy plan.


It will be time for the naming of the Best Actor. Leonardo DiCaprio will notice the return of Marisa Tomei and Tommy Lee Jones from backstage. He'll feel a familiar dread return.

One block away, Scott Baio will make a mistake on his motorbike. While Tom Cruise will avoid the eight motorbike pile up that will ensue, Baio will be part of it, slamming into another one and sending all of the remaining waiters and bit part actors into a pile of wreckage just short of the red carpet. Cruise will stop his bike, look back, and yell, "You idiots!"

Baio, suffering from multiple contusions and broken bones, will say, "help me!"

Multiple gawkers will look on in astonishment as Cruise runs inside the theatre.


Leonardo DiCaprio will find it in himself to ignore that bad feeling in the pit of his stomach to get up as the actress presenting the Best Actor award starts to make the announcement. He will head down the aisle towards the stage. "Hey! I've got something I need to say!"

Jones and Tomei will see him coming, and both get themselves in position to intercept. This is what they've been waiting for all year.

Tom Cruise will burst into the theatre, looking like a maniac. "Stop the Oscars!" he will bellow.


Cruise will storm down the aisle, finding DiCaprio blocking his way. "Hey! I was going to talk first!" DiCaprio will protest.

"Nobody cares about you anyway, Leo," Cruise will snap back. Neither of them will notice the two forces of nature striding across the stage towards them as they bicker and argue.

Tommy Lee Jones will grab Cruise by the shoulder, turning him around. Cruise will briefly recognize the face of the man who keeps thrashing him every year before Jones hits him right in the face with a left hook. And then the real beatdown will begin.

Sensing danger, DiCaprio will turn, only to find himself face to face with Marisa Tomei, who will deliver a devastating punch to the face. The crack of his nose breaking again will become the talk of the Oscars again. And it's only the beginning.


The Oscars will wrap up, eight hours past its expected end time. Mullan and Kapoor will be dealing with their side bet as to how long it would actually last.

Barbra Streisand will wake up in hospital, finding out it's the next day and she missed the Oscars again.

Tom Cruise will be in hospital, having had sustained multiple cuts, a broken nose, broken ribs, and a hard kick to the groin. He will also be facing charges of violating a trespass order and criminal mischief, as three of his Mission Impossible team died in that motorbike pile.

And Leonardo DiCaprio will be undergoing treatment for multiple broken bones, including his nose, and internal bleeding. He will say over and over again, "Marisa Tomei hurt me! Again!!!"

Thursday, March 7, 2024

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!"

Tuesday, August 22, 2023

Internet Scams And Other Disasters

They have never heard of giving up, going away, and finding an honest way to make a living. I speak, of course, of that vile, repugnant form of life otherwise known as homo sapiens spammeritis annoyingus, who plague our blogs with Cambodian sports spam or desperate attempts to get clicks on their own pointless blog (Rajani Rehana, I'm looking at you) or sends us emails with pointless drivel that anyone with a working brain can see through.

The following recently came through to my junk email folder, with the usual bells and whistles showing this to be your standard internet scammer.


ATTENTION:I am Mr. David Wilson Head of Inspection Unit United Nations Inspection Agency in Harts field-Jackson International Airport Atlanta, Georgia. During our investigation, I discovered An abandoned shipment through a Diplomat from the United Kingdom which was transferred from JF Kennedy Airport. To our facility here in Atlanta, and when scanned it revealed an undisclosed sum of money in 2 Metal Trunk Boxes weighing approximately 110kg each. The consignment was abandoned because the Content was not properly declared by the consignee as money rather it was declared as a personal Effect/classified document to either avoid diversion by the Shipping Agent or confiscation by the relevant authorities.The diplomat's inability to pay for Non Inspection fees among other things are the reason why the consignment is delayed and abandoned. By my assessment, each of the boxes contains about $4M or more. They are still left in the airport storage facility till today. The Consignments like I said are two metal trunk boxes weighing about 110kg each (Internal dimension: W61 x H156 x D73 (cm) effective Capacity: 680 L) Approximately. The details of the consignment including your name and email on the official document from the United Nations' office in London where the shipment was tagged as personal effects/classified document is still available with us. As it stands now, you have to reconfirm your Full name, Phone Number, full address so I can cross-check and see if it corresponds with the one on the official documents.Email directly to:davidwilson1789011@gmail.com for immediate attentionIt is now left to you to decide if you still need the consignment or allow us to repatriate it back to the UK (place of origin) as we were instructed. Like I did say again, the shipper abandoned it and ran away most importantly because he gave a false declaration, he could not pay for the yellow tag, he could not secure a valid non inspection document(s), etc. I am ready to assist you in any way I can for you to get back this package provided you will also give me something out of it (financial gratification). You can either come in person, or you engage the services of a secure shipping/delivery Company/agent that will provide the necessary security. That is required to deliver the package to your doorstep or the destination of your choice. I need all the guarantees that I can get from you before I can get involved in this project.Sincerely,David Wilson,Head Officer-in-Charge,CONTACT EMAIL:davidwilson1789011@gmail.com


Now then, a look at the name David Wilson and Hartsfield-Jackson airport online finds that whoever this guy really is (because his name isn't David Wilson), he's been doing this for years. The same form letter email features prominently in various sites warning about scammers. So in the tradition of the Cancer Widow, Unethical Banker, and Deposed Beloved Tyrant, here we have the Non-Existent Airport Inspector. 

If he really worked at Hartsfield-Jackson, he'd know it's not Harts field-Jackson, for starters. This scammer has many of the hallmarks of the internet scammer who doesn't really have a solid grasp of the English language. He capitalizes letters that don't need it and employs the old United Nations abandoned shipment scam (which has its own set of warnings online, as it's also a well known scam).


He spins the tale of two trunk boxes with millions of dollars inside, repeating pointless details like their weight and dimension. He says that the shipper "abandoned it and ran away most importantly"- as if that's a phrase anyone with a command of the English language would use. And he asks for contact information so he can verify if my name matches that on the documentation. All while writing in that overly formal way that suggests our boy doesn't speak English as a first language at all, but is running this nonsense through translation software.

Nice try, scumbag, but this is all too familiar to me, and frankly, I know better.

Honestly, if making an honest living is such a difficult thing for you to do, why not follow some advice from my spirit animal?