Tuesday, July 12, 2005

$1,000,000 Baby 2

So what do we call this thing? Two Million Dollar Baby?

How about Billion Dollar Baby?

What about Million Dollar Kid or Million Dollar Lady?

Or Million Dollar Dog. I’ve never seen a boxing dog movie before.

Three Men and a Million Dollar Baby?

Ooh, we could do The Six Million Dollar Baby, where we bring back Swank as a cyborg boxer.

Maybe. You definitely raise a good point though. Swank’s dead. How do we bring her back?

I’ve got eight words for you: Haunted. Boxing. Gloves … wait. I swear that was eight words when I counted in my head.

What if we did a prequel instead? Like Thousand Dollar Baby.

Million Dollar Fetus?

You know who could play the young Swank?

The Pepsi girl?

Are you a mind-reader? You totally just read my mind.

What about a franchise crossover? Those are big right now.

Million Dollar Baby vs. Freddy and Jason?

Million Dollar Predator vs. Million Dollar Alien?

… vs. Million Dollar Dog?

You’re really hung up on the dog thing.


Ooh, do you know what I’m thinking?

Million Dollar Baby vs. Hotel Rwanda?


Hotel Rwanda gets hit by a radioactive meteor and comes to life as this giant man-eating building that’s terrorizing Rwanda.

Beautiful. And we could have Michael Clarke Duncan do the voice.

I was thinking Ving Rhames, but same diff.

O.K., monster hotel eats Rwanda. Who can save the day? Only the Million Dollar Baby!

But she’s dead, so they … what? What do they do?

They clone her!

And some vampire DNA falls into the test tube by accident!

Can you hear that?

The sound of cash registers and Oscars?


Yes. Yes, I can.

How To
Signs That Internet Dating Is Not Going Well for You That Panamanian-transvestite-platypus dating Web site that you click onto as a joke has a very clear (and actually quite flattering) picture of you on it.
Interview with an Interview with Ann Coulter As I picked up a recent copy of Time magazine (April 25, 2005), I casually stroked the middle buttons of my fly with the thumb and forefinger of my right hand and realized that I was unquestionably terrified of this issue's cover girl: Ann Coulter.



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