FADE IN:

EXT. WHITE HOUSE SOUTH PORTICO – DAWN

TITLE CARD: JANUARY 20, 2009

A light snow falls as a White House USHER places the last of several suitcases in the trunk of a Toyota Prius. GEORGE BUSH, DICK CHENEY, CONDOLEEZA RICE, KARL ROVE and DON RUMSFELD look on. The usher slams the trunk shut.

USHER

All ready, sir.

The usher opens the car door. George walks to the car and looks back.

CHENEY

Call us when you get there.

GEORGE

Will do. Goodbye.

George gets in, starts the car and drives away. In the rearview mirror he sees his former administration waving. He notices a CD on the dashboard with the words CONDOLEEZA's UNHIP MIX written on it. He puts it in the player.

We hear Sia's "Breathe Me."

EXT. ATLANTIC OCEAN, OFF THE COAST OF FLORIDA – DAY

The stern of a sinking yacht is below water, an enormous hole in its side. DICK CHENEY, blood dripping from the stump of a missing arm, swings an oar at the gaping mouth of a massive GREAT WHITE SHARK.

TITLE CARD:

EXT. WHITE HOUSE SOUTH PORTICO – A FEW MINUTES LATER

DICK CHENEY, CONDOLEEZA RICE, KARL ROVE, and DON RUMSFELD watch as the Prius slowly pulls beside them. The window unrolls and we hear Sia's "Breathe Me." GEORGE BUSH pokes his head out.

GEORGE

Hey, Rummy, how do I get out of here?

DON RUMSFELD crouches beside the open window.

RUMSFELD

Uh, you'll want to turn around, go through the big gate and turn left. That'll take you to the main highway.

GEORGE

Oh, O.K. Turn left. I can do that. Well, so long.

Estelle Getty, R.I.P.

I

’m sitting down with reporter Adam Nagourney. (Disclosure: my communication with Mr. Nagourney consists of comments I've posted to his blog.) Mr. Nagourney of course works for The New York Times as a political correspondent. Mr. Nagourney and I will discuss the waning influence of print media in national elections. (Disclosure: I have a very close friend named Wayne. If he had spelled it WANE I probably would have never become his friend. Maybe his Facebook friend.)

At the start of our chat Mr. Nagourney traces his evolving history writing political coverage for The New York Times (Full disclosure: I have never worked for The Times. One of my friends in high school claimed it was her dream to be an editor for The Times. Whatever happened to her?

I should also mention that I read The Times at least once a week. It all began when I was in eighth grade, and my social studies teacher (whose name I sort of remember but wouldn't attempt to spell) would give us a quiz based on the articles of the front page. It was an unfair exam format, because he would assume that we'd read the entire article, and he'd usually test us on the part of the article after the jump, which is absurd, since it focused on the trivia and completely disregarded the concept of the inverted pyramid.

The Times comes to our house early Sunday morning, and I get it before the kids wake up. If it isn't too cold out, sometimes I'll go out in my bathrobe and socks, pretending I'm Tony Soprano, although I'm not so sure he was a Times reader. I should clarify that I look a little better in a bathrobe and black tube socks. My dog has no idea how to retrieve the paper. This should be considered a very difficult trick for most dogs, since their mouths are not quite a big as the full Sunday Times, rather than a failure of character or intellect.

I tell everybody that I read the Week In Review first, but really, I read the Sunday Sports and the Sunday Styles. Although I've never admitted this to anyone, I enjoy browsing the wedding announcements to see if there's anyone I know from high school or college. There never is.

The paper generally sits around all week, and we try to get to all of it by Friday, which is when recycling goes out. Correction: we have to put recycling out Thursday night, because they pick up really early Friday mornings, which means I only get five days to read the Sunday Times. In all fairness I never read the whole thing, and as hard as I try, I can't really get past the first page of the Business section. In the spirit of fairness I will admit to a crush on Gretchen Morgenson. My wife does not know this.

I thumb through the Book Review, because I feel like I have to, even though it's ridiculous that all of those soi-disant writers have book deals and I don't. (Although I have a French last name and I like to pepper my writing with the occasional French bon mots, I don't understand the language at all). (And I should also mention that that I recognize by name most of the writers and reviewers, whether or not I've met them. I'd like to think it's cool that I know these people, but if all they're doing right now, isn't that kind of pathetic?). Maybe if my agent weren't having drinks with Adam Nagourney's agent I too would be writing for the Book Review, especially that cute little essay on the back page, which is the first thing I read (Disclaimer: I read it on Saturday, online, as a pre-game for Sunday).

Mostly I read The Times online, because my children use it for art projects before I get a chance to read the paper version (disclosure: when they steal my paper for art projects I roll up the paper and hit their bottoms. Very lightly. Not the whole paper; just the Travel section, which none of us reads, because it reminds us that we're stuck at home with small children).

Also, both my Web site and NYTimes.com use the same resources to access the Internet. Although we don't share the same Web host (unless they're paying $9.95/month, which I doubt) they use the same protocols, similar hardware, and the same infrastructure, which is routed through the networks at Reston, Virginia, for our data to be requested, retrieved and read by our subscribers. Also, I'm in my basement writing this, in between checking various e-mail accounts. I should also state that I'm in my underwear, and the curtains are not drawn. And my neighbors just saw me. ).

The most surefire ingredient in marketing your shitty comedy? The bright red, all-caps, extra-bold, sans-serif typeface.
[Further evidence of red-faced laughlessness here: JTylerHelms.com]

The following are actual poems written by Ms. O'Donnell, edited by Mr. Sewell. [Collected from Rosie.com.]

larry king annoys me
beyond all description
news or entertainment
whichever suits

donny called yesterday
i love that guy - a lot
hard to believe
as on r 1st date he called me fat

(November 16, 2007)

* * *

we stared at each other for a half hour
then i threw a peanut up
took a few tries
but he got it

smart
my squirrel

(March 24, 2007)

* * *

a snowy friday
i saw edward sissorhands
a new ballet
at BAM
inspiring on all levels
art

(March 16, 2007)

* * *

do u believe
lee harvey oswald
acting alone
killed JFK
reply in ask ro
please

(December 5, 2007)

* * *

I cant find text edit
On this new computer
microsoft sux
In terms of flow

It is all rules
math
commas And capitals
U cannot avoid them

Annoying underlines
Blinking at u
Stop – yeild
I SAID NO ONIONS

(October 1, 2007)

* * *

i should never say it
no matter who is listening
u cant ever hold dog down
get off of me
i am not racial

chris - have u ever used the n word?
asks larry
in white suspenders

(November 7, 2007)

* * *

please tell me
my publicist is wrong
and sweet john carter
newsman from atlanta
did not sell the interview we did
to et access and the lot

(December 17, 2007)

* * *

i boogie boarded on sunday
the thrill of the lip
u know u caught it
2 the shore

(April 7, 2007)

* * *

its raining hard
on the hudson
lit up by the bridge
bedroom doors open

kel is in the city
dinner with friends
i am watching journeyman
editing my annie lennox photos

(November 12, 2007)

* * *

i have won the bloggers choice award
this thrills me 2 no end
ya see this blog thing
is the future

ya got something to say
to show
to give away
do it

its an amazing medium
2 work in
here and now
real not perfect

(November 17, 2007)

H

e boards the train and shoves through the pulsing and chattering river of students to his compartment. Ron is there. Hermione is there. Ron is too long and too tall for his robes and Ron is hungry because Ron is poor. Hermione studies. Somewhere in a summer land infertile for lessons Hermione has found something to study and so she studies and she does not look up. She does not look up. Outside the sweets trolley bangs and the train begins to move. Wheels slot to rail scream like a mother screams protecting her infant from murder as she is murdered in turn. The wheels scream like a man struck by a curse reversed. The trolley bangs and a prefect glowers but the attendant has long put away respect for the badges of children.

The Houses gather and meals appear and the sausages’ skins are split down to their essence of greasy dead flesh. Fricative shoulders and the babble of students but Harry is alone. He rubs the scar he carries that is a portal to the Dark Lord himself and he is alone. Neville has managed to transfigure his fingers into gardenias and he shrieks as if the Crucio curse has driven him insane. Hermione flicks her wand and Neville is happy because Neville now has fingers and he plunges them into the greasy dead flesh of the sausages. Luna’s eyes bulge and Harry sees the world reflected there, stretched and maimed nearly beyond recognition.

Harry stirs his cauldron but does not understand and Snape stalks his class and is pleased that Harry does not understand. Ron whispers about quidditch because Ron always discusses quidditch. When the Dark Lord returns he will pluck Ron’s liver with his gory talons and Ron will scream. He will scream about quidditch. Hermione is perfect and her work is perfect and the potion within her cauldron is perfect. It stirs itself as she stares at it and she does not blink. She does not blink. Snape arrives and he glances into Harry’s cauldron. Snape sneers. Fifty points from Gryffindor. Draco and Goyle gibber laughter. Goyle’s head is a pumpkin carved by an idiot and Draco’s teeth are wealthy and white and should be fangs but they are not fangs. They are not fangs.

Dumbledore is dead. Sirius Black is dead. Harry’s parents are long dead and the dead outweigh the living. Voldemort was once dead, but is no longer dead. The grass is dead but it is winter and the grass will return. It will return. Cho passes and says why are you out here alone? Harry can not explain and Cho is pleased he can not explain because Cedric Diggory is dead and in her onyx heart she blames Harry that Cedric is dead. Harry’s eyes tilt skyward to the gathering dusk and he says Voldemort is coming and Cho says that’s why I no longer snog you because you are such a downer.

More Cormac McCarthy

More Harry Potter

1. And ... It's gone! Into that sea of drunken miscreants!
2. I’ve just soiled myself! I have just soiled myself!
3. The fat lady of myth and legend may have not sung as yet, but she is most certainly humming a rather jaunty tune! [Said while tipping back boater hat and pouring out a handful of crackerjack.]
4. Hit deep to right center ... in the relative direction of Mecca ... Yes! Allah be praised!
5. My arm--my chest! Oh God, the PAIN!
6. The terrorists have won! The terrorists have in point of fact won!
7. ... And it's outta here! Oh God, that poor pitcher ... he must feel just awful ... and in front of all these people too …
8. Do you believe in miracles? YES! [Said after a pedestrian solo home run in the third inning of a meaningless Rays–Orioles game, attendance 3,842.]
9. "Pitch him away," you said. "No power to the opposite field," you said. Well how do you explain that? [Shouted while grabbing broadcast partner's lapels and gesticulating wildly toward right field.]
10. Quadruple!
11. Well put a red gingham dress on me and call me late for dinner!
12. The Giants win the pennant! The Giants win the pennant! [Said after a second solo home run in the seventh inning of the aforementioned Rays–Orioles game.]
13. Back-back-back to the future, you squirrelly Michael J. Fox motherfucker!
14. Thus spake Zarathustra!
15. I am reminded of a devastatingly wry comment made by Gore Vidal to Dick Cavett while attending a Woody Allen dinner party!
16. It's over the partition with nary a bounce! It's over the partition with nary a bounce!
17. Great … that’s just fucking perfect! [Announcer then stands up, glares at broadcast partner, tears off his mike, and storms out of booth in disgust.]
18. Skullfucker!
19. GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAL!
20. It's outta here! Two-run homer! Now hopefully some kind soul out there will return the ball so that play can continue. What? They get to keep it? Sweet!

1. Employ as many bicycle-related metaphors as possible (e.g., training wheels, getting back on after falling off); after a month, stick exclusively to tandem bicycle references (e.g. it takes two to engage in empty sex)

2. Remind her that since marrying, there have been plenty of new sexual positions created and that she needed to be “brought up to speed”

3. Suggest that she’s going to start dating again sometime, and if she’s going to be used and discarded it might as well be with a guy she knows

4. Assuage any guilt by stating that making love is a celebration of life, whether in a honeymoon suite or the cloak room at a funeral home

5. Reiterate that her late husband would have wanted it this way; if required, tell her that you’ve been to a séance and communicated with him from the other side, whereupon he cleared her of any wrong-doing but suggested that she’s “let the backyard go”

6. Tell her that you’ve fucked all kinds of widows and “they’ve always turned out all right … so far as I’ve heard”

7. Make light of the encounter, referring to it as a distraction like playing with a yo-yo; say that you didn’t realize her late husband was a nationally recognized yo-yo champ as you gather her up from the floor

8. Remind her that the sex wasn’t that good; say that you were thinking you’d left the oven on so you weren’t “really in the game”

9. Refer her to a grief counseling service, then enter the nearest confessional and ask the priest to wash clean your foul, rancid soul; don’t take his “See you in Hell” response personally

10. Connect her with the barely sexual guy from H.R. who only enters relationships to “fix” women; consult your newly emptied schedule and peruse the obituaries for any familiar names

Hellboy 2: The Golden Army
When Hollywood talks about glamour, they about Ron Perlman. No, not Ron Perelman, the billionaire owner of Revlon--the hot one! Whether he’s playing Vincent in the sooooo romantic Beauty and the Beast series from the 80s, the weird guy from Alien: Resurrection, or the weird guy from City of Lost Children he brings heat to the screen--and this time it’s infernal heat, like the ultimate bad boy, Satan.

Red means go! If you’re talking about skin, that is. Here’s how to make your friends jealous of your Hellboy coloring: Take the day off work, rub cooking oil all over your body and lay out in the sun for eight hours. The pain will be worth it when you turn heads on the street with your blistered, crimson skin.

More than skin deep:
Another hot aspect of Hellboy’s style is his giant right hand. To pull this off, you need some lymphedema to swell your arm up. True fashionistas won’t hesitate to round up a few parasitic filarial worms to get the ball rolling.

The Children of Huang Shi
This movie is all about the youth-inspired style of a cool bunch of orphans that have to make their way across China before the party ends and the Japanese invade. Their retro, circa-1937 gear makes you wonder why you don't see more pre-WWII–inspired lines on the runway. The kids' look just screams “Muted!” The best part about wearing understated tones and lines is versatility. In the movie, they make the same outfits work on top of the chilly Liu Pan Shan mountains and in the Mongolian desert. I hope they brought moisturizer!

How to get the Orphans' look:
The characters in the movie may have had to walk thousands of miles, but you'll only need to walk to the closest hip boutique and say, “I'll take anything you have in tan burlap.” Also, look for Chow Yun Fat in a sweet prototype of the classic red Chinese PJ's.

Mongol
Maybe we just have Olympic fever, but we're throwing another Asian-inspired look onto the “must get” pile. Mongol explores the early life of Genghis Khan, the tastemaker of the steppe. This is one superhero movie with style. When you see him model the breezy summer tunics he made popular, you might wonder if he needed to use force to conquer Asia and Eastern Europe at all. We surrender! To your fashion sense! And if you thought silk shirts were just a good idea because their tight weave wraps around arrows as they penetrate the body, allowing you to pull them out without infection, you've never seen the way they drape on curves.

Cruelty-free Genghis-wear:
Those giant, furry hats are such a defining characteristic of the Mongolian hordes, it's hard to imagine putting together an outfit without one, but no one wants to accused of animal cruelty. Luckily, there are plenty of faux (French for "cheaper"!) versions of them, so you won't have to worry about being splattered with blood, unless you're going all out and ransacking a village, that is!

The Incredible Hulk
I know what you're going to say: “I already have a pair of tattered purple shorts from last year, when you called them Johnny Depp's pirate pants.” Well, if you'd kept your mouth shut and let me finish, you would see that that's not at all where I'm going with this. It's not the shorts, or the tousled hair that make the Hulk hot. No, this summer, rage is all the rage. Turn heads at a party by smashing a coffee table and throwing a lamp through the window. It might be a bit conceptual, but this is one fashion trend that you can't miss. Look for those in the know to be flying off the handle at the smallest provocation, but remember, you can't conjure up that amount of focused anger out of nowhere. If you know you are going somewhere where you need to look good, try to swallow your anger for a couple of days before hand, so you'll be good and ready to snap. Next time you see a hottie physically attacking someone or something, give your fellow fashionista a knowing wink.

Hulk Accessorize!
Rage looks great. But so does that red studded belt of yours. That doesn't mean you leave the house wearing only that! For a more nuanced look, punctuate your rage with a sprinkling of insecurity, shame, or paranoia. And don't forget--rage and alcohol go together like jeans and a white T-shirt.

Get shopping!
These are just a few suggestions that you must follow to be fashionable this summer, but it doesn't have to end there. Don't be afraid to walk into a clothing store with a picture of a fictional character and say, “I want their life.”

How to Write a Book

The Match Game
In this wacky romantic comedy from the producers of Saw III, husband and wife Max and Katie Scrimshaw (Philip Seymour Hoffman and Alicia Silverstone) spice up their lives by betting on which one of them can get engaged to someone else first, using only an online dating service to find potential fiancés. The stakes rise sharply when the dating service sets Max up with--you guessed it--his own grandma (Jerry Stiller).
Rated PG for mild drug use; off-color joke about Hillary Clinton; frequent sneezing without covering mouth/nose with hand; some minor traffic violations; irritating, extended, seemingly never-ending scene involving grandma's bristly ass.

Ferris Bueller's Year on Parole
Everyone's favorite troublemaking charmer is back in this long-awaited sequel to John Hughes's 1986 classic. Bueller's luck has turned, as the new century finds him mostly bald, forty pounds heavier, and working odd jobs for cash in Chicago's quirky Ukrainian Village neighborhood. After spending six months in the can for trying to bribe a police officer with a stolen crate of pierogies, Bueller (Paul Giamatti) struggles to stay on the straight and narrow, which is no easy feat since his longtime girlfriend and lady of the night Sloane (Hillary Swank) has just learned she has full-blown tuberculosis. Todd Solondz directs.
Rated R for graphic masturbation; crack smoking; blood-spitting; and frequent audience-directed monologues that turn increasingly angry, vulgar, and frightening.

No End in Sight
M. Night Shyamalan's new offering takes viewers into a dystopian future where Earth is ruled by a tyrant known only as L-16 (Steve Guttenberg). With time running out before the human race is enslaved by emotionless pink robots, ex-advertising executives and unlikely lovers Sylvia McGillion (Calista Flockhart) and Dusty Tetrault (Philip Seymour Hoffman) must find the stone tablet that is the key to L-16's incredible power. Perhaps surprisingly, the end of the movie brings none of Shyamalan's signature surprises ... Or does it?
Rated R for deeply disturbing surprise ending.

My Sperm-Donor Half-Brother
Twentysomething investment banker Danny Dalton (Seth Rogen) has the perfect life--a great job, a beautiful girlfriend (Shakira), a successful fantasy football team … until he receives a visit from Billy, a middle-aged dork (Adam Sandler) who claims he is Danny's half-brother. When Danny's quirky father (played to hilarious perfection by Ed Begley Jr.) confirms that he did donate some sperm in the 80s, during his "cocaine phase," Danny lets Billy stay on his living room couch, with hilarious results!
Rated R for scenes involving light petting; accidental murder of small pet; "couch-pooping"; serious themes raised by scene about late-stage head and neck cancer; slight profanity.

Wonder Twin Powers ACTIVATE!
In this live-action superhero pic, twins Zan and Jayna from the planet Exxor (here portrayed by Miley Cyrus and Philip Seymour Hoffman) must battle evil space villain Grax (Tony Danza) while also struggling to repair the deepening rift between Aquaman (that guy who played the creepy landlord on CBS's Becker) and Wonder Woman (Liz Phair). Havoc ensues when the twins' monkey Gleek (Matt Lauer) is captured by the Penguin (Roger Clemens). Can the twins save their treasured pet by transforming themselves into a unicorn and a test tube of chilled water? You'll have to watch and find out!
Rated PG for sad scene involving death of small monkey.

Endtime
The new documentary from Hubert Sauper (Darwin's Nightmare) shines a blistering light on the conflict in Sudan in this heartbreaking documentary about the horrors of Darfur. From the disease-ridden refugee camps in Chad to the training grounds of the Janjaweed militia group to the boardrooms of corporate America, Sauper gives us the most powerful, unblinking look to date of this global tragedy.
Rated R for reminding us of our collective failures as human beings; implication that we must live in godless meaningless hellhole of a universe; mild sexual innuendo; some eating of spiders.

See also: "Family Film Guide," by Jay Wexler, March, 2004.

Rip the tape off of her mouth in a quick motion and await the affirmative response.

* * *

Never talk to your girlfriend. From the moment you meet her and throughout the entire courtship, pretend that you are unable to speak. To communicate, write things down on a notepad. After a couple of years, when you're sure she is the woman you want to spend the rest of your life with, write on your notepad, "I believe that if the right words needed to be spoken, I could speak them." Watch her eyes fill, for she wishes that what you wrote were true, that you could actually speak. Using your finger, gently wipe away the lone teardrop that has begun to make its way down her face. Then throw the notepad across the room and yell, "Will you marry me?"

Look who's speechless now!

* * *

* * *

Frequently complain to your girlfriend about the voices you hear coming from the plants of the Allium genus--most often garlic, but sometimes leeks and scallions. Try not to laugh as she buys a copy of the DSM-IV and diagnoses you with schizophrenia (and, disconcertingly, some unrelated mental illnesses based on other behavior of yours). When the time is right, sneak out of bed, careful not to wake her. Insert an extremely tiny speaker into a bulb of garlic. Place the garlic on your girlfriend's pillow and hide in another room. Using a microphone that connects via Bluetooth to the speaker inside the garlic (this setup should be available at any spy shop), disguise your voice and start talking to your girlfriend about mundane things. Mention the weather, or how woefully underappreciated you feel by Italians even though they use you so much in their cooking. When she finally awakens to find the garlic talking to her, have the bulb pop the big question.

* * *

Successfully run for president of the United States. Declare war on a foreign nation. (Make sure it's one the U.S. can beat easily.) After the U.S. seemingly makes short work of its opponent, schedule a press conference on an aircraft carrier. Land on the carrier in a fighter jet. Exit the aircraft (you should be wearing a flight suit). Behind you will be a massive banner that reads "Will You Marry Me?" Your marriage will be rocky, contentious, and will probably fail. But you'll always have that moment--captured by photographers.