The Fuggers have done it again. Gawd, I love those bitches. And, since my partner in literary snark also ran off to get married, I feel a spiritual kinship to them.

Now, if only I could write something half as funny as this. Alas, it's probably just the Bombay Sapphire that's holding me back. Yeah, that's it. Tom thinks I need more … vitamins:

Mission Unfuggable III: A Play In Three Acts

ACT ONE: THE SURPRISE ARRIVAL

The Place: The Mission Impossible III junket in Rome.  Unbeknownst to Philip Seymour Hoffman, his placid afternoon of talking to journalists about the role America's been dying to see him in — as the Man Who Beats the Shit Out of Tom Cruise — is about to be interupted by none other than Tom Cruise HIMSELF…

But Tom is not alone. He has brought three things: his weird new bangs, his tight girl jeans, and his total divorce from reality.  He thinks,  "AT LAST! I have arrived to SAVE THIS PRESS JUNKET! I can just sneak up behind Hoffman and SAVE THESE GLIB JOURNALISTS FROM HIS REIGN OF TERROR If I'm very, very quiet, HE'LL NEVER KNOW WHAT HIT HIM. I'M A HERO! AGAIN!"

I think Act Two is my favorite. Yep, this one is up there with the Lindsay Lohan/Sharon Stone Drunk post from Oscar night.