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.

community activist of singular influence whose classic “The Death and Life of Great American Cities'' transformed ideas about urban planning, died Tuesday, her publisher said. She was 89.

