Fake Book Covers is on hiatus

Hello readers,

I'm sorry to say that I was laid off from my job at the magazine earlier this week.

Ironic that this is April Fool's Day, but nope, not a joke. I really don't have a job anymore. I am, however, going to start freelancing like crazy though. So if anybody needs a writer along the lines of Fake Book Covers...well, shit, let me know. Freelancing sounds like a damn good deal. Competitive, yes, but a good deal nonetheless.

So far, unemployment is pretty rad. My roommates, friends and I sat in the backyard grass, drinking cheap beer and shooting bottle with BB guns while listening to The Band.

Though I have much more free time to make fake book covers and their excerpts, I have no access to Photoshop. And this whole website really was just the mindless creation of boredom at my job.

So, for now, www.fakebookcovers.com will be on temporary hiatus.

One day, I figure I'll get some copy of Photoshop and start this nonsense up again. It was a lot of fun and it kept me writing every day though. But for now, I have no way of doing it.

I hope I at least entertained a few people. I tried to balance celebrity gossip, fiction and poetry, and will do so again if/when this site is making the rounds again.

If you would like to be notified immediately if/when Fake Book Covers starts posting again, please send your name and your e-mail address to kilroy.artist@gmail.com

I will seriously contact you personally, and you'll seriously only ever get one e-mail from me.

Thanks for reading, and if you told your friends about Fake Book Covers, well, thanks for telling your friends.

Cheers,
Jake Kilroy

I Am Such A Bitch

"I Am Such A Bitch"
by Katherine Heigl

AN EXCERPT:
I'm not exactly sure how you keep working in Hollywood, but on strategy, I figure, is to talk shit on every person I've ever worked with.

You know, I spent years working with Shonda Rimes and her show Grey's Anatomy, but whatever, the show's gotten dumb. It's not that I'm a terrible actress. It's totally not. It's just the writing is subpar.

And then, after all the cool kids thought I was a bitch, I decided to work with the extremely popular Judd Apatow for his movie Knocked Up. But then, I thought, "Hey, seeing as how I'm a celebrity and I should care about things, why not bash the shit out of the guy who just put me in one of the most successful movies of the year?"

I mean, everyone was calling Knocked Up sexist, and I don't want to be ugly and unpopular. So yes, out of nowhere, after I read the script, auditioned for the part, filmed the entire movie and did all the promotion for the film...I decided to talk shit on Apatow and everything about the movie I was just in, as if I had no idea that's what the movie was about.

"What? Knocked Up is a movie about a woman getting pregnant by a loser and she's pissed about it? Unbelievable. I thought it was a documentaries about fairies and stock car racing. I'm really sorry everyone I owe nothing to. Please don't hate me. I just want to be a cheerleader in the hip crowd of Hollywood," I told every single magazine that would listen to me. Oh, I would just go on and on about how Apatow tricked me like some kind of wizard. Him and his crew of freaks and geeks and magicians cast a spell on me! And they only did it because I was a woman! What else was I supposed to do besides complain to every single magazine, from Vanity Fair to People. The media had to hear what I wanted to say.

And why wouldn't they? I'm Katherine "Bonkers" Heigl.

Now that I think everyone is realizing that I'm not actually a feminist, but just an attractive girl that complains about men, I might not score all those acting gigs I thought were waiting for me. So, after talking mad shit on the show that has basically launched my career, I've decided to publicly act like a Hollywood veteran and be generous enough to stay on and with the program.

Even though I'm a total feminist who says women shouldn't be portrayed as anything less than deep creatures of intense intellect, I will still continue to make brain-dead romantic comedies about casual sex and pose for magazines covering my boobs with my hands.

How does everyone not see that I'm the most grateful feminist ever?

The Outside World Still Scares Me

"The Outside World Still Scares Me"
a pulp novel
by Allison Gergley

AN EXCERPT:
"Their cars are fast and their guns are loaded," Karen said, finally able to catch her breath.

"Yeah, well, I've always admired a bad man with a good weapon," mumbled Saint John.

"Even when it's pointed directly at you?" she asked.

"Especially when it's pointed directly at you," he said, cocking his gun and peaking out of the alley.

"You know, you're pretty cute when you're trying to save someone's life."

"I hope you say that at my funeral," said Saint John, as her shot two rounds down the alley. The two shots echoed down the parkway. Some residents were taking notice. No one had spoken in the adjacent hardware store or barber shop for the last 20 minutes.

"What happens to a saint when he dies?" Karen asked.

"You really think this is a good time to ask questions?"

"I'd figure it is, as we could both die in this alley. And when is there a better time to ask questions than before your death?"

Saint John stared at her. "Lady, I'm hiding behind a trashcan, shooting at your enemies. Maybe reconsider your line of questioning."

"All's fair in love and war."

"Wow. What a throw-away quote. And just so you know, everything's fair when there's a gun in your hand," Saint John said before kissing her on the lips.

Give Me A Break

"Give Me A Break"
by Everyone

TAGLINE:
Seriously, Natalie? Do you know how attractive and awesome you are and how much older and married he is? Fucking...come on.

The Incredibly Short & Oddball Poems of Jake Kilroy

"The Incredibly Short & Oddball Poems of Jake Kilroy"
by Jake Kilroy

AN EXCERPT:
"The Relationship-Ender"
if it's stupid, then it's probably a poem by jake kilroy.

I just wanna wear my brown shirt.
I just wanna wear my brown shirt.
I just wanna wear my brown shirt.
I just wanna wear my brown shirt.
I just wanna wear my brown shirt.
I just wanna wear my brown shirt.
I just wanna wear my brown shirt.
I just wanna wear my brown shirt.
I just wanna wear my brown shirt.
I just wanna wear my brown shirt.
I just wanna wear my brown shirt.
I just wanna wear my brown shirt.
I just wanna wear my brown shirt.
I just wanna wear my brown shirt.
I just wanna wear my brown shirt

Dear Bruce Willis...You Are A Winner

"Dear Bruce Willis...You Are A Winner"
by Jake Kilroy

AN EXCERPT:
Again, Bruce, I'm sorry that I'm making such a big deal of this, but...dude...you're a winner. That girl is 24 years your junior. She's 30, man. And she's a British lingerie model born in Malta. You win for the entire century, Mr. Willis. Goddamn, she looks like she could be a goddamn Bond girl. She might as well have angel wings, you lucky son of a gun. She can probably massage your back just by looking at you and send high-fives through international phone calls.

I heard that one time, she was grinding up on a guy at a club, and he was pregnant the next day. Her blood is made of melted rubies, she's the Holy Grail and she got a dude off once by telling him he looked nice. And she wasn't even really talking to him. She was speaking to the guy behind

And she invented Australia. Yep. Invented Australia. The whole land mass, the flora, the fauna, the people. Everything.

Just tell me how you did it, because there's no way this is her thing. Are you some kind of sentinel?

What?

I'm sorry?

Oh wow, really?

Huh, well, I guess it's not that big of a mystery then. It actually is her thing.

I mean, you're a buff, cool, good-looking 54-year-old. And she dated Flavio Briatore, who is a 59-year-old goofy-looking businessman? Well, I guess you're a serious upgrade.

This world makes no sense to me.

Goodbye, Summer Breakfast

"Goodbye, Summer Breakfast'
a novel
by Jake Kilroy

AN EXCERPT:
"Edward, have you seen the morning paper?" Caroline asked.

"Seen it? I dreamed it," Edward yelled from the kitchen.

"Edward, you know I have no idea what that means."

"It means there's nothing in there that you couldn't make up," he said, entering the dining room while polishing a sink faucet. "I've had dreams of what's happened and how it's covered. It's that easy. A child with too much sugar before bed could most often write the entire local section."

"Oh, come now, Edward, there's surely something worthwhile. You can't just ballpark things."

"You can if the other side never hits one out of the ballpark. The newspaper will have the same coverage of world politics and social issues for the next decade. They'll write the same opinion columns through a slew of gentleman and the comics will rotate, but the same mainstays mainly stay. The art section won't ever actually understand jazz, blues or classical, but will write like Jesus Christ is in every band. Praise, praise, praise, be the new media. Tell me, is there some stupid portrait of an artist thinking on the cover or is it a stupid drawing of a city skyline with oversized palm trees?"

"You're not going to believe this, Edward, but it's both," Caroline said with a staggering tone.

"Of course I believe it. I dreamed it."

God, I Am Stupid

"God, I Am Stupid"
by LeAnn Rimes

AN EXCERPT:
I know what you're thinking, "Wow, how could you be so stupid, LeAnn? You're on the heels of a slight comeback as one of the world's most adorable and lovable country-pop singers and you had an affair in public."

Well, I'm here to set the record straight. I'm not stupid. I just make really, really, really, really stupid mistakes. I mean, sure, maybe I shouldn't have been making out with my co-star when we weren't on set, and in a public, crowded restaurant in Hollywood. It's almost like I was so randy that I couldn't wait for the bedroom. We had to kiss at the table like we were 14-year-olds looking to get to second base at a Marie Calendar's because we have nowhere else to grope. Or a senior citizen couple that polite kisses after each bite. Looking back on things, I should've waited until we were out of the restaurant.

You know what? The more I think about it, the more I think that yes, I am incredibly, incredibly, incredibly...stupid.

Also, you know what else is really stupid? My shoes on the cover of this here book. And my face. It looks like I farted and I'm waiting for you to figure out it was me.

Talking In The Park

"Talking In The Park"
a novel
by Jake Kilroy

AN EXCERPT:
"You know, today's the first day of spring, Henry, and you haven't said anything about the weather," Shelley said.

Henry laughed mildly. "Yes, I know. I just suppose I'm taking longer this year. The park seems greener than usual, the river more blue and the bridge more of a landmark than part of a transit system. I just see things better now. I'll be smelling the roses more often this season, I imagine."

"Are you dying, Henry? Do you have cancer? Most people don't use their five senses until one of them are taken away or their heart begins to fail."

They kept walking.

"No, no, no. My heart is as steady and sturdy as it is for any man in his late 50s and your legs are as slender as that of a 30-year-old career gal."

Shelley laughed, "Oh yeah? And a career gal, eh? Wow, you miss the '70s, it seems."

"Well, when you drive fast for a decade, you wonder what it feels like in your twilight. Maybe I do miss something. I'm not missing anything though, you know?" Henry said as he leaned on the rail, looking at a man in a kayak. "When is the dinner party on Saturday?"

"When the sun goes down."

"That's not very specific time."

"I'm not a specific person."

"Too true. Ah, Shelley, these conversations in the park, these long walks and longer talks, they never go anywhere, do they?"

"No, but they mean everything."

Natasha Richardson, 1963-2009

"Natasha Richardson, 1963-2009"

Oh God, My Forehead Is Too Big

"Oh God, My Forehead Is Too Big"
by Robert Pattinson

AN EXCERPT:
Oh God, my head...it hurts. Seriously, it feels like Dumbo is sitting on the crows in that movie. Dumbo, I think it was called. And I guess I'm one of the crows. Kind of like that other movie...The Crow. Remember how dark and brooding that character was? Remember how I'm so dark and brooding all the time? Remember Twilight? Remember how dark, brooding and complex I was in that movie? Your daughters think I'm the new Johnny Depp.

In fact, my forehead is effin' Johnny Deep. My forehead will probably be longer than my career.

My face hurts though. It's like Kristen Stewart's ego sat on me. Sure, she's a little stick figure, but her ego is so awful big. She didn't even try acting in Twilight. She just flopped around like a fish being electrocuted. I flopped around like a fish once. I was on a girl, and I was trying to impress her. We were fooling around. And then I rested my head on her head and she went into a coma. A sexy coma.

Damn, I've got a migraine again. I think my head's going to explode. Call a doctor! Call Dr. Acula! Get it? Because I was a vampire once? Wheeeeeeeeeeeee! I'm going blind!

Happy My Day!

"Happy My Day!"
by St. Patrick

TAGLINE:
You owe me. I got rid of the snakes. And maybe the Druids. They were bad mamojamas.

Big Red

"Big Red: The Story Of A Cornhusker From Out Of Town"
a sports memoir
by Austen Montero

TAGLINE:
Nebraska will kick your asska if you don't read this book.

Yep, I'm Hitting That...Me, Ryan Adams

"Yep, I'm Hitting That...Me, Ryan Adams"
by Ryan Adams

AN EXCERPT:
I didn't think that one book was enough to make you jealous, so I wrote another one. I write books like songs, one after another. Some good, some bad. Whatever. I write songs. And books. And see clouds. I see clouds one after another. I saw a lizard once. I stomped it because it called me pretentious. No, I'm not crazy. I'm just famous.

Oh, and I put my name in blue just to be ironic.

Ryan Adams Rules

"Ryan Adams Rules"
by Ryan Adams

AN EXCERPT:
Look, idiots, I rule.

I mean, I just scientifically proved that if you act as weird and stupid as you want, as brainless and careless and reckless as possible, jump in and out of trends, act tortured and diseased, and even look like Harry Potter for a solid year, you can not only bang Mandy Moore, but you can marry her.

That's right. I married Mandy Moore.

How awkward do you think I can make those wedding photos? I'll probably just look off to the side, not even at the camera. I haven't looked directly into a camera for a couple months now. All my weirdo friends will be there, but they won't be socialites like Mandy's friends. My friends are drunks and drug-users. They got it hard. One of them ate a live moth once because they were attracted to the same light.

I'll probably sober up for the wedding night, so I can remember what it feels like to win.

And then when she falls asleep, I'll probably just drink whatever's under the sink and write a song on my acoustic guitar in the bathtub about how hard I have it.

I'm so deep, I'll probably drown if I think too hard. Did you see my nerdy glasses? Yea, I started wearing them the second they stopped being cool in the mainstream, making me the hippest guy ever. Did you see my jean jacket? Same thing.

Goooooooooo Cardinals!

Daddy Issues

"Daddy Issues: a series of letters to older men"
by Hayden Panettiere

AN EXCERPT:
January 11, 2009

Dear Milo Ventilmigliasaliosasteehee,

I never did figure out how to say your last name when we were dating. But then again, my name's pretty off the wall too. I guess we were meant for each other. At some point, at least. But not anymore. Not now that I'm awesome and ready to grind my bones on some new meat. You know what I'm saying?

I just feel like...you're not old enough yet. You'll understand one day. I just need a man. You're just a boy. Just a boy who randomly talks like Batman in The Dark Knight. You're only in your early 30s. You're just starting life. I need someone more experienced.

I hope you understand one day when you're crying into your diary, which we're all sure you have. Even the guy who plays Sylar thinks you're a kind of a bitch, and he wears purple when he's not working. Purple, Milo. Purple. I wore purple once. But it was a purple thong that I danced in for my friend's stepfather. He didn't even ask for it. In fact, he begged for me to stop and threw clothes at me, like...he...wanted...it...bad. But you wouldn't know.

Yousa bitch, Ventilagrosaliopoteehee. A total bitch. You can see what you miss as soon as Playboy stops calling me crazy and lets me pose for them. Those older men need something good in their pants. And that something good is me. God, older men fill a void in me.

Get bent.

Wuuuuuuuuuuuuuuv,
Hayden

p.s. You're a boner. Grow up.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

January 12, 2009
Dear Guy Who Plays My Dad On Heroes,

Let's get down.

Suckily,
Hayden

p.s. Remember this wonderful night?

Of Hearts And Other Wages

"Of Hearts And Other Wages"
by Jake Kilroy

AN EXCERPT:
"How heavy do you think this city is?" she asked him, setting down her pink martini on the windowsill.

Jerry stared at her for a moment. "I don't even understand the question, Amy."

"Well, suppose I was ambitious."

"You are ambitious."

"No, I'm quite drunk, really."

Jerry stared at her, and then his beer, and then her again. She was certainly in top-form tonight.

"If I were so ambitious," she said, "wouldn't the city kill me from its own sheer dead weight? How long would I last? What would the countryside think of me?"

"Is this a rhetorical question?"

"Only if there's no answer, and if that's the case, then I suppose I'm wasting my time," Amy said, almost with a meow, scratching his lapel. "This party bores me," she added, looking around the loft, with scattered souls and drinks.

"You know everyone though. And your sister has a lot of nice friends," Jerry said.

"When have friends ever helped a drunk girl with ambition? Or a sober girl with drunk ambition, for that matter, as I will be a heaping mess of sanity come tomorrow morning?"

"I wouldn't say that," Jerry mumbled with a chuckle and a shrug.

"Jerry, why have you never loved me?"

Jerry nearly shot the beer out of his nose. He wiped the window he had just sprayed. "What?" he stammered.

"Boy, you've got the parts to make this engine run. You can gun it, floor it, kill it and speed through my highway, listening to your favorite blues song, and you've never so much as turned on your signals. All I see are brake lights, and that's if the car's even on. You've got nothing but speed limit you can ignore when you wreck and ruin my roads. The asphalt was paved for you a long time ago. You can smell the beach and hear the birds and see the grass whipping in the wind. There's a fresh breeze to hit your hair. You can have this wild life, complete with air-conditioning and a good stereo, but you would turn on the ignition. I'll tell you right now that I'll let you drive my highway until the sun sets right on my goddamn stomach, Jerry," she purred. "Now what do you say?"

Jerry, eyes wide and mouth almost hanging off of his face, grabbed Amy's hand and took her to the closest empty room.

Your Film Sucks

"Your Film Sucks"
by Jason Ornelas

TAGLINE:
See title.

Watchmen Costumes

"Watchmen Costumes"
by Randy Tabula

TAGLINE: Remember how everyone went as The Joker from The Dark Knight last year? Well, this year, you can be Rorschach from Watchmen! Why be unique when you can be like everyone else? Sure, Halloween's far away, but you need to start telling everyone that you're going as Rorschach so they know you thought of it first!

No Good Men In The City

"No Good Men In The City"
a crime novel
by Jake Kilroy

AN EXCERPT:
"There ain't a bridge we can't cross in this town," Bruzzo said, ignoring the noises of the seaport below. "This is a territory scuffle. It's not some random gunshots in the night. These aren't just bullets ricocheting of the stars, Johnny. These are people that want wars between the lines. You want Poland? You have to go through Germany now. You have to take the big ones down first before the small ones. That's where every big shot when wrong, when we went weak. You start strong, you finish strong. And I'm not talking about this stupid city, where carjackers can actually make a decent living, or the faulty countries in Europe, where you can't forget history, even if you tried. This is about mankind. This is about humanity. This is about the lives of human beings, from womb to gun to stroke. No gangster thinks he's going to live forever. But he tries to cheat death as often as he can. From a stomachache in a pizza parlor to cancer creeping around a man's bones, every gangster in this city knows that he's gonna die from a gunshot he didn't think was coming. But he'll be on the lookout with a search party until his body hits the ground so hard that they bury him where he once stood. Now, you're a smart guy, am I right? Then don't ever think that a car accident is going to be what kills you, Johnny. Unless of course it's a semi driven by your worst enemy. Then, well, you could die that way."

The wind was slapping Johnny's coat against his cold legs. His body hurt. From years of apathy to years of violence, everything ached.

He stared at the river. The bridge, the seaport, the ships that come in and out like swimming mice, all of it could burn in an instant, he thought. Bruzzo was right. There was no eternity, no lifetime, no patron saints to look out for gangsters like him. He'd be dead before he knew how to live. Unless, of course, he started doing Bruzzo's dirty work.

At least he could always eat. A working man could starve, but a gangster had the feast of kings every night without the bothersome drool of a lackluster court jester. There may be no saints to look after me, Johnny thought, but there's some sinners out there that would take bullets for their own, and then throw them back.

"I want in," Johnny said, finally looking at Bruzzo. And all Bruzzo did was grin.

My First Acid Trip

"My First Acid Trip: a glorious account of trouble (or a troubling account of glory)"
by Sam Serrano

AN EXCERPT:
And then there was this banana, who I think was my date. But the bats were trying to eat his face, but he was, like, laughing. And the yellow brick road was there, but it was moving. And I think there were snow cones being served by a prostitute. But she was also selling big hams. But the hams weren't really hams, they were like...bats. But not the ones eating the talking banana's face. The clouds were laughing too, actually, now that I think about it. My shoes wouldn't shut up either. And everything was smokey. Well, kind of anyway. I had a report due, but I couldn't do it because my pencil kept crying.

Finally though, after all of the monkeys left the party and the robots stopped dancing, I could hear the stream to a creek that I didn't know existed in the desert. Or at least I think it was the desert. It could've just been a bunch of hyenas whimpering that they couldn't find their way home. I was sure I saw them. But I don't know where they live. Who knows? Maybe The Shadow knows. But he wasn't there. Or at least I don't think he was. I mean, there were shadows there...huh, maybe they're related or something. Oh my God, and then I ate so many freakin' golf balls!

Mess City, Population 1

"Mess City, Population 1: How I Survived My 21st Birthday"
by Caitlin Kilroy

TAGLINE:
Remember your 21st birthday? No? Then read this book!

Hater

"Hater: The Anger of a Twentysomething Research Editor"
by James Park

TAGLINE:
This is bullshit.

Gasoline Marketing (and other regrets)

"Gasoline Marketing and other regrets"
by George Richard Wagoner, Jr.

AN EXCERPT:
You know, if I had to choose the absolute worst decision of my time at General Motors as Chariman & CEO, it would be finally admitting to everyone that axing the EV1 electric-car program and not putting the right resources into hybrids made us look awful. Yes, yes, this is something that everyone has known for a while, but...you know, I thought I'd get around to mentioning that. Did everyone else see the coming trends of automobile-making? Sure. But it's not like it really screwed us. It didn't affect profitability, just innovation.

Oh, also, we need $30 billion to stay out of Chapter 11 bankruptcy protection. No, the $13.4 billion in federal loans in 2009 haven't been enough. And yes, I'm aware that it's only February. But we lost $9.6 billion in the Fourth Quarter.

Annnnnnnnnnnd if you haven't figured out who killed the electric car yet, I assure you I didn't, but man, did I stab that motherfucker a few times. I didn't exactly kill the electric car. I mean, I wasn't in completely charge until 2000. That son of a bitch was on its deathbed by the time I first sat in my big comfy chair. So...eat it.

And yet...I'm still the best thing to come out Delaware.

Frost On The Snow

"Frost On The Snow"
a collection of poems
by Robert Frost

BACK COVER:
Finally! An anthology of Robert Frost's work on the snow! Didn't you ever get sick of him writing about everything else? Oh, a puppy frolicking around on some warm grass? I don't give a shit about that puppy. Now, you put that puppy freezing his cute little toes off in some snow and I'm there!

And only Robert Frost could write over 300 pages of poetry just about snow.

Suck a fat non-snow rod, T.S. Idiot!

I'm telling you right now that there is no higher plane of writing than that of Frost's endless obsession with snow. Snow is where mankind began, in the Ice Age. Snow is where mankind will end, in another Ice Age. If this book could've been made out of snow, it would've been. And Robert Frost probably would've written an entire 'nother book just about this one being made of snow.

Why? Because snow inspires Robert Frost. It's his life force. He's like that claymation ice king in that one old Narnia-Christmas movie where he has to battle the fire king. Except Frost is tougher than death. Shit, he looked like he was on the verge of a grave since his early 30s.

This book includes the classics:
"Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening"
"Snow On A Winter's Day"
"Birds In The Snow"
"An Old Man And His Snow"
"Snow, Snow, Snow"

Didn't you ever read Frost's poems your sophomore year of high school and think, "Man, this guy was onto something. I wish I could love snow like he loves snow. But all I care about are football games and hand jobs."

Well, listen up, dickhead! Snow! It's here, in your hands!

Why, here's an excerpt from The Snowiest Snow I Ever...Snowed:

But the snow is dim, under the pale moon light,
which looks like snow, so snowy and white,
but spring will come, snow's ultimate curse,
and me, here in the snow, where my bones hurt.

Did you just fucking read that right now? His bones hurt. He almost died for this literature deal. Here's another excerpt, this time from Snowflakes On My Snowy Head:

There is snow on my head! Get it off!
There is snow in my bed! Get it out!
There is snow in my whiskers!
I am a cat!

Now ask yourself: did Robert Frost straight-up just own your snowless face on that one? Get some snow on you. And write about it. Because if there's anything that Robert Frost's death taught us over 40 years ago, it was that snow...fucking...rules.

Get some.
Snow.

Apathy

"Apathy"
by Jason Ornelas

ENTIRE BOOK:
So there I was, stuck in what could be the end of the world, and out of nowhere, some dude comes out of the pit of Hell. Or something. I don't know. Some horses came out. Like...skeleton horses and then there was some lashing out of a god, maybe? Then the Devil started screaming some stuff and I just kind of sat there and...I'm kind of over this book...

Provo

"Provo"
a play in three acts
by Bret Meisenbach

AN EXCERPT:
CAROLINE: These mountains are warmer than usual this year. At the cold crisp tip, I'm sure that the weight of the world doesn't feel so dire.

JACK: Probably. But there are always ways to feel warmer.

CAROLINE: Love?

JACK: Actually, I was speaking more of cigarettes and rum.

[Jack pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a bottle of spiced rum, showing them mockingly to Caroline]

CAROLINE: Nobody abuses either of those things in in this town.

JACK: Then let's not abuse them. Let's have them in moderation.

CAROLINE: I'm fine. You're welcome to your own heavy destruction.

JACK: No thanks. I was only curious to see us kill ourselves out of the same boredom.

[Jack throws the cigarettes and lets the bottle of rum roll down the hill]

CAROLINE: You're a strange guy, Jack.

JACK: And you're a strange creature, Caroline.

CAROLINE: A creature?

JACK: You are human, aren't you?

[Caroline stares at Jack for a long time before finally slapping his thigh]

CAROLINE: We can be born of the same boredom, can't we? What say you to creating?

JACK: I'll be as reckless as you are.

CAROLINE: Then let's show this town some fireworks.

This Went Rather Poorly (For Her)

"This Went Rather Poorly (For Her)"
by Angelina Jolie

AN EXCERPT:
Oscar Night.

I, the drop-dead-sexy Angelina Jolie am heading to the bathroom, where I am approached by a ranting and raving lunatic man. Oh wait. It's Jennifer Aniston. More like Jennifer Cantstand. Hmmmm...I should write that down and file it away in my sexy dungeon. Ugh. She's gonna yell at me about some inane bullshit she calls moral conviction. If I wasn't so sure she were asexual with her mirror, I bet she'd probably want to boink me. Jesus, who doesn't want to boink me these days? Damn, here's the crazy dude now. How did Braddie-Poo ever put his "character actor" into her gross "plot?"

Jennifer Aniston storms up to me and puts her finger in my face.

She yells, "I've been waiting five years to say this to you. You're a bitch. You ruined everything. You're such a skank-ho that I can't even believe they let you adopt children. I've got ten fingers that say you're the loosest goose in this town and thousands of women that agree with me. Team Aniston could kick Team Jolie's ass. Nobody loves you. Not even Brad. There was just a huge misunderstanding between us. He'll come back. One day. But for right now, I'm kinda-sorta holding onto John Mayer. He's a good guy. He's dumped me several times for vague reasons... but I still love the guy! He makes beautiful music! We make beautiful music! You don't give a shit about anyone else but yourself. All that good will bullshit is just so people think you're deep. But you're not! You're as shallow and bitchy as the tabloids say you are. God, you even smell like sin. You smell like you just broke up another marriage. How do you sleep at night, taking care of kids, but knowing you're a homewrecker? What kind of bitch-ass mother are you? You're a bitch-ass. God, I hate you. How do you even have friends? You're the worst thing ever. I kept my mouth shut for years, but now, I'm letting everyone know that you suck. God, you suck. I'm going to tell US WEEKLY all about this encounter and they'll agree that you're pregnant with the Devil's spawn. What do you have to say about that, Miss Angelina Bitch-Ass Jolie?"

I yawn obtusely. "I'm still banging your ex-husband every day," I say, with a shrug. "So...I win."

"Ugggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggh," Jennifer Aniston yells, shaking her head and fists.

And then I open the bathroom door slowly, where all the girls inside want take me on a vacation to Boink City, USA.

They Gave Me My Own Show

"They Gave Me My Own Show"
by Jimmy Fallon

BOOK SLEEVE:
Hi, I'm Jimmy Fallon, but you can call me Jimmy Fallon. Hahahahahaha. Oh man. I gotta save that one for my show. Oh yeah. My show. I have a show. I'll show you my show if you show me yours. Hahahahahahaha. Seriously though, I have a show. A talk show. Hahahaha. I don't even know why I laughed that time. Anyway, this show's going to be hilarious. I'm going to do wacky impressions. Hahahahaha. Just thinking about them makes me laugh. Hahahahaha. And it'll make you laugh. Hahahahaha. It's going to be so funny. Hahahahahaha. Seriously. Hahahahaha. You're going to split your side. Hahahahaha. Because one time...hahahahaha. Well, I'll tell you when I have my show. Hahahahaha. For right now, I have to...hahahahahaha. I have to write some....hahahaha. Some introductions...hahahaha. To the show...hahahaha. I don't know...hahahaha. You're going....hahahaha. To love it....hahahahaha. I...hahahaha. Want...hahahaha. To...hahahahaha. Be...hahahaha. The...hahahaha. Next...hahahaha. Jay Leno...hahahaha.

Yeah, I should totally host a talk show, because if there's anything I'm known for, it's not talking about myself too much and not laughing while other people are talking.

Look At Me! Look At Me!

"Look At Me! Look At Me!"
a picture book
by Lady Gaga

AN EXCERPT:

CHAPTER TWO: Me still luv fashion!


Me look like Amy Winehouse in dis picture. But she is British. I is Italian! She likes fish and I like pasta!!!! We are the same, but we are differeeeeeeeeeeeennnnttttt!!!! Me Lady Gaga! Me is from Yonkers! Dey call me "Le Bonkers from Yonkers!" Maybe I is French? But no! Me is Lady Gaga! With Italian blood! And maybe some other stuuffffffff like blackness, because of my booty. My Lady Gaga booty! Et es soooo roooooound! Et es like de moon! But it poops! Poops gold records dat is! Me Lady Gagaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!

Look at Lady Gaga above. She is da Lady Gaga. She sometimes kill you fo being so pretty. And sunglasses at night? She is interestiiing! One day when I was child, my mom said, "You can't go outside wearing pink underwear on the outside of a blue dress." And I said, "You is confoosed! You are listening to society's lies You no need to wear shoes on your feet, because then how will you climb treeeeeeeeeeeees!" And den she hit me! Wiff boomerang! Where did da boomerang come from? Oh no! Et es coming baaaaack! Protect Lady Gaga! She has da secret formula!
Me luv attentioooooooooooooooooooooon! The Lady Gaga demands it! All de people love me. Like Babar, de Elephant King! He ride into sunset wiff me humping his back. We are lovers! Like pro-basketball players, dunking on each ovver! We no listen to society. Me make dance music, because me like dance music. Haff you seen Babar dance? No wonder he is Elephant King!

Me seem so happy here. But I is not. I is so lonely. Like Babar, de Elephant King.

I Don't Look Like This Anymore

"I Don't Look Like This Anymore."
by Lindsay Lohan

BACK COVER:
Lindsay's back. Again. But now, she doesn't have all the trials and tribulations of "weight" or "baggage." She's a stone-cold fox. Or the deadweight of a dead one anyway. But remember when she had enough meat on her to be a meal? Remember your jealousy, ladies? Remember your wet dreams, gentleman? Well, now she looks like this, thinner than ever, naked and ready to party:

A Colorful Scheme

"A Colorful Scheme"
a novel
by Shawn Trondsen

AN EXCERPT:
"We're not going to shoot him, are we?" Michael said quickly.

Languins was taken aback. "No. No, of course we're not going to shoot him. Jesus. That's why we're on this roof. We just need to photograph him. We're bank robbers, not murderers, Mike. Do you see a gun up here?"

"Well, I have one."

Languins again was taken aback. "Mike, why the hell do you have a gun?"

"I didn't know what the plan was."

"We went over the plan at breakfast!"

"I wasn't really paying attention."

"You're telling me that we're about to rob this bank in a week's time, which is a serious, serious crime, and you're not paying attention to the plan?"

"My eggs were runny. I kept trying to flag down the waitress."

"You're a lofty idiot of a man sometimes, Mike. Even in grade school."

"You copied off of me in grade school!"

"Well, then I was the loftier idiot. Watch it. Here he comes."

I Seriously Love Kids And Everyone Is Being A Total Dick To Me

"I Seriously Love Kids And Everyone Is Being A Total Dick To Me"
by Nadya Suleman

BACK COVER:
Nadya Suleman didn't know where to turn. All she wanted was kids and now the world was basically being a total dick to her. She just wanted to be a mother. Is that so wrong? Why don't you go to your own mother and call her irresponsible?

Oh, you wouldn't? Hypocrite.

Ugh. Even Canada's media is getting involved. The Vancouver Sun is being the bitch of all bitches by bringing up the fact that Suleman totally ignored condoms, IUDs, birth control pills, vaginal ring, contraceptive sponge, diaphragm. rhythm method, cervical cap, tubal ligation, spermicide, hysterectomy, morning-after pill, depo-provera injections, vasectomy and coitus interruptus.

But all Suleman wanted was to be a mother. So what if she was already a mother? So what if she was already a mother six times over? She just wanted to be a mother. To 14 kids. While living with her parents. Without a job. Come on, isn't this how J.K. Rowling started off? Except on her own? And had just lost a job? With almost a dozen less children? Ok, then all Suleman has to do is write a internationally-acclaimed best-seller that makes her richer than the queen. God, lay off! Give her time!

She just wanted a big family. Oh, and sure people are thinking, "Hey, I wanted a pool of gravy with a diving board made out of turkey, but you need money for that!" Well, fuck off, that shit is stupid. She's raising kids. Like a hero. Remember those kids that helped saved the local community center by putting on a play? Remember those kids that worked little league games by your house even though they didn't have to? Or remember those kids that put up the flag at Iwo Jima? You're an asshole.

Yes, yes, yes, the average kid costs $13,000 in their first year and Suleman has that times 8. But you know, a certain Angelina Jolie has some kids...?

FROM CNN:
"That was always a dream of mine, to have a large family, a huge family, and I just longed for certain connections and attachments with another person that I really lacked, I believe, growing up," she said. Asked what was lacking, she cited a "feeling of self and identity ... I felt powerless. And that gave me a sense of predictability. Reflecting back on my childhood, I know it wasn't functional. It was pretty dysfunctional, and whose isn't?"

Guess who said that? Mother Teresa? Close! It was Nadya Suleman, dickwad. She just wants her kids to have a normal, functional childhood. So she had 14 of them. So they could all be friends. And she doesn't have a job. So she can stay home and love them. And her parents will probably help out too. And you know they're stoked on kids. They had at least one. So why wouldn't they love 14?

Oh, remember, bring your children for the softball tournament next Saturday. Oh...you don't have enough kids to form a team, you say? That's weird, because Nadya Suleman has enough kids to play with substitutes too. I guess you forfeit then and Suleman automatically wins! Wins at life! Who's the dick now?

Happy Valentine's Day

"Happy Valentine's Day
by Cupid

TAGLINE:
Really, just because this holiday is supposedly a "Hallmark holiday," you're going to ignore it? Why not be good to your man or woman every other day AND this day? Why choose to protest instead of love? You're dumb.

Assault!

"Assault!"
by Chris Brown

TAGLINE:
I've had songs called "Poppin" and "Take You Down" and "Damage" and "Throwed" and Jesus Christ, people, how did you not see it coming?

Wait...

"Wait..."
by Christian Bale

AN EXCERPT:
Everyone is says that i is a hero? That I stands up someone? Yeis, yeis, the director of photogwaphy was no good. No good! I is so great! Me promise you, world, that I am new Christian Bale. Faster. Stronger. Better. More Batmany. Ron Howard say I good guy. So does McG. I good man. I is un hero to the civilarios! I can has cheezburger?

Fuck

"Fuck"
by Christian Bale

AN EXCERPT:
Listen, man, everyone's getting on my fucking case about some fucking guy that I fucking yelled at. Well, fuck him. Come on, he's a fucking asshole. Fuck the entire family of that fuck. I'm sick of this fucking shit. Ugh. Fucking...I was in The Dark fucking Knight. You fucking owe me, world. Remember when I darkened my voice for fucking symbolism? And it was so fucking gnar that I sounded like I was getting over scarlet fever and a fucking whooping cough? I couldn't read until I was fucking 7. And even then, I'd just read fucking picture books. Oh fucking dammit, did I write that? Fucking...why can't I stop? One time, I fucked a tranny! Dammit! Another crazy fucking outburst for me, Christian Bale! Fuck all of this.

No, No, No...I'm Doing Great

"No, No, No...I'm Doing Great: a tailspin into insanity (tailspinsanity?)"
by MC Skatrat (the actor formerly known as Joaquin Phoenix

AN EXCERPT:
Oh man, I'm like an artist. Like, an artist's artist. I can do everything. Even act. As an artist. Or freestyle as an actor-turned-rapper-turned artist. I quit acting. I'm deep, man. Like an ocean. That's why my parents almost named me: Ocean. But they decided that it was too similar to my uncle Tundra and my aunt Rainforest. Children of God, playa. They once made me worship a tree branch, playa.

Oh yeah, I say "playa" now. Why? Because I'm no longer Joaquin Phoenix. That was my fascist name. Now, I'm MC Skatrat, the most fly on the wall. Sticky and sweet, slick and to the beat.

Look, right there, I rapped. And you doubted me? Psssch. I own the night.

Come on, I'm in the zone now. How many movies did I make where I acted braindead? And then they had me play Johnny Cash, who spoke like he was braindead. The Golden Globes wanted to high-five my weiner, they loved me as Cash so much. I could've banged the Golden Globes' mother if I wanted to. But I'm too into Mother Earth that I'd never do it. I love this planet more than people. Also, because I'm so mysterious and miserably charming as a bag full of misery that no one can get inside my head. It's too dark. Maybe you should turn on a light. Oh wait, you can't, because that would be electricity killing the planet. Asshole.

But anyway, fuck acting.

Now, I'm into music. And you're into me. You're into my music through the power of song. I'm so cool I'm retarded. Totally retarded. Just...so retarded.

I'm a humanitarian and I approve my message.

Folksinger

"Folksinger"
by Jake Kilroy

AN EXCERPT:
"There ain't a wind I can't carry, no sun I can't meet, no woman I can't please," the folksinger said, squinting at the sinking sun, a bright orange engulfing the valley.

"Sounds pretty arrogant," Henry remarked.

"I wasn't saying. I was quoting."

"Quoting who?"

"Don't know. Someone else. You know these fields will be turned into houses one day and those birds will have no songs."

"Yea, I know."

"And the world will lose another good artist for modern movement. One more gravesite for a beautiful work. Fine time for a last hurrah."

"Is that why you're drinking?"

"No, it's why I'm thinking, why I'm talking, why I'm wondering where all the women are that I once knew."

"Not here at sunset, that's for sure. You just got me."

"I'll take it."

The two watched the sky fall, sitting atop a creaky wooden fence. The birds sang as the sky went from orange to to red, then to purple, then to black. Then the crystal stars came out to shine in the moonlight. And the two just sat there with new beers and old words.

Uh Oh

"Uh Oh"
by Macy's

TAGLINE: Cutting 7,000 jobs, eh? Hard to know how to feel about a company that had cool things like homosexual mannequins but uncool things like private jails and interrogation rooms.

Everyone Totally Feels Sorry For Me, Right?

"Everyone Totally Feels Sorry For Me, Right?"
by Ashton Kutcher

AN EXCERPT:
And then you're not going to believe this, a construction crew was outside of my mansion. How awful is that? Look at me, I'm just like you..."normies."

To further prove that I was just like you guys, I pulled a Puff Daddy and ranted about how hard the standards of living are for the exceptionally wealthy. At 7 in the morning, I had to carry myself to my patio (which took just under an hour, because I had to stop at my ice rink for a quick skate) and started yelling into my video camera about my neighbor keeping me up.

Hypothetically...let's say I'm a 13-year-old girl. A girl bothered me at school today. I went on Twitter and whined about it the rest of the day. Now, let's say I'm dating a friend's dad. Now let's realize that what I did as a little girl isn't all that different as to what I, Ashton Kutcher, did as an adult. Also, even as a thirtysomething, let's say I just got my first period.

But I yelled into my camera for legal purposes, of course. Even though construction is legally allowed to start at 7 a.m. in Los Angeles, according to the law. Even though I've made a glorious amount of noise, everything from watching television really loud with my wife and throwing windows off of my balcony for no apparent reason.

I've made a career as an underwear model and then as an actor playing nothing but socially-inept, loud, obnoxious characters and then as the host and producer of my own prank show, so why shouldn't you feel sorry for me when I'm bothered? Are you telling me that I haven't earned my keep? Why don't you feel sorry for me? Feel more sorry for me.

So, instead of waking up and having my chef cook my eggs, having my shoe-putter-onner put on my shoes and my birds dressing me like Snow White, I had to take my Angry Slide instead of my Happy Slide to my Funhouse, which isn't so fun when someone's neighbor is hammering away. Also, my snowcones didn't taste as good today because my neighbor is mean.

I was also hoping that everyone would forget that the entire premise of my show Punk'd was bothering people. And now I'm bothered. Ironic, eh? Feel sorry for me. Irony hurts. And because there's a-people makin' a-racket outside of my million dollar home.

Remember when I made Justin Timberlake think he was losing his house?
Remember when I convinced Usher that his brother got arrested?
Remember when I made Demi Moore love me?

Ugh. It's so stupid that I'm getting punk'd...by life.

Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.

We Are So Great, Aren't We?

"We Are So Great, Aren't We?"
by Kanye West & Brandon Flowers

AN EXCERPT:
BF: "I mean, how can you listen to Day & Age and not think I'm an embryo child of Bob Dylan, Bruce Springsteen, Paul Simon and James Taylor? I'm like the songwriter these days."

KW: "Too true, man. Same thing with 808s & Heartbreaks. I am so good that I almost seem, dare I say it?...bad. People can't handle the truth."

"I know. Sometimes, you're just so good that you can see the work of others. It comes to depress you."

"Oh, every time I listen to another album of anybody's, I fart, just to add something to the tracks to make it better. My farts are like clouds made up of laughter, hugs and seasoning salt."

"I'm pretty sure I could do Bruce Springsteen's "Born To Run" better than The Boss himself."

"I bet I could bring Tupac back from the dead if I just asked nicely."

"We are so great, aren't we?"

"Yeah, of course. God, I wish we could high-five so hard we could have a kid."

"But then we'd have to compete against him."

"Yeah, but we could just record each other's stuff and it'll seem like new music."

"That's an amazing idea. I could do 'Mr. Brightside' in a hip hop tempo easy and you could do 'Good Life' to a dance beat."

"Right. God, we're so great."

"So great."

"Like...super awesome mega great."

"Great times infinity."

"Yeah...except...are we really doing each other's tracks or our own?"

"Each other's, because we're so great."

"Oh, because I thought maybe we were doing our owns just a second ago, because we're so great."

"Well, because we're so great, I'm not sure who I am right now and which songs I'm doing."

"You're Kanye."

"I thought you were Kanye."

"Oh...well, I don't know...we sound so much alike when we talk about ourselves..."

"Yeah, I know...what are you wearing?"

"Some stupid white blazer with white slacks and a pink button up shirt."

"Damn. That could be either of us."

"Well, what are you wearing?"

"Some frilly number with sunglasses indoors."

"Damn. That could be either of us again."

"Well, who helped you get famous?"

"I don't know. Some guys."

"Yeah, some guys helped me get famous too...wow, this is hard."

"Well, I've got some feuds..."

"Yeah, me too..."

"Hmmm...what's your religion?"

"Money."

"Oh, mine too."

"Isn't one of us, like... Mormon and one of us Christian?"

"Yeah, but I like money more."

"Yeah, me too."

"You ever pet the television when you're on it?"

"Yeah."

"Hmmm...that doesn't narrow it down at all..."

"I think I tend to lose my temper in interviews...?"

"Yeah, so do I."

"Ah well, you just want to flip a coin?"

Harsh

"Harsh"
by Jessica Simpson

TAGLINE: Seriously, after we spent an entire year talking about change and then voted in a new president that advocates tolerance and progression, we're really going to ridicule and grill me for adding on a few pounds, nowhere near fat? F'real?

A$$ = Cash

"A$$ = Cash (Or, How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Let My Booty Do All The Talking)
by Kristen Henning

BACK COVER:
You ever heard of music called Grindcore? Well, you can reinvent that whole genre with this book. You can grind your butt so wild and good that the local boys will think it's music.

"Oh, was a symphony? Or...was that just some girl's fine booty?"

And then BAM! You're there. Mayor of Grindtown, USA. Governor of the dance floor. Ambassador to men's crotches everywhere. When the neon lights come on and the sweat starts pouring, you're the goddamn United Nations! Pulverizing the joint chiefs of chief joints. Ride'em, ride'em, ride'em, PEACE.

But what, are you doing this gig for free? Well, sometimes. Sometimes, you just have to believe in the faith of charity work and let them boys get a little preview before the show. But those drinks will come like you're the only cowgirl with a short enough gun holster to really hold those guns that the boys think are theirs.

But baby, those guns belong to you! Those six shooters will be all-night shooters if you play your cards right down at the saloon. Without a bar tab, with the piano player trying to catch a good view.

Sorry, boys, these drinks are on you. But maybe we can switch drinks for a fast-talker, maybe some slow dancing after some faster drinks. You don't even know what's happening right now, do you? Well, guess what? You're already down to your underwear! Just now, I did that.

Works like a charm, this train with a caboose doing more work than the engine. Let that engine rest at night and let the caboose run 'til it's red. The rails won't end, hell no. Unless you want them to. Then you're the conductor, conducting a symphony and a train all at the same time.

Bam. 8 drinks and you're the new queen of Bootytown. Who's the king? Don't know, changes every night. Wooooooooooooooooooooo!

Whisper techno songs, shake that ass down every flight of stairs, never ever pay for a drink and read this goddamn book.

Ladies, I'll see you on the dance floor.

Gentlemen, you'll see me on the dance floor.

The Last Girl In Las Vegas

"The Last Girl In Las Vegas"
by Violet Kawecki

AN EXCERPT:
"Did you find what you were looking for?" Kevin asked.

"No, and I don't think I ever will. I don't think any of us ever really find what we're looking for," Kiley said.

"You know that's not what I meant, Kiley."

The fountains were now playing a new song, with greens and pinks, a few yellows. Kevin leaned farther over the rail, his fingers still not touching the water.

"This town just seems so small, without anything to offer a girl that doesn't feel like pushing glam. Jesus, you have to wear heels to bed just to sleep in this town," Kiley mumbled with a anxious shrug.

"Kinda more of a city than a town," Kevin said with a cough.

"No way. This place is absolutely a town. Come on, a city is a functioning landscape of modern civilization," Kiley turned around to point at the glowing sky of bulbs and sprockets. "This place is one character shy of being a goddamn amusement park. It's a town, a dying town, rotting within its own sparkling walls. Men wear suits without underwear and the women wear bow-ties without shirts in Las Vegas. It makes no sense. This town makes no sense. God, I figure the whole place will just be a ghost town with in the next century."

Kevin chuckled, turning himself around to lean against the bar too, "Every city will be a ghost town in the next century. Everyone's got a bomb ready to go off. I think even Egypt does."

"You know what I mean though, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's just ironic that this place was built up because of the bomb industry."

"Yeah, I feel like there's still a burying haze from the nuclear testing, even today. That's what people come for, the high. The buzz of bombs. Win or lose, the bomb. Handcuffed in fur. Paid in full. God, I hate this city."

"I thought you said it was a town."

"Well, I say a lot of things," Kiley said, looking at her glimmering watch. "Come on, let's go."