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.