Using an even older picture than Nikki Finke’s, here is the very biased, incomplete, selective Wordsmoker Entertainment Lasso. While it’s not fiction, it’s still scary.

Roundup sounded too complete.

Hugh Jackman will not be hosting the Oscars this year as there has been an epidemic of “Jazz Hands” amongst tween Wolverine fans.

At the Doha/Tribeca Film Festival, Mira Nair said “If we don’t make our own stories, nobody else will,” about Amelia. This quote is totally taken out of context but is ridiculous even in context.

The shot perforated the silent fall morning.  Creatures scattered and birds flurried away at the sound, a cannon-blast to little ears, a commandeered sense of respect.

The buck fell immediately.  It was a direct hit, penetrating just below the left shoulder, likely grazing the heart.  The hunter remained still, his rifle poised atop a felled tree trunk, his eye still directed down the scope.  He took a moment to make sure his prey stayed down.  His instincts told him it was a good kill.  He trusted his instincts.  He trusted his vision even more.

Oh, they still came. They were everywhere he looked. Everywhere. They were on the streets, at the office, at the gym. In the rear-view in his car, he saw them walk backwards, caper, jump, point and scream. They hopped and scrabbled, babbling and moaning. Everywhere he went.

Everywhere.

It was a dark night but that’s not unusual around here. I had started to drift off, maybe I even slept for a short while but my eyes jerked open and suddenly I was wide awake, not sure why. My boyfriend lay half on top of me, scrunched in on the single bed that had been mine when I still lived at home. I rolled out of bed without waking him and felt for my clothes on the floor, automatically flipping the light switch before remembering that the power was out.

The sun was gone. It began to drizzle, a cool, light rain. I stood there and watched Rene drive away, heading west of all things. The rain began in earnest and I was getting soaked. My hair hung loose in long wet curls, my dress stuck to my body like a second skin. I began crying and in frustration, I started running. I had no idea where I was, where I was going. I slipped on the wet ground and fell to my knees.

The mere appearance of a ghost was nothing out of the ordinary for Andrew. He was a medium, after all, and not one of those predatory flimflam con artists that exploited the inner turmoil of the weak. During his first year of college, he had crashed his automobile through the fence of a cemetery while trying to avoid a drunk driver. It had been a bad wreck, and the paramedics told him later that he had died for a brief time before they were able to bring him back. The experience had left him with the ability to see and interact with the souls of dead people by touching one of their personal possessions.

First a bit of the background as to why I chose this Halloween to explore the age-old question about which is the greater threat: werewolves or zombies. I didn’t have any other ideas and a couple of my friends were arguing about it on Facebook.

It started with the status update of a colleague of mine:

“Thor Youngblood is still hoping to avoid werewolves this weekend, but it doesn’t look good.”

Giant Halloween stores have opened in my neighborhood, two of them! One sits in what used to be Gristedes, a terrible supermarket chain. The other occupies space formerly leased by J & R Music which went Chapter 11 earlier this year and left. I was indifferent to the departure – prices were okay but service was iffy. I bought my Toshiba laptop from them and 2 years ago I succumbed to an HDTV for my bedroom. I’ve lived in Manhattan for 23 years and harbor neither nostalgia for nor relief from commerce past. Some folks are passionate about changes to the neighborhood. I’m not.

You know, of course, that Connecticut senator Joe Lieberman wants to keep you from getting health care, right?

Is he a “Craven Stuffcheeks,” or what?

You might also know that Maine senator Olympia Snowe voted for a version of a health care bill that she didn’t really like and also that Snowe voted for it because she is a senatorial back-bencher and spotlight-craving whore.

Yes. I called Olympia Snowe a “whore.” And no, I’m not going to apologize for it.

I’m also calling her “Vispish Applebottom.”

Starting November 1st, if you’re a woman and you wish to act upon your right to obtain a legal abortion in the state of Oklahoma, you will have to sacrifice your privacy to do that and the medical provider you choose to perform the abortion will face criminal charges if they refuse or neglect to gather your private information and hand it over to the internet where it will be posted for all to see.

Hello and BOO! Before I continue scaring you out of what little wits you have left, I’d like to make a confession of slight stupidity. As you know, Halloween seems determined to occur on Saturday no matter what I say or do, and I’d forgotten this fact, alongside the other pertinent one that some of the slightly more gregarious amongst you may have plans to do something, like dress up like a massive vampire paper-clip or whatnot.

I’m kinda sleepy with painkillers and full of meh with depression, but if you’ve sent copy via email I’ll hopefully get around to it tomorrow if the pain subsides. Anyway, I’ve done something to my right shoulder which has caused intense shooting pains down my entire arm, essentially rendering it useless for the moment. So I’m hunting and pecking this whole message out to inform you of my physical malady SO YOU CAN CHORTLE AT MY EXPENSE YOU INTERNET BASTARDS. Sorry for the delay etc. Hopefully it will be better tomorrow because writing this took 20 fucking minutes. Urgh. xoxo

I will start out by saying that bar-none, the most quality men can be found on eHarmony. Even the ones who cannot spell or write worth a damn tend to have some endearing quality, even if it is only a Pilsbury-Dough-Boy-like pudge to their middle section. The men on eHarmony seem to be more genuine than those on Match.com or Plenty of Fish. eHarmony is definitely the place to be if you want to find someone as equally preoccupied with finding a spouse as you are.

Have you ever gone out in search of something weird and found even weirder things along the way?  Well, I found some pretty weird shit when I went out looking for a snuggie! (I really needed this snuggie for Halloween this weekend.  It is going to be cold and I am going to be wearing very little clothing so I needed something “cool” I could wear between bars and spill beer on without having to make a trip to the dry cleaners)

The Haunting (1963).  Adapted from a novel by Shirley Jackson, a master of the creepy story.  A small group of people goes to an old mansion called Hill House to see if they can observe paranormal activity there.  The viewer never sees ghosts or gore, but the tension and suspense is enough to frighten even the most cynical viewer.  In one scene, the lights go out and two women, one of them a little peculiar, are in the room.  The peculiar one comments about holding the other’s hand in the dark and the second woman denies it was her hand.  Christ, that’s scary!  In black & white.  (Avoid the remake – it’s stupid and entirely dependent on stupid special effects.)