If you are reading this, I may already be dead. It’s been two days since I began running for my life from George Clooney. I haven’t showered or brushed my teeth in over a day. I feel disgusting. I told my driver to keep us moving. We stop only for pee breaks, lattes and the occasional promotional appearances for my new movie Jesse James and the blah blah long title.
I tried to convince Angie that she and the boys, or whatever we have now, aren’t safe and that they needed to come with me, but she says I’m being paranoid and to just come home. She promised to let me watch as much Fat March as I want to and that she’d show me her boobies, but even brilliant television and amazing boobies can’t keep me safe from George.
Do you have any idea how horrible it is to have your best friend want to kill you? I guess I’ll never have the chance to give him his half of the BFF (best friends forever) heart necklace I got for us when I was in Paris.
OH MY GOD, WHAT WAS THAT!?
Oh my god, we just hit a small dog, but I thought it was George shooting at us. The driver wanted to stop to check on the animal, but it could have been a trap. George could have thrown that puppy in the street just so we’d hit him, stop and get out of the car. Then BAMMO! He snaps my neck and cuts my driver’s ears off.
My only option is to keep driving. Maybe drive until I find one of those martial art monks who can teach me to kill by making me catch flies with chopsticks or punching walls. Only then will I be able to face my destiny which goes by the name George Clooney.
Please tell Angie and our kids that I love them and that our work in movies hasn’t been in vain.
News Groper features more than 50 parody blogs by politicians, celebrities, business tycoons, and foreign despots.
This article appears in Sep 19-25, 2007.
