Awaking to the shabby light of a post-Oscar dawn, I am gripped by a general malaise. Where have all the beautiful people gone? Having so recently escaped the mesmerizing vortex of Halley Berry’s perfectly buffed and polished cleavage; I emerge to find my ordinary life . . . not nearly sparkly enough.
I don’t know how normal people cope with the post-Oscar blues, especially when it’s compounded by a four-hour peanut and champagne binge, but I suspect that any writer worth their salt stumbles to the computer and, as underpaid minions sweep the empty valium bottles and sodden silk hankies from the floor of the Dolby theatre, they pen their acceptance speech for Best Adaptation of their own original work.
After having done this, the revived writer then moves on to cast the award-winning screen play with actors and actresses they’d most like to sleep, I mean, work with. All in the name of making Great Art, of course.
As my contribution to world-wide cleavage withdrawal relief, I’ve posted a free excerpt from the soon to be award-winning novel, Death is a Star, because we all know that hair of the dog is best antidote, and so I offer my fantasy world as a humble comfort to your glitter hangover.
As an added balm for your over-taxed fantasy life, I offer Nicole Kidman in the role of Irene, the demon-loving sister. I’ll give the role of Theda, the compassionate elephant-handler, to Angelina Jolie. Jude Law will make the perfect manic-depressive Demon, and why not cast his sleuthing buddy, Robert Downey Jr., as the owner of the dysfunctional mud show circus, Edwin Striker. They’ll be great fun at the after party. And so very, very grateful, I’m sure.