If imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, then murder must be the highest form of love. Somewhere in between murder and imitation lies home invasion and jacket stealing, and that’s exactly where we find ourselves when considering the peculiar and shadowy goings-on at Nicholas Cage’s house yesterday morning circa 2AM. Behold:

“Newport Beach Police report that a report was received at 1:27 AM saying that a strange male was in Nicholas Cages’ home. Cage’s wife and son were also in the home, when Cage, without incident, escorted the intruder into the backyard, where he was arrested a short time later by police. The intruder was wearing Mr. Cages’ jacket when he was discovered and taken into custody. There were no signs of forced entry, and no altercation.”

Elsewhere: It has been reportedly reported that a “secret” (ahem. Ahem. Yawn. Is this thing on?) sex tape featuring the way too tan one from “Desperate fucking Housewives” or whatever (Eva Something-something who cares) has–OMG!—suddenly surfaced. Like an eager submarine. Like an emphysematic whale. Like a GOP Senator from the lap of an undercover rest room cop. And so forth. Four out of five experts agree that “Ewwwwwwww!”, and the fifth expert just really didn’t give a shit.

Speaking of something like that I guess: Jennifer Lopez was the worst thing that ever happened to Ben Affleck, it’s true, and he said so himself in something called “Details Magazine”. According to the poor Mr. Affleck, who suffered Jennifer Lopez’s weird bullshit from 2002-2004, “Yeah, and howdy! That big bootied barrio witch ruined my life with all her strange Latin Santeria Hoodoo-Voodoo and her big fat ass! And the fingers…those greasy taco fingers! Touching me! I can still feel them! OH MY GOD!” he remarked just before he started clawing at his own flesh hard enough to draw blood and screaming a scream no man should ever scream. Jennifer Lopez was busy sacrificing chickens and sticking hot pins into little clay dolls with photos of Ben Affleck and some of his old pubes stuck all over them and could not be approached for comment. And it’s too bad you can’t curse off ass-fat. I’m just saying.

by Adrian Ryan

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