This Book Could Be Your Life

Can someone please make a movie out of this book? You can cast Nick Cage as the old man and Will Ferrell as his wife, for all I care, just be faithful to the book. There is nudity, violence, action, black comedy, a love story, everything. It will make a billion dollars. I am not saying this because I think movies suck or actors suck or directors suck or studios suck. I don't care. People still watch movies: That is my point. Put it in the theaters. Don't screen it. Nobody cares. Get a mysterious billboard that doesn't mention it, a myspace page, an iPod-able trailer, a banner on Ultragrrl. Get Stephen Colbert to roast it. Get Dane Cook to talk about it with Jay Leno. Get Al-Jazeera to say it's imperialist. Get Zidane to headbutt it to the "Lazy Sunday" dudes. Get M.I.A. to rap about it with Paris and Nicole in a song called "Tell Me When To Go Blind" and put the video on Youtube. Have them all dress like Japanese dancehall queens. Get will.i.am on the remix. Put the Shepherd Fairey-designed logo on bags of grain and drop them on Darfur from Richard Branson's blimp. Get Shaun White to name a trick after it. Pump it full of steroids. Vote it into the Hall Of Fame. Tell Oprah it's a rapper. Tell Bush it's an Arab. Tell Kos it voted for the war. Tell O'Reilly it's black. Tell Kanye it's black. Put it in a pipeline and leave it there. Put it up your rectum and try to marry it. Paint it shades of brown and try to cross a border. Strap it to bird. Tie it to a foetus. Try to buy a thousand cell phones with it. Send it to an airport with a bottle of breast milk. Kidnap it. Behead it. Defend it. Say you'll stop if it does. Shoot its child from far away. Pin it on a drifting iceberg. Send it to the planet Pluto. Say it's made of crude oil. Say it's made of corn oil. Say it's got another one attached to it's torso. Say it wouldn't want to live this way. Open it in New Hampshire in a theater gentrified by Frank Gehry. Get the Cobrasnake to take pictures. Sell it simultaneously as a download. Leak it. Arrest it. Put it in jail unless it will go into chatrooms and talk about itself to other thieves and pedophiles. Have Stone Phillips catch it trying to meet up with a teen. Have R. Kelly meet up with it. Have Pam Anderson marry it. Have a Kennedy die with it, and give every living human 30 seconds to speak at the live broadcast of its funeral and then drop a nuclear bomb on them.

You can call it "World Trade Center II."