In exchange for his donation, maybe Conservation International will allow him to include some of their literature on Wild Salmon's menu:

"What have the fish been swimming in and eating that we would rather not become a part of us? Mercury? PCB's? Pesticides? Sewage? The real catch of the day is that we cannot count on the health of the fish we consume, nor of the oceans they live in."

Um... check, please!

@notan-ism-ist: It won't give you food or take money. But it will dispense a little envelope for the Building Fund.

First of all: "Beyoncé chowing down on a hot knish." Yeah, baby!

Second: Jews don't have an obesity problem? (Or did you just leave out the "I'm being sarcastic" line here?) People may be confused by all the anorexic Brielle Schwartzmans striding around midtown Manhattan, but believe me, all that pastrami and poundcake and forced third helpings have to go somewhere.

Whatever you do, protect the Lunchables!

@LolCait: Have you seen the original with Maureen O'Hara? Hubba-hubba (and I mean that unironically).

"How about a family comedy about divorcing parents who decide that joint custody would be uncomfortable, so they divide their twin infant girls between them and decide that neither one will ever see her sister or the other parent again for the rest of her life?"

"Sounds great -- let's put it into production!"

"And then how about a reality show with Lindsay Lohan's parents?"

"You monster!"

Nobody and her fiancé Who the Hell bashed Unjustly Famous on the Inoffensively Talentless show, and Destroying Kids' Souls With Crass Commercialism complained. That's quite a scoop for Half-Truths About People You've Seen Pictures Of Weekly.

Brooke Shields at Jay McInerney's house talking about Michael J. Fox? Geez, Doc, did you have to set the DeLorean to "1985" again?

Chef: My Salty Chocolate Balls must have rejuvenated him!
Kyle: You've got the best balls in the whole world, Chef.
Chef: You're damn right.

There's a "Maxim Radio"?

At last, we'll get to find out what lingerie-clad celebrity boobies sound like.

Meanwhile, he still won't admit that Death to Smoochy was given a top-to-bottom rewrite by Lou Ferrigno.

It makes sense to me. Have you seen how long the lines are at Kinko's?

She reports for the Fox News Channel? She's loved by the soon-to-be-even-more conservative Dow Jones?

Ten years from now, Julia won't be hosting an evening newscast. She'll be running for vice president on the Jeb Bush ticket.

"This spring, Fisher and his colleagues happened on a molecular connection between UV light, tanning, and endorphin release. In a paper published in March in Cell, they reported that UV damage directly causes the production of beta-endorphin in the skin."
--Slate.com, "Is Tanning Addictive?"

Rosemary Clooney's 1951 hit song "Come On-a My House" was based on Armenian folk music. It was written by novelist William Saroyan and Ross Bagdasarian, creator of Alvin and the Chipmunks.

Meanwhile, George Clooney dates women with big boobies. See how everything fits together?

Do you still get royalties whenever anyone uses the second person singular?

"You know, Meryl Streep told me her auditions just involve reading from a script."

If that's the average, someone could be making $30 K while someone else is making $110 K. Sounds like high time for a revolution.

Don't forget "The Beg," "The Whine," "The Birthday," "The Quid Pro Quo," "The Pitcher of Margaritas," "The Okay But Hurry Up Already," "The Diamond Earrings," "The Really Good Blow," and the "It's a Pretty Nice Restroom, So Just This Once."

Hi, I'm looking for-- Hello there? Hi, can you help me to find-- Yes, I can see you're busy, but everybody's typing and I just need to-- Is there anyone who can-- You can't just--? What? Yes, I guess a coming-of-age story about a sensitive boy who moves to the big city would be interesting. Now can you-- Okay, which woman at the end? 'The one typing derivative chick-lit trash?' How would I know which one is-- Sure, three sex scenes sounds like plenty. Look, is there a Barnes & Noble nearby? Nobody here seems to give a damn about literature.