Angela Lansbury is a master acupuncturist. She’ll paralyze you through the screen door of your cheaply appointed home.
“When I was learning the art,” she’ll say, entering, “people would relate their fear of the needles.” She undoes the simple rubber-band slingshot. “I say, fear the needler.”
Tell her you can identify her. Tell her to kill you now.
“This needn’t end in tragedy,” she’ll say. “I’m going to remove an item from your house now: worthless to you, priceless to my employer. I can’t let you see it. Won’t you close your eyes?”
Don’t. She’ll sigh, and pin them shut.
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Alan Arkin’s middle name is Wolf.
“Don’t think that means I can shapeshift or whatever,” he tells you, chuckling. “I’m no lycanthrope, no changeling.”
That’s a relief.
“I’m just here to play,” and he deals you two cards, one face up, one down. He peeks at his hidden card. Don’t bother with yours.
“Betting blind,” he says, “ballsy. Gonna hit myself.” He’s got twenty showing now. Your top card’s an ace. Don’t bother to look at your bottom card, you can’t change it now. Don’t–
“Oh, that’s poor practice,” frowns Alan Arkin, as the Nine of Spades chews off your hand.
Wednesday, August 2, 2006
Kelsey Grammer is here to kill you.
“You know I’ve had a difficult life?” he asks, pouring you Evian from a carafe. “My father and sister were murdered, my brother killed by a shark.”
That’s rare.
“Went to jail, too.” Kelsey Grammer dabs his mouth with a napkin. “And my production of Macbeth, well…”
He pops the cap off a fountain pen, then drives it through your eye. Go ahead and collapse.
“But the murders,” murmurs Kelsey Grammer, deflecting a bullet with his fork. “They’ll change a man.”
“Drive him to vengeance,” confirms Maura Tierney, gun smoking sadly, watching you bleed.
