I hope you've all been enjoying Nikki Finke's Deadline Hollywood over the last couple of days! We don't know what's going on there. It's kind of like the Pitch blog is haunted by juicy, but very spoo-oooky Hollywood scoopage. Consequently, I wasn't going to write anything this morning. "Let Nikki Finke do it," I said to Justin, lazily scratching my stomach with one hand while shoveling a fistful of Combos Pizzeria pretzel snacks into my mouth with the other. "Is there any way to get our site
U.S. in the leathery driver's seat of Citibank, and a dream about an eccentric musician: Welp, here it is: Lee Greenwood's boyfriend, the United States of America, is going to control up to 36 percent of Citibank, having already handed it $45 billion as a kind of prize for being so catastrophically inept at being a bank. Do not call it "nationalization," or Jim Cramer's head will pop like a zit on your girlfriend's back. Seriously, I think she needs a dermatologist or something? On the other
APOCALYPTIC NEWS IN BRIEF AND SON: Look. I'm no economist. I'm just an ol' widowed junk man who lives in Watts with his only son, Lamont. So I'm completely unqualified to judge whether or not Treasury Secretary Tim Geithner is an idiot. "GIVE HIM THE BENEFIT OF THE DOUBT," I said in January. Then my son tried to have a romantic evening alone at the house with his girlfriend Darlene but I kept interrupting. So he threatened to move out, and I had one of my "big ones," lurching around clutching
