I want Drew Barrymore to go away.
I don't want her to die, which is sort of a compliment, coming from me. I just want her to announce to the world that she is disappearing. She's probably got enough of that Charlie's Angels money stashed away that she can buy an island and pay a staff and just sail away from us and never be in movies or on TV again.
And when we are old, our children will watch E.T., or, if we are bad parents, 50 First Dates, and they will ask what happened to that pretty lady who looks so horribly sad, like she's dying inside. And we'll tell them, with a wistful note in our voices, that that was the woman who was willing to walk away from Hollywood, where she could never be happy, to live on an island and exist, and we'll know she's out there, no longer straining desperately for us to like her. And we'll smile, and snow will fall on our previously conformist suburb, now forever changed. Our children will point out that this is the plot of Edward Scissorhands, but we will ignore them as we drink our beers and realize that we never, ever, have to see Drew Barrymore again.
Also, I realized that Eric Bana is actually Corey Feldman, post-plastic surgery, propagating a cruel but clever ruse to get his career back.
This explains Hulk, and Troy, and the fact that every time you see Eric Bana, a cold, slimy shiver moves down your back. That feeling? Is Feldman.
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