Mission accomplished

Last week, to catch a sneak preview of Mission: Impossible III but still keep my soul minty fresh, I promised to slash Tom Cruise's tires the next time I was in Los Angeles. I'm a man of my word.

Already in town for the Just My Luck premiere, I wanted to track down Tom Cruise's whereabouts. (Going to his mansion was a bad idea; he has an army of Hubbard-trained soldiers on guard around the clock.) I knew Anthony Pellicano was otherwise occupied, so my first call was to Matt Lauer. But he'd reprogrammed his GPS software to monitor Katie Couric, ever since she got the CBS deal. Then I tried Pat Kingsley, Tom's former publicist. She was busy downplaying a brawl between Avril Lavigne and the Duff sisters that started Thursday night when some interviewer encouraged the parties to taunt one another.

Then I hit paydirt: Brooke Shields. New baby and all, she still makes it a priority to know when Tom is around, mostly for her own protection. So I made my move Friday morning. A few fake roadblocks kept him out of the well-protected parking deck of the Church of Scientology, so he parked his convertible on the street. After that, it was easy. Eight razor blades do the trick; heck, that's less than a pair of Gillette Fusions. Caught up in his own rapture, Tom Cruise proceeded to put his car in drive and slash his own tires by the power of friction as I watched across the street. Like I said, easy. Phish said it best: the tires are the things on your car that make contact with the road.

55 Fiction Friday did the same thing later to Chris O'Donnell and Scott Wolf, for good measure.

Danielle searched high and low for a noteworthy cause.
Seemed like all the good ones were claimed by other
celebrities. Eventually she buckled and lent her support
where it was most needed.

"So, Danielle. It says here that your charity is Colony
Calisthenics?"

"Yes, I've instituted fitness programs so that nudists
will look more appealing."