The news today seems a sort of miasma– the VP was near a mostly thwarted bombing in a dangerous part of the world (reports that he was the target are impossible to confirm– suicide bombing are apparently quite common in Afghanistan these days, so it might have been coincidence); the Scooter Libby shindig is in a state of near mistrial, with 11 jurors deliberating; Iraq still resides in a southbound handbasket. There’s not much to weigh in on, really. Although it is perhaps significant that the magical number 12, as discussed earlier, underwent a weird transformation in the Libby trial. The 12 jurors became 11 jurors. And 11 just happens to be the difference between 12 and Jim Carrey’s big number 23. Does that mean we can put him on trial for making this movie?
Anyway. Now, I feel, is my big chance to float my own screenplay idea. Bigfoot is found smoking leftover cigars at a campsite in northern California. He’s discovered by the chairman of the California Republican party. They keep his discovery secret, shave Bigfoot and put him on the 2008 presidential ticket with Arnold (it’s a movie, OK?) in an attempt to gain the majority of the meathead vote. Bigfoot, however, has been studying reading and writing, and becomes the more articulate of the two, conversant in many subjects with equal fervor. He turns out to be a raving liberal after all those years in the woods, but he’s already on the ticket and can’t switch parties. He sweeps Arnold to victory through lots of TV ads featuring Bigfoot’s wide, intelligent-but-sensitive face up close, with his best friend, a squirrel, on his shoulder. At the inauguration, a mad member of the Religious Right, affronted by this missing link, this constant reminder of Darwin’s correctness, bumps off Bigfoot. No more Bigfeet are ever found. The end.
