T-19

Today’s showbiz news. Britney Spears, with her sixtieth birthday about five months away and her various progeny seeing dollar signs in the new SAG rules about living actors and avatars, has refused to license her avatar rights to her granddaughters’ production company. Seems the little Spearses wanted to make a biopic to finance a plan for a line of Britney car and home daemons. Now the kiddies are suing their grammy because she won’t go along with it, and millions of seventy-year-old Chinese Britfans—who, I should mention, are weirdo pedophiles, or were when they first became Chinese Britfans—will have to make do with their knockoff versions. I read somewhere that avatar rights to Abraham Lincoln were about to be licensed by the Department of Education, but the NEA’s throwing a screaming fit and now Ed’s having second thoughts because of all the congressional bitching. Now what I want to see is an alt-hist, all avatars, that’s a story of forbidden love between a committed statesman with a crazy, housebound wife and a music-hall floozy who gets her first lead role at an outdoor performance of La Boheme in Dealey Plaza. Other Than That, How Was the Play, Mrs. Kennedy? That’s my working title. I’ll be reading treatments over the next few weeks, and plan to have the whole thing set up in time for Britney’s grandkids to sue me, too. The only thing I’m missing is Carl Marks to put the Britvatar in his remake of Come into the Basement, Anastasia, Dear. Hot! Poor Carl Marks.