Dear Michael Cera, Be in the Arrested Development movie. The end. Ron Howard's called it a lock, Jeffrey Tambor's promised to force you to do it, and millions of people want to see this movie badly enough that theyâre ready for Shia LeBeuof to step in and play your part. Yet you hold out. Why? Please, for both our sakes, don't make me come after you. I'm serious about this. And believe me, my vengeance, driven by the collective ire of all the world's disgruntled Arrested Development fans, will be as swift as it is unmerciful. Now that I've publicly threatened a young man/beloved figure/powerful Hollywood icon, let me back up and tell you all a story. Most of this story is true. If you can guess which parts, then you have a rudimentary understanding of hyperbole. It begins on the day I first came to Los Angeles to take improv classes. My friends and I ate at the famed CafÃ© 101 for lunch before class, both because it was featured in a scene of the movie Swingers and because they have a honey nut milkshake that is so good and wholesome that it will make you blow granola out of your nose and weep golden drops of beeâs milk. After cleaning up the mess left by our honey nut shakegasms, my friends and I noticed that of all people, Michael Cera was sitting at the very next booth. We later noticed that Gates McFadden (AKA Dr. Beverly Crusher) was seated at a nearby table. But for a few minutes at least, Cera was the coolest person in the perceivable area. Also, as a side note, this lunch totally blew my expectations of what living in LA was going to be like out of proportion. And despite eating at many cafes, bistros and hot spots since then, I have yet to see anyone nearly as awesome. But back to Cera. At this time, he was just starting to spread his wings, leaving behind the awkward fawn-like innocence of George Michael Bluth for the stumbling, dew-fresh innocence of Kid From Juno. Being the friendly, borderline-sociopathic person I am, I stepped up to Cera and asked whether the rumors about an Arrested Development movie were true. Specifically, I said: âHey, Mr. Cera, big fan. So sorry to bother you at lunch, but I just thought this was such a great opportunity to tell you how much myself and all AD fans are looking forward to the possible release of a film, if it's not going to be too much trouble. Sorry again.â I believe I was also bowing at the time, and then I tossed a twenty onto the table for his trouble. Ceraâs reply? Stony silence, followed by an acrid stench I soon realized was the smell of him taking a giant dump in his pants. His pants ballooned, chunky liquid began to drip out of the leg, he lifted half an inch off his seat, and yet still he said nothing. I finally got the hint to leave when he threw a fork at my forehead like a throwing knife. Eyes welling with tears, I looked back only once, to see Cera and his giggling friends snapping copies of Season 3 Arrested Development DVDs in half with their bare hands. Needless to say, I was distraught. A bleak depression fell about me that was lifted only hours later, when Gates McFadden agreed to have me beamed up to the actual Enterprise to meet Captain Picard and go penguin clubbing on the holodeck. Now months have passed, and still Cera greets questions about an AD movie with apathy, chagrin or statements to the affect that heâd shred the script if it came in the mail. Meanwhile:
Most rich kids just want to be pop stars.
The Hollywood rumor mill has been playing games with celebrity deaths for at least a century.
It's easy to work the system and win these awards even if you don't deserve them.