One of the many onerous burdens placed upon the Cracked blogger is that of wading through countless vapid, hastily-written web articles dissecting the minutiae of celebrities' lives to the point that one wonders if there wouldn't be profit in the attainment and sale of Lindsay Lohan's solid waste. But of all the terrible places on the web dedicated to destroying the lives of our former idols for the sheer lulz of it, I've gotta hand it to the reporters at TMZ.com: at least they try to dress up their dreck by pretending they're fast-talkin' journalists from the forties. Aside from my daily ether rag, it's the only thing that makes my job bearable. Take this article about Britney Spears’ latest run-in with the law (something involving an industrial combine and that nice man with the big eyebrows from The OC, I believe). In three paragraphs, the reporter manages to insert the phrases “will the judge be buyin’ what he’s sellin’,” “all things Britney,” “the whole magilla,” “take a hike,” and my personal favorite “smells like it.” In light of this, I have a personal request for the reporters over at TMZ: as someone who relies on your “news” on a daily basis, it would really mean a lot to me if you’d go even further in dressing up these stories. Reporting on Britney as Jennifer Leigh in The Hudsucker Proxy is a good start, but the possibilities are truly endless. Here, I’ll toss out some sample sentences from possible future TMZ stories, and I think you’ll get a better idea of what I’m talking about.

I was taking a belt of mystery liquor from my hip flask when another kind of poison, the dame kind, strolled into my office like a runaway freight train. It was Amy Winehouse, and she was higher than a kite on Sunday.

James Gandolfini enters from stage left, exasperated. Paparazzo 1 enters right and crosses down, oppressively friendly. A brief scuffle. Exuent.

Clemens could break down and cry For wanting his trainer to lie But McNamee claims “When I couldn't find veins, I injected it straight in his eye.”

Paris Hilton. Stop. Showed vagina. Stop. Link. Stop.

Dearest friend, I write to inform you of a most unusual happening that occurred whilst I was away in the country under doctors' orders (they feel the dry climate will do wonders for my rubella). From what I've gathered during my evening jaunts to the local tavern, and, I must admit, by purchasing rounds of ale for the stablemen and smith’s apprentices who frequent it, Tom Sizemore was raped in prison.

I expect all future TMZ articles to be written in a format at least as colorful as those above. Please see that this is done.

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When not blogging for Cracked, Michael makes period videos as head writer and co-founder of Those Aren't Muskets!

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