Brad Pitt and Johnny Depp to Star in Movie Together, Bring Women Everywhere to Tear-gasms

"It's finally happening," says 39-year old Julie Seyers of Elkhart, Indiana. "It's my most beautiful dream coming true."

Rumors about a film starring two of the most prominent actors of the last two decades arose in an online forum discussion titled "OOOOMaG! JoHnNy n BrAd 2getha SOOOOON!!!!!"

"Except, in the dream version, I'm in between them. And there's a lot of non-toxic oils involved," the mother of two continues.

A blogger with the username Brand_Pijol, a less-popular portmanteau of Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie, tweeted the post, adding that the film will be "offfffff the hooooooook sexAY!"

"Oh, the things that we do to each other. Sometimes it's me and Johnny. Sometimes it's me and Brad," says Seyers, who celebrated her 12-year anniversary with her husband, Paul, in January. "And other times, it's just Johnny and Brad."

Several of the web's most reliable sources, including TMZ and Perez Hilton, have since confirmed that Depp and Pitt are signed on to co-star, with Ashton Kutcher, Leo DeCaprio, and Ryan Reynolds filling the supporting roles. George Clooney and Denzel Washington will reportedly make cameos.

This will be the first time the two 47-year-old heartbreakers have shared the screen since 1988, when a then twenty-something Pitt appeared on 21 Jump Street.

"That Brad is such a tease sometimes," adds Seyers, now 20 minutes late for picking her son up from soccer practice. "But Johnny...he's down-to-business. They compliment each other well."

It remains unclear how the superstars were brought together for the project, though some speculate it was a connection through Angelina Jolie, who recently starred alongside Depp in The Tourist, that made it happen.

The as-of-yet untitled project will feature both stars "shirtless in sophisticated situations," according to every comments section of the World Wide Web.

Commando Cats

It's 0200 hours. Me and my men have the only open eyelids in a 550-square-foot radius.

Our rations have dwindled to almost nothing. Some have already grown delusional with hunger and we probably don't have enough Whisker Lickin's to make it through the night.

But I'll be damned if I'm gonna walk away from this mission without a victory. I will not live in a world where mangy, backside-sniffing, walking puddles of slobber rule with an iron paw. I will not stand aside as they pant their way to the top of the heap, offering nothing but an occasional hot mess on the new carpet.

I will never say die to a dog.

We've lost some good felines along the way. I...lost a best friend. And I won't soon forget the image of Sergeant Pickles--the best goddamn soldier a commander could ask for--being chased into the vast darkness of that basement...where only the unspeakable happens...

"Major Bojangles, one of your paws is bleeding, sir! We should have the medic take a look at that."

My mouth is suddenly overwhelmed by the taste of kitty litter. Private Muffin Top is a good kid, but he's got the nerves of a squirrel and the gas of a 15-year-old house cat. I can only imagine what his guts must feel like in the heat of battle. I'm just glad he's got better control of his weaponry than he does his colon.

"Son, I ain't got time to bleed. And if the medic's lookin' at anything, it's gonna be that suffocating stench you carry around in your intestines."

If I had a penny for every time I made a new solider whimper, I could make it rain Fancy Feast.

"Listen up, troops. We're getting ready to move into the final phase of our mission."

As I scan the faces of my men, I see a collection of weary eyes and heartache-heavy expressions. It's sometimes easy to forget that these cats have feelings, too.

After all, we're not hate machines. We're just war machines.

"I know we're all tired. Our souls...they're heavy with fatigue and even heavier with the memories of those we left behind: Blaine. Dutch. Poncho. Colonel Spiffy. Our enemies...they want this jungle--with its mountains of suede and its electronic sunrises--to shut us out. They want us to feel out of place. They want us to feel like men without a home.

Well I say we lay out the welcome mat for these bastards and show them whose place this really is. Tonight we take back what is rightfully ours!"

A collective purr rises into the air. They come up off their haunches for the first time since The Battle at Ottoman Square.

"I promise you all one thing: when this is over, when we've got canine teeth under our feet and their slobbering jaws tight in our hands, you're going to go home to your wives, your kittens...your favorite lounge pillows. 

You're going home, soldiers."

If they knew how to clap their paws together, the applause would be overwhelming. As it is, the meows are loud and screeching; the way they should be.

But joy doesn't last very long on the battlefield. Within seconds, the high-pitched exclamations of my soldiers are overtaken by a series of low, hollow grunts--the unmistakable sound of a bloodhound.

From out of the shadows, his dripping snout appears; a hound's only real weapon.

Another booming grunt sends my soldiers scattering for cover, barricading themselves behind the square, painted trees and ducking into plastic leaves.

It's easy to fear what you do not know. But I know this snot-ridden face is nothing to fear.

"Brigade, regroup! This hound isn't a threat. He's nothing more than a scout with a scary voice."

The first to inch out of hiding was Corporal Skittles. "But sir, he's a purebred!"

"Skittles, I eat purebreds for breakfast. And right now...I'm pretty hungry..."

To Be Continued...

I Still Love the 90s. Hard.

Tell me, do you like hip-hop?

Then I'm not talking to you.

How about indie folk?

Get the fuck out of my face. Seriously.

How about 90s rock music?

Yeah? How about 90s alt rock? Okay, how about 90s light alt rock?

Well then, all right! Let me buy you a beer!

No, not really. This is the internet. I have no way of doing that. But, tell ya what, I'll go grab one from my fridge, you go grab one from yours, and we can drink together across the wires.

I gotta tell ya, it's nice to finally find someone who's not too busy "gettin' their swag on" or "crankin' that" to appreciate a bouncy and/or mopey 90s rock song when they hear it.

It was a fucking amazing era, wasn't it? I swear, every time the radio plays Oasis, an angel gets high and fails out of angel college.

True story: in 1993, the Statue of Liberty read: "Give me your Blues Travelers, your Foo Fighters, your Collective Souls yearning to be Better Than Ezra." (Sidenote: It was promptly replaced to its original wording in 1995 when Collective Soul released "The World I Know." What a shitty song.)

Go ahead, call me a fag for listening to the Gin Blossoms.

I dare you.

The fact is, anyone who listens to Hey Jealousy and doesn't get a little wistful...well, they're the ones who are wrong.

The 90s were breeding grounds for some of the best One-Hit Wonders to ever not...ya know...get a second hit. Remember all the success The Verve had after their big breakthrough? Me neither! But Bittersweet Symphony was a great fucking song.

Like a cheesy, melodic wine, these tunes only get better with age. "Breakfast at Tiffany's," for example: like nails on a chalkboard when I first heard it, but 15 years later, it's delightful. Ditto for anything the Spin Doctors ever put out.

(Some of you right now are thinking to yourselves: who are the Spin Doctors? And who sang Breakfast at Tiffany's? ...was it the Spin Doctors? To you people: go read a book, the rest of this does not concern you.)

I'm sure a few of you are thinking, "you're just selectively remembering the best parts of the era; there was a also ton of shit on the radio from 90 to 99." This is the part where you "helpfully" namedrop bands like Goo Goo Dolls, Blessid Union of Souls, Sister Hazel, Hootie (and his Blowfish), Matchbox 20, Vertical Horizon, Live, Tonic...and Sugar Ray.

Mark McGrath: the worst thing to happen to music since AIDS.

I can't say much in response to that. But I can say this: Dizzy was a good song, Hey Leonardo (She Likes Me For Me) is better than you remember it being, Sister Hazel put out two great albums in the past two years, Hootie is the most tolerable thing in country music, and all those other guys are most likely working for minimum wage somewhere in Idaho. So it all evens out.

Now, I've already listed some wonderful goodness to come out of the speakers of the 90s, but I've left out some of the greatness.

Between 1990 and 1999, we were lucky enough to have the radio give us Everclear, No Doubt, Mighty Mighty (mighty) Bosstones, the lighter side of Green Day, the beginnings of Ben Folds, the Lemonheads, a very commercial (and more fun) Tom Petty, "Today" and "Tonight, Tonight," Oasis a.k.a. the most artistic drunks in the world, two types of Crows (both Black and Counting), Third-Eye Blind, the mopiest of R.E.M., and Lenny Kravitz.

Remember Lenny Kravitz?

So, haters of this wonderfully prosperous decade for the jaunty, jangly, less-distorted side of alternative rock music, you have fun with your Daughtry and your Fray and your Coldplay.

I'll be over here in the corner listening to Fastball.