Damn You, Tom Hanks, Damn You!

For reasons remote and misty in time, Tom Hanks has long been my personal nemesis. I once floated the idea of an alternate World War II memorial in Washington consisting of only a vintage Jeep and Tom Hanks encased in a block of lucite where the engine once sat, illuminated day and night by powerful floodlights beneath his naked, forever screaming form. Why? Seemed like a perfectly logical idea at the time.

And now he has the unmitigated gall to come out and support Barack Obama today. Eloquently, to boot! That bastard!

I won't be able to sleep for weeks, this will be like bitter poison in my mouth! My hair will fall out on my pillow and my gums will bleed from the pressure of my grinding teeth! Mysterious sores will open on my body and little winged men will fly from them, screaming his name in high-pitched voices as they circle my weakened body, just out of reach of my flailing hands. I will pray for death before it is over, I will.

Footnote: I'm appraised by my friend and former colleague, the Mysterious Mr. M, that the esteemed historian Stephen Ambrose was to be encased in lucite with Mr. Hanks in the original idea. The gravitas Mr. Ambrose would have brought to the project surely would have closed the deal.

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