Fan Fiction

Fan Fiction: Alec Baldwin launches his mayoral campaign

The "30 Rock" star lays out his platform to win the hearts of New York City's voters

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Fan Fiction: Alec Baldwin launches his mayoral campaignMeet your new and glorious leader.

Hello,

Many of you know me as Alec Baldwin, the Academy Award-nominated actor who has starred in such productions as “Glengarry Glen Ross,” “The Hunt for Red October” and that brief stint I did on “Will and Grace” back in 2005. If you are anywhere between the ages of 18 and 35, you might best know me as Jack Donaghy from NBC’s must-see TV show “30 Rock.” If you are of that age but don’t own a television, I was also the narrator in “The Royal Tenenbaums” and “Beetlejuice.” You loved those movies, didn’t you? Great.

If you are under the age of 18, I am not here to talk to you today. But that doesn’t mean you are not important. Go tell your parents how much you liked my cameo in the “SpongeBob SquarePants” film, or as the voice of Makunga the Lion in “Madagascar 2.”

So now that we all here have established that you know who I am, I would like to officially announce that I plan to run for mayor of New York City. (Wait for murmurs to die down.)

I know this may come as a shock to some of you, because you may consider me this famous Hollywood big shot, and New York is full of very real, authentic people. We all know what happens when you try to get a guy from California to lead New Yorkers into anything: You get shows like “Entourage.” I also want to clarify that I don’t believe that Ronald Reagan was the greatest president who ever lived, or that “Reaganing” should be a term associated with success, despite what my fictional character on “30 Rock” — who I must again remind you is fictional, and does not share my political viewpoints, although everything else about us is pretty much exactly the same — says.

As to my critics, who have already voiced their issues with my potential run, I would just like to say that I am neither “Trumping” nor “Palining” the situation to get a raise for “30 Rock.” I fully intend to leave that show after my contract expires in 2012, so to better focus on serving you, the good people of New York. You guys have all seen my commercials for how much I love this city, right?

I am also a huge Yankees fan, as evidenced by those other commercials in which that freakishly tall blond boy from “The Office” and I have a good-natured sparring over our respective baseball teams.

I know those two advertisements on their own might not convince you that I love this great city. There have been worries that I am too elitist for voters, since I live in a nice penthouse apartment. You know who else lives in that building? Michael J. Fox. Are you going to tell me that you wouldn’t vote for that man if he were running? Are your hearts made of stone?

Where do you think King Mayor Michael Bloomberg sleeps, anyhow? In a tent outside of the Wendy’s on 42nd Street? That’s just a Michael Bloomberg impersonator; don’t be fooled. These are the things you get to know as a native New Yorker.

Irregardless — which I know isn’t a real word but just sounds better on the tongue, doesn’t it? — I have drawn up a couple of campaign promises to win over those of you who still doubt that I am … truly … sincere about running for mayor of this town. Such as:

  • Gay marriage for everyone. Even those who still claim they are straight, but have this picture of me hanging above their bed.
  •  Repealing NYC’s smoking ban — both indoors and outdoors — and providing every man, woman and child with a fine Cuban cigar.
  • Speaking of Cubans, I will personally see to it that Marc Cuban will never be able to set foot in any of the five boroughs again, if I am elected mayor. He will get the Mets over my dead body … and that’s a promise.
  • Phone hacking will be a crime punishable by the death penalty.
  • To save time and money in our court system, all custody cases will now grant automatic favor to the parent who is more culturally relevant.
  • I also plan to have New Yorkers subscribe to China’s infamous “One male child per family” policy. Even if those Communists were never able to go through with it, I firmly believe that adding extra male siblings into a family will bring shame and dishonor onto a household.
  • The New Yorker’s “Shouts and Murmurs” section will henceforth be replaced by editorials from the Huffington Post. (Take that, Steve Martin.)

Now that you have heard some of the ways I plan to better this glorious city of ours, I hope you will take me, Alec Baldwin, as a serious Democratic contender for public office. One day, I plan to be president of the United States, and I will not forget the little people who helped me start on the path to WINNING.

Just kidding. But please be advised, I will be making several Charlie Sheen jokes next season on “30 Rock.” I would ask that the responsibility for those lines fall on the writers and not me, Alec Baldwin. I am just a humble servant of the people, albeit one who is enormously wealthy, very handsome and in no way is going to let that bastard Harvey Levin ruin this one for me.

Prepare the guillotines, my friends. Baldwin is back.

Drew Grant is a staff writer for Salon. Follow her on Twitter at @videodrew.

Five pop culture items we missed

Today's catch: "Star Trek" slash fic, James Franco "art" brings down wrath of gods on gallery, and more!

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Five pop culture items we missedCan you feel the love tonight?

1. Slash-list of the day: “The 10 hottest pieces of ‘Star Trek’ Slash Fiction” on Ranker.com includes a bizarre hat-tip to Worf/Wesley Crusher stories. That’s basically worse than furry porn, and as blasphemous as imagining a Khal Drogo/Bran Stark scenario. 

2. Sign that James Franco is a force of evil of the day: His “art” show, called “High/Low, Rob Lowe” apparently offended the gods so much that they deemed to destroy the Asia Society Gallery, the venue that Franco-stein had chosen to besmirch the art world.

3. Worst remake of the day: Man, and just when I thought the “Lone Ranger meets the werewolves“  was going to Bruckheimer this week into oblivion, we hear Ridley Scott is taking the helm of a “Blade Runner” do-over. OK, but will it have ghost Indians like Obi-Wan Kenobi?

4. Method acting of the day: Anne Hathaway watched a bunch of videos of cats on YouTube to prepare for her role as Catwoman in “The Dark Knight Rises.”  That’s so weird; I didn’t know that I had also been spending the last four years of my life preparing for a Christopher Nolan film.

5. “Office” family reunion of the day: Josh Groban will be guest-starring as Ed Helms’ brother on the NBC comedy next season. The dad from “7th Heaven” will be playing Mr. Bernard Sr., and the mom from “E.T.” will be his wife. Happy family!

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Drew Grant is a staff writer for Salon. Follow her on Twitter at @videodrew.

Scary stories: Ryan Gosling’s abs

Fan fiction: The "Crazy, Stupid, Love" star hides a dark secret beneath his shirt

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Scary stories: Ryan Gosling's absRyan and his abs

Ryan Gosling stood in front of the mirror, shirt raised. The green room “Access Hollywood” provided him was softly lit, yet Ryan could still make out the pale, clammy pallor reflected back at him. His hands were shaking as they lifted his fashionable-yet-understated black T-shirt to his collarbone.

“Today,” a thin, papery voice whispered.

Ryan dropped his shirt suddenly when a P.A. knocked at the door. “Five minutes to show time, Mr. Gosling,” called out the pimply teen (Mike? Mitch?) who deferentially escorted Ryan from his limo to this wretched room.

“OK! Yes! Coming!” Ryan shouted, a little too loudly. He stared at his reflection in the mirror one final time. This would have to do … maybe post-production would take care of the sweat, the bags under the eyes, the constant look of fear he had worn for the past three months.

“No,” Ryan said quietly, looking away from the mirror, refusing to look down to the thing that lived beneath his shirt. “Not today.”

It was show time.

After the segment, Ryan ran back to the green room and retched into the toilet violently. Another knock from the P.A. (Mark? Miles?): “Are you OK in there, Mr. Gosling?”

“I’m fine, go away!” Ryan shouted. He wiped his mouth and flushed the toilet, making sure the door was locked.

“You should have let her see me,” said the small voice. “You should let everyone see me.” Ryan ripped off his $200 pre-faded T-shirt and stared at the monster he created. His abdominal muscles glistened and rippled like a Greek god.

“That’s better,” said Ryan Gosling’s stomach. “Much better. Look at how beautiful we are, Ryan. Look.”

Ryan refused to look, but one of his hands brushed against the hard muscles of his abdomen. It was hot to the touch, and glowed with such unholy life that his hand immediately recoiled, balling into a fist. His abs laughed at him.

“We make a great pair, you and I,” said the voice from his stomach, from his head, from everywhere. “I look so much better on you than I did on Ryan Reynolds. Aren’t you glad that Reynolds offered to share that protein shake with you? The protein shake he stole from an old gypsy woman … right after he ran over her.”

Gosling closed his eyes, willing the voice to be quiet. He must be going insane. “Stupid, crazy,” he muttered to himself, than realizing his words laughed maniacally. “You’re not real! I am me! I control you! You’re just my stupid six-pack!”

The abs clenched and unclenched one muscle at a time, as if to prove a point. “No, Ryan, it is I who control you. The whole world loves Ryan Gosling’s abs now. You are nothing without me.”

“That’s not true! I had a career before you! I had ‘The Notebook,’ and ‘Half Nelson.’ People respected my work!”

“People respected you … but now they love you. You are a star, Ryan. This is the price you must pay.”

“No!” Ryan Gosling’s eyes flew open as he smashed his fist into the bathroom mirror, the million falling shards reflecting his perfect, rock-hard stomach. “I will not be a slave to my beautiful body!”

It had gone on for far too long. Ryan went back to the main room, took out his razor and his shaving kit, and threw them into the trash.

“What are you doing?” screamed his super-hot, perfectly toned thorax. “Don’t you dare!”

“Oh, won’t I?” Ryan picked up a bag of complimentary potato chips, shoveling them into his mouth with great abandon. “I’m going to eat this entire bag of chips, and then maybe a hamburger or two,” he said to his stomach, “and after that I’m going to grow my whole beard back.”

Ryan Gosling’s sculpted abs screamed in a voice not of this world. “You wouldn’t dare bring back the beard! He was worse than us! You can’t be famous with a neck beard, Ryan!”

“Just watch me,” Ryan said, mouth full of chips. He smiled at himself for the first time in months. He could already see a little bit of sandy stubble forming on his cheeks. The longer strands on his chin caught the falling crumbs from the chips and held them for Ryan to find later, the way an old friend might. Ryan Gosling’s beard had big plans for the two of them. Oh yes, it did.

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Drew Grant is a staff writer for Salon. Follow her on Twitter at @videodrew.

Ralph Fiennes wasn’t in “Harry Potter”

Friday fan fiction: The famed British actor imagines his life if he had turned down the role of Voldemort

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Ralph Fiennes wasn't in

Ralph Fiennes gave an interview to The Hollywood Reporter this week, explaining that his character in the “Harry Potter” movies, Lord Voldemort, was actually just a lonely guy. In the same interview, the Academy Award nominee admitted that he originally didn’t want to take the role of the main bad guy in J.K. Rowling’s teen wizard series.

You just know that there are days when the British thespian wished to God that he hadn’t been working on these films since 2005. In fact, that’s probably every day for Ralph Fiennes, now. Wondering what could have been…

Ralph Fiennes woke up with the sun streaming through his loft windows in New York. Even though he was British, Ralph loved to travel. He had just flown in from Barcelona the night before, where he had been hanging out with Geoffrey Rush, with whom he co-shared a private villa and a deep friendship. The two men had been drinking ’til dawn, swapping stories about their experiences on the set of “The King’s Speech,” which had brought Fiennes the third Best Actor Oscar of his career for his portrayal of the stuttering ruler.

“It’s all bloody well that you got the statue for playing the king,” Geoffrey had said once they were well into their cups, “But you know the real money is doing these ‘Pirates’ films. I’ve made a billion dollars, Ralphie. A billion dollars off of ‘effing ‘Pirates!’”

Ralph had laughed good-naturedly, but he didn’t much envy his friend. He knew that this morning, Geoffrey would likely be on the set of the franchise he had been tied to for years without a break. No one even remembered “Shine” anymore… Instead, a whole generation of kids just knew the skilled actor as Captain Barbossa, and would boo him on the street. “Ah, damn you Ralphie,” Geoffrey said as they parted ways as the sun began to rise over the surrounding Gaudi architecture, “but for the grace of God, go I. If only you weren’t such a damn fool snob when it came to choosing work!”

It was true, Ralph Fiennes thought to himself as he got dressed and ducked into his favorite Starbucks (the one on 37th street, right next to the Crunch gym where he planned to work out later): better to follow the path of his other best mate, Jeremy Irons, who routinely refused roles in movies that had any chance of a sequel, than to end up with loads of money in exchange for a decade of your career you could never get back.

Nobody at Starbucks bothered Ralph Fiennes, though his barista had hesitantly mentioned how much she had loved him as Colonel Hans Landa in “Inglorious Basterds.” Ralph had smiled and obliged the hard-working young woman with his famous catch-phrase from that movie, “That’s ah-jackpot!” His Venti iced soy latte had been on the house.

Ralph Fiennes had planned to stroll through Central Park, but found himself avoiding 42nd street. For the last few days, Times Square had been overrun by a mob of people waiting impatiently in line to see the final “Harry Potter” film. Ralph Fiennes shook his head, a sad smile on his face. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen his mate Daniel Day-Lewis, who was currently serving out his sentence in the last of those insanely popular children’s films as the villain Volder-something.

It wasn’t so long ago that Daniel and Ralph had been working on shoes together in the street of Vienna, taking a much-needed respite between pictures. Daniel had been cobbling, while Ralph had taken up the artisanal craftsmanship of a cordwainer. Daniel asked Ralph what he thought of the script about a boy wizard, and if he should take the role of its noseless dark lord “as a goof.” Ralph had been obliged to answer truthfully.

“It seems like a fun character,” Ralph Fiennes said, threading the last stitch of a fine leather boot, “but honestly, I think you should take the part in that P.T. Anderson film you were considering last month. The one about the oil tycoon?”

“Actually, I turned down that job,” Daniel said. “It just seemed like kind of a downer to me. And it didn’t make very much sense. At the end I would have to kill a priest with a bowling pin, while screaming about drinking his milkshake.” Ralph had laughed at the time, but he wasn’t laughing when he accepted his Oscar that year for his performance as Daniel Plainview in “There Will Be Blood.” His old cobbling friend had come to congratulate him after the show, but unfortunately Vanity Fair’s exclusive after-party didn’t have Daniel Day-Lewis’ name on the list. The “Last of the Mohicans” actor had to spend half an hour arguing with a bouncer that he wasn’t just some “D-list kiddie star” before calling Graydon Carter himself.

Eventually, Daniel got into the party, because he still was a pretty famous and well-respected actor, but it was embarrassing for everyone involved.

Ralph sipped his iced latte and decided to text Daniel. “Just saw the crowds for HP,” he typed on his iPhone, “Good luck with all that. Drinks soon?”

But Ralph Fiennes knew that he would not be getting drinks with Daniel Day-Lewis anytime in the near future, nor would he be bumping into him on set or in pitch meetings. Sure, Daniel would be fine, and he’d still be able to nab some juicy role here or there. But to them, to the audience, he would always be the evil-doer who tried to kill Harry Potter. Or maybe he did kill Harry Potter in the end. Ralph Fiennes didn’t actually know what happened: He hadn’t read any of the books or seen the movies.

Ralph Fiennes had better things to do with his time.

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Drew Grant is a staff writer for Salon. Follow her on Twitter at @videodrew.

The lost chapters of “Harry Potter”

Fan fiction: J.K. Rowling introduces her audience to never-before-seen chapters of her work

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The lost chapters of "Harry Potter" for the superfans.

This week, J.K. Rowling announced that her new site Pottermore.com would be a portal for a sort of extended “Harry Potter” universe, with new information about the books’ characters. We’re guessing that means that it will include some of the “Harry Potter” chapters that didn’t actually make it into the final book. Luckily, I majored in Potter fan fiction in college, so I’m pretty confident that at least one of the following scenarios will end up on Pottermore’s website. Enjoy!

___________________________________________________________

Albus Dumbledore looked down his long, white beard at the latest applicant for the teaching position at Hogwarts.

“So, Miss Winterloon, you’ve seen our grounds and our games of Quidditch. You’ve explored or grounds. Your resume is quite impressive. Do you have any questions for us?”

Miss Winterloon did in fact have a few questions. A few questions regarding this boarding school’s benefit plans. Even after Albus had patiently explained to her that there was no need for a healthcare provider when Madam Pomfrey could do a healing spell on anything from Brackium Emendo to Vulnera Sanentur, she hadn’t heard anything about dental coverage yet. In fact, the only thing even mentioned about these kid’s hygiene seemed to come in the form of a Densaugeo spell. Which might be great when defending against enemies whose teeth you needed to grow at an alarming rate, but wasn’t going to do fuck-all when it came to that molar cavity she needed filled.

“Look,” Dumbledore said, “If you’d like, we have a Flex Plan on the Slytherin account, which allows you to roll over any unused magic potions to a new year.”

“Does this plan expand to my dependants?” asked Winterloon, her raven black hair rustling behind her.

“No, unfortunately under our current plan, only the students’ can be claimed as dependants, and then only by their Muggle guardians. Here, let me get you the paperwork…”

_______________________________________________________

“Wait, can you back up for a second?” asked the Bloody Baron. Peeves the poltergeist merely shrugged and went about beating old women with canes and socks full of chalk.

“No, I’m serious Peeves, did you ever thought that children should not be so chill around us? I mean, put in another context and we could be Wes Craven’s next terrible movie concept.”

Perry’s eyes lit up, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking, bro?”

“Totally. Let’s go ‘Paranormal Activity’ the hell out of the girl’s lavatories.”

_________________________________________________________

“Look,” said Voldermort to the dark-eyed, beautiful witch that stood before him. “I really like you Bellatrix, but…”

“But what? As a friend? We are over fifty Voldy, please do not give me this teen angst, ‘Twilight-y’ bullshit. We had an Unbreakable Vow, you bastard.”

“Yeah about that…”

And so it began. The parting was not easy. It seemed so strange to Bellatrix that even a high witch such as herself, one who was so accrued to bringing others pain and suffering, could still feel cut so deeply when that freak without a nose had a serpent drop off her collection of Charles Mingus and Cat Stevens vinyl at Azkaban without even a Confundo spell attached to help her forget. This was one Unforgivable Curse you wouldn’t find in the Dark Arts section on your local library.

And to think, she had ever gotten that stupid Dark Mark tattoo on her arm, because she wanted to fit in with all of his other Death Eater friends…

_________________________________________________________

“You know,” Harry Potter said to Ron, “I never thought I’d say this, but lying here with you is the safest I’ve ever felt.” The wizard snuggled into his ginger-haired companion’s shoulder, feeling the fine tickling of Ron’s chest hair and the regular heartbeat of his dear friend.

“Hey there, big guy,” Ron lifted Harry’s chin up with one finger until the two young Hogwarts’ students were staring each other straight in the eye. “Right back at you.”

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Drew Grant is a staff writer for Salon. Follow her on Twitter at @videodrew.

The haiku of Sad Keanu

The "Matrix" star has come out with his first tongue-in-cheek ode to depression. Next up: Poetry?

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The haiku of Sad KeanuActor Keanu Reeves attends a news conference to promote the film "Henry's Crime" during the 35th Toronto International Film Festival, September 14, 2010. REUTERS/Fred Thornhill (CANADA - Tags: ENTERTAINMENT)(Credit: © Fred Thornhill / Reuters)

Guys! We all missed National “Cheer Up Keanu” Day, the one time of year we take Sad Keanu (or as my dad says, Key-nu) Reeves and try to make him happy again. How could this happen?

It’s hard to believe now that the “Sad Keanu” phenomenon wasn’t a marketing stunt to sell Keanu’s new book, “Ode to Happiness,” which just so happens to be tongue-in-cheek emo observations from Neo himself. “Happiness” seems more clever and cerebral than I usually give Keanu credit for — one page reads “I draw a hot sorrow bath” and on the following, “In my despair room” — and since it was written by a celebrity and doubles as an art book by Alexandra Grant, it’s retailing for $55 a pop. That should make him happy.

But Keanu plans to extend his role as an author to another book, this time of poetry. As he told the Guardian:

“I’m considering another idea I call Haikus of Hope. Basically like, ‘I want to kill myself’, and go from there. Going into such a dark place that you can somehow surprisingly find the light at the end of the tunnel — but a nice end of the tunnel. Not the end of the tunnel.”

Thanks for clarifying the tunnel difference. Luckily we got our hands on an upcoming copy of the actor’s new poetry* and want to give our readers the first glimpse into Keanu haiku. Because, Keanu, the plural of haiku is just “haiku.”

- – - – -

Life’s bogus journey

Will often reap no rewards

Like doing Shakespeare

- – - – -

Bleeding out my eye

The pain is unbearable

Watching “The Lake House”

- – - – -

It is so dark here

What is the absence of light?

Wait, just blinked too long

- – - – -

Ponder a muffin

Why does it make me so sad?

My low blood sugar

- – - – -

Will never escape

From the shadow of Neo

Must stop saying “Whoa.”

- – - – -

*No we didn’t.

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Drew Grant is a staff writer for Salon. Follow her on Twitter at @videodrew.

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