Posts Tagged ‘contest’

So I entered NYCMidnight's Screenplay Writing Contest, because I am a fool, and in the first round my group received the following assignment: Drama, Courage, A Dishwasher.

Ooookay. Here's what I entered. Results of the first round came back this week and I was one of the 5 in my group that's moving to round 2, so it can't have been too bad.

Wet Work

EXT. DINER – DUSK

The sun is setting on a small, quaint diner on the corner of a city intersection. The sign says "The Diner on 3rd." We move in as two young waitresses walk out, still gathering their things as they go.

KAREN

–am not going out with you. I’ve
been here since 6 in the frickin’
morning! If someone slipped me a
roofie tonight I’d take it just to
get some sleep.

LILA
(taking her arm)

We will indeed go out and terrorize
this town with our hotness and if
need be I will pour shots down your
throat like a baby bird because I
am your friend and I love you.

They pass us. An older man wearing an apron, JACK, steps

into the doorway to watch them get to their cars.

JACK
(yelling)

Don’t listen to her and her evil
ways! I need you back here
tomorrow! Upright!

Jack smiles, shakes his head and FLIPS the OPEN sign to read CLOSED as he steps back inside.

CUT TO:

INT. DINER – NIGHT

The diner was clearly designed by someone who loved the 50s, possibly in a kind of stalky, obsessive way. Jack goes behind the counter and does cash register things. A Japanese-American teenager, IZZIE, is sweeping the floor. Izzie is a surburban kid trying to look street and nearly succeeding. He has a fading bruise on one cheek. Somewhere, CLASSICAL MUSIC is playing softly.

JACK

Hey, Iz. Good night tonight

Izzie nods, keeps sweeping.

JACK (CONT.)

You’ve been doing a hell of a job
since you started here, and I
appreciate it.

Izzie nods, keeps sweeping.

JACK (CONT.)

You know if you ever need anything,
you can ask me, right?

Izzie nods, keeps sweeping.

JACK (CONT.)

Say, I hear they discovered water
on whichever planet you’re circling
at the moment.

Izzie nods, keeps sweeping. Jack grins and zips up a BANK BAG, closes the register. He turns, leans into the large window looking into the kitchen, and yells.

JACK (CONT.)

You got this, Benny? I’m gonna do
the drop!

BENNY (O.S.)

I got it! Sorry I was late today.

JACK

Hey, first time for everything.
Night!

Jack grabs his stuff and leaves, squeezing Izzie’s shoulder on the way past. We stay on Izzie as we hear the door CLOSE and LATCH. Izzie looks up and WATCHES, intently, until we hear a car drive off.

CUT TO:

INT. DINER’S KITCHEN – NIGHT

The kitchen is spotless, gleaming. A middle-aged man, BENNY, is WASHING DISHES in the huge sink. His sleeves are rolled up and he has a bowtie on under his apron. There’s a lot of history in his face, but he looks like a nice old guy. There’s a hint of Jersey that comes out in his voice sometimes. The music is coming from a RADIO on a shelf. There are a few more stacks of dishes waiting, and a large drying rack nearby, half-full.

Izzie comes in, without the broom but carrying a BACKPACK, and leans against a counter across the room.

BENNY
(without looking around)

Hey, Izzie. You know what song this
is?

No answer.

BENNY (CONT.)

Me neither. I don’t know the names
of any of this crap, Brahms-toven,
Mo-chairsky, whatever, but I like
it. It’s soothing.

Izzie just watches him.

BENNY (CONT.)

What’s up? You need help with
something?

There’s a pause just long enough to be uncomfortable. Then:

IZZIE

I want to learn from you.

BENNY
(chuckling)

This ain’t rocket science, kid. You
want my secrets? Put some baking
soda in the water to cut the
grease, and sometimes you got to
use your thumbnail to get the stuck
stuff. There, now you can buy a
sponge, go into business for
yourself.

CLOSE ON: Benny’s hands. He’s wiping down a LARGE KNIFE.

IZZIE (O.S.)

I want you to teach me how to kill
people.

Benny’s hands stop moving. He just holds the knife. Then he carefully dries it and sets it aside.

ANGLE ON: Both men, but we can clearly see Benny’s face and he looks honestly confused.

BENNY

Excuse me?

IZZIE

I know what you do. What you used
to do, I mean. I want to learn.

BENNY

Kid, I wash dishes in a two-bit
diner in Florida. What am I
supposed to teach you, how to kill
a guy with a lunch special?

IZZIE

I Googled you. I had this homework
assignment on organized crime,
right? There was this picture of a
bunch of made guys from the 80s and
I thought, no fucking way, but I
started checking you out and turns
out you ain’t got no past, Mr.
Benny Kolbeck.

He reaches into his pack and pulls out a handful of papers and newspaper clippings.

IZZIE (CONT.)

But your life picks up right when
Nickolas "Bullet" Brancato’s stops.
Looks just like you, man. Although
you sure don’t look like no killer.

Izzie HOLDS out the papers; Benny makes no move to take them.

BENNY

You Googled me?

IZZIE

I Googled you. And if you don’t
teach me, I’ll tell everybody, the
Feds, the whole world.

Benny, a tired old man, shakes his head and goes back to washing dishes. Izzie comes over to stand next to him, dropping his PAPERS on the counter away from them.

BENNY

Since you and Mr. Google seem to
have gone cuckoo, lemme ask you
this. Why do you want to be a
killer?

IZZIE

I’m in this group…

BENNY

Gotcha.

IZZIE

Just a buncha guys, we hang out.

BENNY

You’re in a gang, I got it. That
where you got hit?

IZZIE

It’s not a gang!

BENNY

It got a name?

IZZIE

Yeah, we’re the–

BENNY

Then it’s a gang. Here, learn how
to do something useful.

Benny hands Izzie a BOWL to dry. Izzie takes it, reacts (it’s hot!), then grabs a towel and starts awkwardly rubbing the bowl. Benny continues washing, adding dishes to the water as needed.

IZZIE

Whatever. The point is… I’m at
the bottom. I’m the one got to run
around, get the food, run the
errands, pay for shit. None of them
are tougher than me, but there I
am, right?

BENNY

And they’ll respect you if you can
kill people?

IZZIE

Hell yeah. Wouldn’t you?

BENNY

No. Fear, maybe. Not respect.

IZZIE

I’ll take fear. Fear means you
don’t get sent for pizza.

BENNY

Well, that’s certainly enough
reason to murder complete strangers
in cold blood. What’s "Izzie" stand
for, anyway?

IZZIE
(taken aback, maybe a little
embarassed)

Isamu. Means "courageous."

BENNY

Courageous. You want courageous.
Isamu, there is nothing more
cowardly than a hitman.

IZZIE

Stop shittin’ me, old man. You
kill, you got it all, don’t take
shit from nobody. Anybody bother
you–

(blows someone away with a
pretend gun held sideways,
movie-style)

BLAM! That’s it, lights out,
straighten your tie and go back to
banging supermodels on a pile of
money.

BENNY

That how it works in the video
games?

IZZIE

That’s how it works in the real,
man. Assassins are cool. You don’t
know shit.

BENNY

Thought I was one?

IZZIE
(stops rubbing the bowl)

Were you?

Benny takes the bowl from him, holds it up. Water DRIPS out of the bowl Izzie’s been drying all this time. Benny gives him a disgusted look and goes back to washing, but not as quickly now.

BENNY

I knew a hitman once. Back up
north. He was good. I mean, scary
good.

IZZIE

Yeah!

BENNY

Usually you’re a boss, you just get
some interchangeable hired goons
and you use them up and go get
more. There’s always another damn
fool idiot thinks shooting people
is cool.

The dig goes right over Izzie’s head. He’s in heaven; this is what he came for.

BENNY (CONT.)

But sometimes you needed someone
taken out that was protected, or
hard to get to, or too tough for
your regular guys. Or maybe you
just wanted to send a message. Then
you’d call this guy. He might take
the job, he might not. But if he
did, your problem was gone.
Sometimes everyone in your
problem’s apartment building was
gone, too.

IZZIE
(spinning around, delighted)

That’s what I’m talking about! And
he loved it!

BENNY

No, he didn’t.

IZZIE

Come on, he had to–

Benny looks at Izzie.

BENNY

He didn’t love anything. Or hate
anything. Or anyone. Ever. You had
more emotional investment in
picking out socks this morning than
he ever had shooting someone. Men,
women, children, babies, puppies,
didn’t matter. He got hired once to
kill the woman he was dating at the
time and he didn’t blink an eye.

Benny goes back to scrubbing.

BENNY (CONT.)

When you start out killing people,
you tell yourself that they deserve
it somehow, or maybe they’re not
really as human as you. Soldiers do
that with the enemy, call them
"Charlie" or "ragheads" or whatever
they need to so they don’t have to
think about shooting at people.

(looks at Izzie)

I guess you’d be a gook.

IZZIE

Whatever, man. Guy was a stone
killer, that’s what you gotta do.

BENNY

He never had to do that. There was
nothing inside him. People were
always just things to him, and
annoying things at that. You got
family?

IZZIE

Yeah, I got… a dad, you know.
Mom’s dead. No brothers or sisters.

BENNY

So kiss your dad tonight, cuz if
anyone gets mad at you they’ll go
after him.

IZZIE

Shit. They’ll have to get in line
behind me, man.

Benny eyes Izzie’s bruise and nods. He loads the last stack in the sink. He also starts handing wet dishes and pots to Izzie, who absent-mindedly starts drying them.

BENNY (CONT.)

When you’re a killer, you can’t
trust anybody. Everyone around you
is a potential target or a
potential threat, and you make sure
you learn all you can about all of
them, just in case. You don’t let
anyone close because that’s where
you’ll be weak and you can’t let
that happen because you’re a
coward.

IZZIE

What’s with the coward shit? Guy
was badass!

BENNY

It ain’t brave to shoot somebody
from hiding, from across the
street, or when they’re sleeping.
Soldiers are brave. Firemen are
brave. Hell, teachers are braver
than hitmen, and they probably get
shot more. Hitmen are gutless.

IZZIE

Even your boy, there?

BENNY

Especially him. It takes a lotta
courage to let yourself be
vulnerable sometimes, and that’s
the one thing he would never do.

They wash for a moment.

IZZIE

So what happened? You’re telling me
for a reason, right? What have we
learned from all this?

BENNY

He got a job to whack some
dignitary, I forget the name. He
gets in the guy’s bedroom and does
the deed, no problem, and he’s
leaving when this chick steps out.
Young, beautiful, holding a baby.
And she sees him and she knows
she’s a witness. And she doesn’t
freak out. She stays calm and says
’Let me put him in his room and
shut the door, and I won’t scream.’

And for some reason, he lets her.

And they go in the hall, and she’s
got tears rolling down her face,
and she says ’Do what you need to,
just please, let my baby live.’

IZZIE

Damn. Lady had some balls.

BENNY

You got to understand, this guy
didn’t see a lot of self-sacrifice
in his social circles. Guys might
jump in the way of a bullet in the
heat of the moment, before they
thought about what they were doing.
But here’s this chick perfectly
calmly offering her life.

IZZIE

What did he do?

BENNY

Oh, he shot her. But it bothered
him, after. None of the others had
ever bothered him. And it nagged at
him. Something had meant more to
her than her own life, and he
couldn’t understand that.

All the dishes done, Benny starts tidying up. Izzie glances over; the top newspaper clipping on his stack is headlined "AMBASSADOR, WIFE SLAIN."

BENNY (CONT.)

And he started thinking back about
all the others. For the first time,
he thought about what happened
after he did a job. He ruined the
lives of entire families with one
shot, and then walked out without
caring what happened next. He
realized, basically, that he was a
cowardly, selfish prick. So he left
to go think about things.
Consequences. Humanity. Whether or
not hitmen have souls. How to open
up and care about people. How to
enjoy music.

Benny turns off the RADIO.

BENNY

How to be vulnerable.

IZZIE

You think he became a dishwasher?

BENNY
(chuckling)

I doubt it, the pay’s crap. But you
never know. You can get a lot of
thinking done, washing dishes. And
bit by bit, you’re making the world
a better place.

CUT TO:

EXT. DINER – NIGHT

They emerge in the alley behind the diner. Benny locks up.

IZZIE

It’s a beautiful story, they should
tell it at Christmas. But it don’t
help me.

BENNY

You want a moral? You want to fix
your life, do it yourself. Don’t
make other people suffer for it.

IZZIE

You don’t know nothing about my
life, "Benny"!

Benny looks at him and his expression is suddenly cold, hard, scary as hell. For the first time, Izzie is afraid of him. So are we. This is a man who can kill.

BENNY

I know a little. I know your mom’s
alive and lives in Fort Lauderdale.
I know you got two sisters and a
brother, and I know where they go
to school and I know when. And I
know what your dad does to you when
he drinks. Didn’t even have to
Google it.

IZZIE

You leave them alone, goddamit!

Benny’s expression relaxes back to that of a harmless old man.

BENNY

Sorry, habit. But you been coming
to work with a lot of bruises
lately, so I had a little chat with
your dad today while you were in
school.

IZZIE
(suddenly terrified)

Is he…?

BENNY

Never touched him. I might have
scared him a little, you know, by
accident. Can’t have our janitor
coming in beat up all the time.
Nice that you still care about him,
though, don’t you think?

IZZIE

Jack don’t care you take long
lunches to go threaten people?

BENNY

Jack doesn’t own this place, Iz.

IZZIE

Then who… oh.

BENNY
(smiling)

A real owner probably would have
bought an electric dishwasher by
now. But I get by, and I watch over
my people. You’re my family. By the
way, I think Karen likes you.

IZZIE

Really? Did she… Wait!

(panicking again)

I know your secret! I could put you
away! What are you gonna do to me?

Benny takes in a deep, joyful breath of night air and looks around, beaming.

BENNY

I’m going to do the bravest thing
I’ve ever done in my entire life,
Isamu.

(beat)

I’m going to let you live.

Benny grins at him and walks off, into the night.

BENNY (CONT.)

Night, Izzie. See you tomorrow.
Hey, good luck on your report.

Izzie watches him go as we:

FADE TO BLACK.

Last night, the word for the final round of NYCMidnight's "Tweet Me a Story" contest was provided: BELOW. Here are my entries, all 140 characters or less (titles added afterward for fun):

Keeping Your Spirits Up

"Still below the weather, hon?"
"Much better now."
"The nap helped?"
"No, finding the poison you used on me and dosing your tea did."

Finding Your Inner Freak

“Huh. We tried abuse, vinyl, shoes, nothing.”
“Can't I just not have a fetish?”
“C'mon,” she said, lashing me from below, “that’d be weird.”

The Final Battle

“I’m a wizard,” he cackled, from his room below our stairs. And maybe he was. But it turns out that the wizard’s natural enemy is the Taser.

Results will be posted January 7th, and I'll be sure to harangue… um, ask nicely for your vote, if I make it that far.

Today is the last day to vote for the "Tweet Me a Story" first-round finalists, of which I are one. Actually, I are two.

Recap: NYCMidnight's "Tweet Me a Story" gives contestants 5 hours to write a story of 140 characters or less which must include a supplied word. My word was BETTER. Entrants could submit up to 3 stories, and 25 finalists were chosen. Two of my stories made the cut. Now the judges will select the top winners, but there will also be a reader's choice winner and that's where my shameless begging comes in.

If you've got a mind to, please consider going here and voting for my stories. They are:

From my blanket, I watched the surf. "It doesn't get any better than this."
From his time machine, me from 2023 sighed. "No, it doesn't."

"That's it, I have to know. You've been with me and with Mike. Which one is the better man?"
I smiled. "The one who didn't have to ask."

Both are marked as BY CHRIS BRIDGES. You can vote for as many as you like, but only once. No registration required.

VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE VOTE or not, you know. Up to you.  You can see the rest of the finalists in the other groups here. Voting ends 6 p.m. EST tonight.

Thanks.

The results of the first round are in, and of the 25 top stories selected in my group, two of them are mine. This pleases me, and causes me to weep for the next generation of writers.

Starting at midnight, you can vote for your favorite Tweet Me a Story story, and I'd appreciate it if you would consider voting for mine. If you thought them worthy, of course. Or even out of misguided friendship, shameless pandering, or guilt. It all works for me.

The stories chosen were:

From my blanket, I watched the surf. "It doesn't get any better than this."
From his time machine, me from 2023 sighed. "No, it doesn't."

and

"That's it, I have to know. You've been with me and with Mike. Which one is the better man?"
I smiled. "The one who didn't have to ask."

And you can vote here. Vote early and vote often!

NYCMidnight started up their "Tweet Me a Story" contest again last night, and once again I'm taking a swing at it. Rules: entrants must write a 140-character-or-less story using the supplied word. Entrants had 5 hours to come up with up to three entries. My group's word was BETTER. Here's what I submitted, with titles added here for the fun of it:

Self-Improvement

“Dammit, could you be a better man just once in your life?”

"Oh, sure," he laughed, lunging for her.

“Could you hurry?” she said, and fired.

Memories

From my blanket, I watched the surf. "It doesn't get any better than this."

From his time machine, me from 2023 sighed. "No, it doesn't."

Dying to Know

"That's it, I have to know. You've been with me and with Mike. Which one is the better man?"

I smiled. "The one who didn't have to ask."

I'll keep you posted on the results, because you know you're desperate to know. And here's one that didn't make the cut:

Keeping Your Spirits Up

"Are you feeling better, hon?"

"A little."

"Did the nap help?"

"No, but finding the poison you used on me and slipping it in your tea did."

BenBella's SmartPop series is working on a book of essays about Joss Whedon's Dollhouse, and they want your help. Also, your brainjuice, preferably in essay form.

We love Dollhouse. And we know from Buffy and Firefly that Joss Whedon fans are across-the-board smart, insightful, and involved.

So we’ve teamed up with Jane Espenson, Dollhouse writer and Mutant Enemy veteran, to put out an essay anthology on Dollhouse composed entirely of fan-written essays. Everyone, novice to seasoned writer, is eligible to enter; the only requirement is that you are fan of Dollhouse!

Write a great essay on Dollhouse, send it to us, and your essay could be published in a Smart Pop book edited by Jane.

They'll be using 18 fan-written essays, but one grand prize winner will get $1000!  Three first prize winners will get $250 and the remaining fourteen will get $100.  Not bad for doing what you[re already doing for free at Whedonesque.

Deadline is February 1, 2010. Check the SmartPop site for details and rules.

Bon Jovi redesigned their website. getting ready for the new album and tour, and there's a contest to choose a new logo for the members-only section. A contest, do you say…?

Most of the entries so far seemed to be variants of the existing one — many of them submitted by the same few people — so I decided to go a different direction with just an image depicting his trademark white mic stand.

Winner gets a T-shirt with the new design, signed by Jon. In my case, winning would mean an ecstatic Teresa, which is way more fun. We'll see if this is anything close to what they were looking for.

Final challenge of NYCMidnight's Creative Writing Championship. Now down to 40 writers left, all with the same restrictions: "Genre: Fantasy, Location: car wash, Object: kitten." Stupidly I thought I'd pop in and watch the Emmys just long enough to see Dr. Horrible, ended up watching all of them and having only an hour left to polish my first draft. Damn you, maddeningly entertaining Neil Patrick Harris! Here's what I submitted.

The Kitten, the Flame Demon, and the Car Wash
by C. A. Bridges (1,000 words)

Jess watched from the car wash lobby as the screaming flame demon roamed the streets. It wasn’t charging yet, but it was definitely rampaging in their general direction.

“The heat is on, ladies,” she said. “Maybe this can happen faster?”

“Gimme a second, OK?” Amanda said, before turning back to kneel in front of the weary young girl they’d rescued the day before. She was maybe 7 years old, but her eyes now belonged to a very old, very tired woman.

They had found her in an abandoned mall surrounded by roaring flames and smoldering bodies. She didn’t respond to them, wouldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep. She’d been utterly silent and listless since they brought her back, as if she knew she was already dead and was vaguely wondering when she would fall over. “Honey?” Amanda asked her gently. “I need you to listen to me.”

There was an explosion. “Just torched the McDonalds,” Jess called.

“That thing, that fire thing that attacked your… that you saw? It’s coming this way. No, no, hold on,” she said soothingly as the girl stiffened. “We can stop it, but we need your help. Do you know where those horrible things came from?”

A pause, and then the girl shook her head.

“Do you know what magic is? Casting spells?”

A nod.

“Well, some very foolish people thought they could teach a computer to do magic. They thought they could program it with all the spells, the knowledge and the rituals of thousands of years, and then push a button. Do you think that was a good idea?”

The girl looked out at the angry towers of smoke rising from all around the city and shook her head violently.

“That’s right. They learned how to do magic, but didn't understand that power without wisdom is dangerous. Last year they accidentally called up a host of demons, and we’ve been fighting them ever since.”

“The boutique’s gone now,” Jess yelled. “If we’re gonna do this, we need to do it now!”
Read the rest of this entry »

If you saw the Emmys last night, along with Neil Patrick Harris' amazing performance as the host and the revamped show that finally seemed to start treating awards ceremonies the way they should all be treated — with respect, humor, and John Hodgman providing color commentary– you also saw the first time Dr. Horrible ever appeared on broadcast television. At least, outside of a news show reporting on the death of TV.

I almost missed the damn thing.

It was the accountancy part! If there was ever a safe time to hit the bathroom, it should have been the accountancy part! But no, NPH had to make it all "fun" and "entertaining," as he did throughout the rest of the show. There were some clunkers — the fan getting lousy seats got old even before she was on the screen, the presenter banter was only slightly better overall, and the reality show montage and the ultra-violent Family Guy clip just forcibly reminded me why I don't watch reality shows or Family Guy. (Isn't Dirty Jobs a reality show? Why isn't Mike Rowe winning Emmys?) But overall this was the most entertaining Emmys broadcast I've seen in years. Light-hearted, respectful, and it combined the genres to make the show move faster (something I, ahem, suggested last year).

The fans seemed to agree: despite predictable winners and competition from the Giants/Cowboys game, the 61st Emmys saw a million-person jump in ratings from last year.

I think it was Dr. Horrible's doing. Somehow his evil plan backfired and saved the industry. And in recognition of that, and of Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog winning its own Emmy, I'm giving one away. Post a comment below and tomorrow night at 9 pm EST I'll pull a name at random and send that winner a Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog DVD, just for the hell of it.

One entry per person, must be 18 to win, must be a mailing address in the U.S. or Canada (unless you're willing to cover shipping charges). Begin!

Note: Winning entry has been drawn,. will announce after I get a response from the winner I just e-mailed.

More to the point, win one of THREE copies of "Shootin' the Sh*t With Kevin Smith."

If you know and like movie maker Kevin Smith, you already know you want this collection of transcripts of the best of SModcast, the weekly podcast Smith does with his longtime friend and conspirator Scott Mosier. If you've seen Smith at any of his personal appearances or seen any of his live DVDs you know he's loaded with great and bewildering stories. This… is different.

First, these are not the well-weathered and practiced stories he tells so well. This is Smith getting ripped and talking off the top of his head with his friends, giggling and pushing each other to extremes, most of them inevitably involving deviant sex. And he goes straight to the NSFW well right off the bat, talking candidly about his masturbatory habits, the Godzilla Jesus movie, whether Annie Sullivan ever had sex while Helen Keller was in the room ("It's not like they were, 'We gotta keep it quiet'"), whether the Make-A-Wish Foundation covers forced celebrity hand jobs, and the sickest question Kevin's ever been asked. Smith and Co., left to their own devices, are more twisted than anything he's ever put on film (so far). And I've got three to give away.

How to enter: Just post in the comments below the answer to this question:

Which Kevin Smith character would you nail, and why?

Rules: Any character is fair game, from his movies to his cartoons to his comics to, hell, his Roadside Attractions bits if you want*. Please keep the entries less than 50 words. US and Canada entries only, unless you're willing to cover postage. Must be over 18 to win. One entry per person, please. Make sure you leave a valid e-mail address so I can contact you (your info will not be used for any other purpose). And you've got till midnight EST next Friday, Sept. 25. Three winners will be chosen at random. Go!

UPDATED: Contest is over, three names have been chosen, e-mail sent out. I;'ll post the names once I get confirmation back. Thanks everyone who entering!

"Shootin' the Sh*t With Kevin Smith" hits the stores Tuesday, Sept. 22, and you can preorder it now. Or you can order a signed one from Jay and Silent Bob's Secret Stash. And be sure to check out the SModcasts for a taste of what you'll be getting.

* My own response? I'd bang God, in Her guise as Alanis Morissette. She's a total hottie, and Alan Rickman would have to stand next to the bed and make all her noises for Her. Doesn't get any better, sir.