So Sumner Redstone calls...

And he says, "C, I need you to kill Tom Cruise for me."

I pause for a moment, and then I said, "Sumner, first of all, haven't you already taken care of this? And, second, how did you get this number?"

So he goes, "C, no, I have not done enough. Public humiliation is never enough for these people, if you care to call them that, especially once they've drank kool-aid over at spaceland. No, this guy needs to be dead. And I'm surprised that you, of all people, would ask me how I got this number. You know that I'm very well connected."

Bullshit, I'm thinking, as he says this to me. There's something else going on here besides an old-man vendetta against a creepy, Ken-doll pedophile. So I decide that I'm not going to take his bait.

"Sorry, Sumner," I said, "I work for other, more important, people than you. How about you get the guys in effects to go make a clip where he gets blown up. In a couple of weeks I doubt you'll even realize that it didn't happen, as long as you tell your handlers now to go along with the charade. Or just go run him down in your Bentley. I'm sure you've gotten off for worse than that. Again, though, how did you get my number?"

So then he says, "C'mon, C, are you chicken or something? You afraid of Ethan Hunt, the most dangerous Impossible Mission agent in the World? Don't think you can handle him, do ya?"

I said, "Look, Sum, I'm not afraid of any man alive, let alone one that needs to worship space aliens so he can sleep at night in his cryogenic chamber. And Lord knows that I shouldn't even need a reason to kill him after that pathetic spy portrayal that he's been slingin' the past few years. And if I have to see another gawddam John Wu pigeon routine I'm going to have smoke comin' out of my ears like one of those crummy mini-DV players that you guys keep trying to pawn off as worthy spy-tech. BUT, I'm not going to do any of your Hollywood grudge-killing. That's not how I roll. I have standards."

So he pauses for a moment and says, "Well, the offer's on the table. You can reach me in the usual manner."

"Fine, Sumner." And I hung up.

Freakin' Hollywood moguls are always pulling this shit. They can never tell the difference between fantasy and reality, the dumb bastards. How the hell did he get my number, though? I need to get White Ghost on this...