via David A. Barrios (freelance writer)

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3

Part 4

Previously on Blog Wars:

Todd put down McSweeneys number 58 (subtitled A Heartbreaking Corpse of Staggering Exquisiteness)
and could barely hide his disappointment.  It started off promisingly
enough with Jonathan Safran Foer’s body horror experiment, and Zadie
Smith taking on scientology seemed promising enough, but when Rick
Moody added in that unnecessary space twist at the conclusion, it
sealed the deal: this was the worst issue of McSweeneys yet.  Todd wondered if he could cancel the subscription but still maintain the one had for The Believer when his digital wristwatch started beeping.  Oh, he thought, four-thirty
He got up and put two slices of whole wheat bread in the toaster and
took out the jar of mayonnaise.  Luckily for him, his member had almost
on reflex begun to engorge itself as the watch beeped, an almost
Pavlovian response.  He unscrewed the lid and thrust himself inside
with vigor three times and then pulled out.  The toast popped out and
he placed each slice on the top and underside of his shaft and sighed. 
On cue, his iPod speaker dock started to play “Inna Gadda Davita” and
life was good.  But then he heard the voice, unmistakable over the
music and sticky warmth of the cock sandwich.

“Todd, what in the fuck are you doing?”

Todd spun around to face-



Todd spun around to face — Mark David Chapman. Todd says who the fuck let Jared Leto get so fat? Everyone laughs and for a moment, the world forgets that Chapman robbed us all of Double Fantasy II: Quadro-Ono. 

Mark David Chapman throws his briefcase on the table in front of Todd. Todd said Mark. I’ve got a fucking story for you. It’ll be perfect. Best thing yet, I can get Foster. That’s right, bitch. Jodie “Little Man Tate” Foster. How do you like those god damn apples?

Naturally, Todd loved apples and the lesbionic star of such films as “Carny” and “Anna and the King”. Todd pulled a contract out of his ass and procured a pen. For today, he was going to make Mark David Chapman a star.

Meanwhile, Jodie Foster felt a disturbance in the Force. Since abandoning her religious upbringing to walk down the path of Sleater-Kinney-Fu, Foster had developed a rather high midichlorian count. She could see shit like in The Matrix, thus she could control all reality.

Foster wants to fuck Lohan. She jumps inside the firecrotch and goes all Neo on her ass. Bam! Lohan is ready to start munching carpet with the guy from Foreigner’s cock scrapings. Foster senses the motion picture deal made by Chapman and flies to Hollywood. That’s right, fellas. The Accused chick knows how to fly.

Jodie Foster arrives in Hollywood to take a meeting with pain. Foster finds Chapman and is ready to beat his ass. But, Chapman pulls out a script for “The Civil War”. Foster had always wanted to make a Civil War movie that didn’t suck undead zombie baby ass like “Sommersby”. So, she signed onto the film. Little did she know that it was a McDonaldland Production of The Civil War.

Matthew McConaughey was to play General Robert E. Lee as Ronald McDonald. Toby Jones was to play General Grant as The Hamburglar. The Grimace would be constructed via CGI and the last vestiges of Ahmet Best’s career.

Jodie Foster was outraged. How dare the McDonald’s Corporation tear down an important piece of American History? How could she dare say, “Slavery…I’m Lovin’ It!”

Disappointed in her fellow man, Jodie Foster ventured into a nearby bar. There she met Jesus, John Wayne Gacy and Lance Armstrong. She took a seat next to John Wayne Gacy and order a Whisky Sour.

Jodie Foster looked over at John Wayne Gacy for a long, icy stare. John Wayne Gacy just smiled underneath his inches of greasy sweat-stained pancake makup. Who the fuck are you supposed to be? asked Jodie

I’m a Sad Clown said Gacy

That makes two of us said Foster

But, I sliced nutsacks open and played Marble Madness with their fleshy content said Gacy.

Foster grabbed her drink and took a long, hard sip. I can’t say that I’ve ever done that proclaimed Foster.

Jesus knocked back his Amaretto and laughed. Marble Madness was a fuckin’ sweet game proclaimed the Son of God.

Suddenly, Lance Armstrong dropped dead. Jodie Foster, Jesus and John Wayne Gacy looked down at the bar at the Cyclist Corpse. Jesus laughs

“This reminds of the time when Michael Landon and I were in Belgium. No, wait…it was Amsterdam. Not that it matters. A change in geography isn’t going to bring Marcel back.” said Jesus

“Who’s Marcel” asked Jodie Foster

“Well, Marcel was part of a much larger story. A story that involved two hookers, a monkey named Lucky Jim and a slighty burned copy of Rum Punch.”