Dear Nicolas Cage,
I was perusing my morning copy of New Kerala when I saw the news item about your enjoyment for karaoke. Apparently, one night of karaoke carousing led you to lose your voice on the set of National Treasure and you had to dub your lines in later...
Well, I challenge you to a karaoke duel...The Urban Kvetch vs. you, Indiana Clones.
Each of us picks a classic song and renders it Sex Pistols-style. She (or he) who rocks the loudest, wins. You may have the Coppola family in your court, but I've got the yeshiva education that breeds punk rebellion. I've rendered everyone from Guns and Roses to the Mamas and the Papas. Forget your playing twins in Adaptation. "Sweet Child O'Mine" to "Dream a Little Dream"? Now that's range, baby.
The stakes? A role in your next movie. Of course, you already have a role in your next movie, so why don't you just give me the prize now, and we can call it even. No need for you to be "beaten by a girl." Save yourself the embarrassment. In fact, since I'm unagented, have your agent call me with an offer of representation AND a script, and you can get credit for "discovering" me. Everybody wins.
As Gwen Stefani recently asked me, "Whatchu Waitin' 4"?
Most sincerely yours,
Kvetcher of Urbs /Queen of Karaoke