May 31, 2005 12:43 PM
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Hollywood, 11:11 AM
Tue Feb 9
56 posts in the last 24 hours
He's an Oscar-winning director whose mega-budget historical epic flopped, and now recently popped in Beverly Hills for a DUI and drug possession.
He's a former rising star with a Jack Nicholson jones, out to prove that when you've been hitting the bottle and feeling a little grab-assy in the Big Apple, no career is too cold for a public arrest.
He's West Coast. He's East Coast. Somehow, they've both given Smokey the slip, and during a hilarious mix-up at a Missouri truck-stop, they've been handcuffed together with only twenty-four hours to clear their names.
EXT. TRUCK STOP-DAY
Stone and Slater come tearing out of the greasy spoon and almost immediately find a nearby classic Mustang idling outside, the keys inexplicably left in the ignition. Stone heads for the driver's seat, but Slater yanks the cuff and stops him in his tracks.
SLATER: I think I'll drive.
A blonde hottie with legs up to her neck strolls by. Slater licks his lips and his hands reflexively snarl into ass-grabbing claws.
STONE: Not now.
They exchange knowing smiles, hop in the car, and peel rubber as they hit the open road.
They're Palz on the Run, and they're coming to a theater near you next summer. McG to direct (with every absurd camera angle second-guessed by Stone).
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