As Sean Connery so memorably said in "Diamonds are Forever": "I'm afraid you've caught me with more than my pants down." Um, I don't have anything valuable to say in this part of the column this week. The stuff below - the real meat of the column - is the usual happy-pappy, and should be regarded with the same wide-eyed joy or cool disaffect you give the column under normal circumstances. But this opening - pure crap. In fact, I don't see why you don't just stop reading this part of the column, right now.

"Trainspotting's" Jonny Lee Miller ("Sick Boy") and Robert Carlyle ("Begbie") are the title characters of Working Title Films' upcoming "Plunkett and Macleane". Already a sizeable hit in its native England, the film is a cultural milestone of sorts: for the first time in God knows how long, we're getting a costume drama without (A) a script based on the works of Jane Austen, (B) scruples, (C) Hugh freaking Grant. Now that's a recipe for success if I've ever heard one. In "P&M," two rogue "highwaymen" rob, romance and shoot their carefree way through 18th century England, trading bon mots with each other and flesh wounds with nemesis. A British buddy flick --how cool is that? Add to the party a killer orchestral / electronic soundtrack by Craig Armstrong, two of the hottest male leads to break from the empire in years and the newfound British proclivity for mindless, Americanized violence and shit blowing up, and we just might have something here. The official site is Shockwave-heavy - perhaps too much so - but is a fine diversion nonetheless, rich with web extras (a screen saver, digital postcards, the nefarious trailer) and more colorful language than you can shake a blunderbuss at.
 

"I don't have the attention span to be a poet, the skill to be a designer, the smarts to be an engineer, or the sheer will to be 'successful.' But let it be known that I, !!!srini kumar!!!, know how to write a f***ing slogan." He knows how to sell 'em, too - which makes him a little bit of all of the above. His site, Unamerican.com, does a brisk trade in the stuff you used to write on your PeeChees and on the white rubber of your Chucks, back in the days before nirvana was a band and skateboarding was an industry. Every one of his slogans - tried and true, borrowed and blue -- are printed lovingly on black vinyl bumperstickers and available to you - the onetime punk with the ever-expanding butt - at the premium price of $1 apiece. Some are inspired: "You LIVE in that head?" is my favorite, a snappy rejoinder !!!srini actually delivered to some heavily-tripping youth at Burning Man. Others are borrowed from outside sources ("Bring That Beat Back"), but are still kinda cool. And some ("Linux Is The Shit," "Impeach 'Em All") are unfortunate in the extreme, and will make those of us who are difficult to live with pretty much impossible to live with. (The last thing these screwheads need is a slogan.) Needless to say, you can just copy some of these slogans right off the site and scribble them on your Simples without paying. Now that's punk.
 

Will Hertes should be canonized. He should be a talking head on "60 Minutes," he should have a staff to rival Chris Matthews' and Al Freaking Pacino should play him in the movie version of The Will Hertes Letters. Not that what Hertes does is whole-cloth original - writing prank letters to monolithic organizations is a stunt as old as the hills, most recently baked to perfection by comedian Don Novello (Father Guido Sarducci to you, sinner). But Hertes is the new blood; he shines the zeitgeist to a sheen and uses it to blind his prey. Sample missive, addressed to the well-shod overlords at Nike: "Two young thieves recently smacked me around like a silly girl and made off with my footwear. Police suspect that they were specifically seeking Nike sneakers. I'd like to know the likelihood of your developing a less-glamorous shoe, one which looks old and worn while maintaining your current standards for comfort and function." To read Nike's comically nonplussed response, as well of those of Jack in the Box, K-Mart and Bill Clinton, proceed immediately to Hertes' page and swim in his thing.
 

Go ahead ... treat me like dirt. Dirt has a lot going for it. It has color, texture; it supports most every natural and manmade wonder; it mingles with the rich and famous. Hey, dirt, look at you now! The Museum of Dirt digs up this ample resource by the fistful, places the samples in jars and allows you to search for the soil of your dreams by color, location, elevation and more. The variety is endless: dirt from the Parthenon looks like breakfast cereal, while dirt from Barry Manilow's driveway seems even dirtier than most. (Gee, you think you know a guy.) This is important stuff, dammit - without dirt, there wouldn't be any plants, or trees, or political metaphors. Respect dirt!

No, no ... I've nothing to add down here, either. It's a wonder you fell for this cruel stunt again. I am ashamed. See you next week! Keep in touch!