Fuck you, Eric Bana. Why don't you go throw some tanks with Ang Lee or something? Instead, you've 
gotten the opportunity to lay your grubby hands upon two of the hottest women on this planet, in this or any generation. I know you were pretty badass in Munich, but avenging Israeli Olympians is no justification for this. Yes, dear children, my petty jealousy knows no bounds, and today those boundless horizons are compelling me to drug Eric Bana and then skin his Portman and Johansson-touching hands so that I might graft said skin to my penis. Doubt me not. This all makes perfect sense to me, and is the only rational recourse.
.....Of course, I suppose I could forgoe the violence and just ask Mr. Bana politely for a handjob. Then again, I'm sure he has a busy schedule. But maybe if I promised to wrap it up quickly, and gave him the old puppy dog eyes, we might be able to reach (around?) a compromise. Wait. How did this story about Natalie and Scarlett become a homoerotic cry for help to Eric Bana? Sometimes, I think I'd be better of by just spending the next few hours slowly digging out a hole in the middle of my forehead with a Swiss Army knife. And when the random passerby should ask me what I'm doing, I can simply reply: "Brain Whittlin', my friend. Brain Whittlin'."
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Exhibits A and B in The People vs. Eric Bana....
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