taunch pro-death advocates applauded court refusals to reconnect Terri Shiavo's feeding tube over the weekend. The court hearings were seen as last-ditch legal efforts by Schiavo's parents and pro-life groups to keep the brain-damaged woman alive, but judges of the state court of Clearwater, Florida bizarrely sided with science over politics and religion, to the lament of fans of life everywhere.

Terri Schiavo has been in a persistent vegetative state since 1990, when prolonged blood loss to the brain brought on by heart failure induced her current condition. The case has become a focus for pro-life and anti-life groups, as Schiavo's husband, based on alleged comments made by Schiavo before her condition started, wants his wife's feeding tube removed, and her parents want her to live a long, long time. While most medical specialists have concluded Schiavo will never recover, doctors who put their religion convictions ahead of flimsy scientific evidence have come to bat for the parents, saying Schiavo demonstrates some degree of awareness of her environment. The woman's feeding tube was removed March 18, the only means for pro-death advocates to euthanize patients under current laws.

The Schindlers, Schiavo's parents and the key speakers on the pro-life side of the debate, have brought aboard anti-abortion-rights activist Randall Terry, who, since Schiavo cannot speak now on her own behalf, argues the woman must be fought for like a big fetus, despite claims by her husband, who knew her before the tragedy, that she would not want to be kept alive in such a state. The Schindlers have accused all judges who have sided with husband Michael Schiavo of being part of a "crusade to kill" his daughter.

Governor Jeb Bush, brother of the country's most legal president ever, has in the past interceded on the Schindlers' behalf to reconnect Schiavo's feeding tube on one of the many occasions it's been disconnected, but legal efforts by the Governor have so far failed to pass muster with the Florida Senate. Though he has not taken more direct, controversial action as of press time to keep Schiavo alive, Bush's sentiments are clearly pro-life.

"I've consistently said I can't go beyond what my powers are and I'm not going to do it. There are 90,000 abortions that take place in this state every year. That troubles me more than I can ever describe," said the Governor, finding a comparison where few would dare. Bush also negatively compared the decision of Judge George Greer not to reverse his decision, based on the testimony of a doctor affiliated with the Schindlers, to court decisions to review death penalty cases.

On the pro-death side, representatives for Michael Schiavo pleaded with the media and legislators to not involve themselves in the family's most painful ordeals for the sake of political or religious agendas, and for the love of God, quit calling them "pro-death advocates." The media responded by splashing the story, covered from multiple angles, on page one of every national newspaper and running constant updates in between television shows. Politicians responded by making resentful speeches and making deals in the House and Senate over the woman's future. When asked if anyone in Congress planned on interceding to bring soldiers home from Iraq, Afghanistan, or other dangerous locations overseas, most Congressmen said it didn't seem like any of their business.

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The Miramax film based on my life is finally being released, now that Miramax is falling apart on the inside. They let the film sit on a shelf for a couple of years while they waited for another national disaster so they could silently release it to the theaters unnoticed, like they did Glitter. I guess things have been too good, since the mama company is making them release it within the next year or they're going to have to pay me out the money for the contract I signed.

I tried to get one of the Weinsteins on the phone at Miramax, but they had already left the company. I did get a Steinwein on the phone, but he said he worked in the kitchen and didn't know shit. He had seen my movie, though, he was part of the focus group they showed it to. He was the focus group, actually. He thought it needed more ketchup.

The next guy I got on the phone knew more. He said they were going to take the film to Cannes next year. Or was it Cans, the strip club down the block? I've been to one of them and can't remember which. They said they had a lot of hope it would win the audience choice award, the Itty Bitty Titty Twister statue, but they were worried my tits were too big.

I know enough about it to know it was a troubled production from day one. After I signed away all the rights to my life, they said there was no way the production couldn't make money. But I showed them. They went $200 million over budget. It was the worst script William Goldman ever turned in, a studio insider said. It may have been Goldie Willman, now that I think of it… I met her at Cans.

And casting me was no easy task. They asked Freddy Fender to do it, and he punched them out. The director said he acted too well anyway, no one who knew me would believe the performance. They managed to cast Hal Linden as my dad, which is a much easier role to play since no one knows what he looks like. For me, they eventually went with Robin Williams in severe make-up. He said he had to get into the make-up chair earlier each morning than when he was filming Mrs. Doubtfire. I didn't like being kicked out of the make-up chair when I was in a deep sleep, either, and they wouldn't hear any excuses about how I had locked myself out of my apartment, which didn't exist, but they didn't know that.

I hear the director couldn't decide if it were a comedy or a tragedy, so he made a tragicomedy, even though the studio says he wasn't trying to. Think Doogie Howser, M.D., mixed with a little School House Rock. My movie's nothing like that, but I love to think about stuff like that. A 16-year-old doctor who goes around telling people how bills become laws in song. That's the best idea I've ever had, and my mom agrees.

If the movie hits big, though, don't expect me to change. I'll basically be myself, except much richer and probably well-bathed. So yeah, I suppose I'll change significantly. I can't wait. By this time next year, hopefully, everyone will know the name Taylor Hutch. They decided not to go with Alamo Cruise—"too Jewish," said Steinwein.

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You should take a trip into my world some time. I think you'd be pleasantly surprised. Every night before I go to sleep, I close my eyes and stroll into the kingdom of my own imagination, a fuck-yeah world that's like some kind of fantastic movie or something. It's an awesome place. Nobody has to work, nobody has to ride the bus, and all the chicks are alotta hot. Not to mention that they're all over me like, well you know, like hot chicks on a rich guy. But most importantly, in my world, we don't have any of these candy-assed reality shows that you see on TV here. Survivor? The Mole? That crap is for kids who think eating worms is cool. In my world the reality shows rock, and you know they rock hard.

Probably the most popular reality show in my world is called Feeb Factor. Imagine this, if you can: How will three different pharma-doped-up old farts with high blood pressure and veins as thin as crepe paper react when they're subjected to increasingly stressful and radical environments? The top tier involves making a mad-dash across a football field with a summer sausage stitched to your throat while a pack of crazed, starving German shepherds are released right on your goddamned heels. Keep in mind that you only get this privilege after you've passed the second-most-gnarly fear test, where everybody has to sleep with this nasty old hooker who's like a potluck of weird sex diseases, only some of which are known to science. Some of the middle levels are especially sweet, too. There's one where you glue your face to a wolf's ass and get thrown down a bobsled run wearing only a pair of sneakers. How wicked is that? Or how about the one where you get shot out of a cannon into a gigantic man-made beehive that instead of bees is full of serial killers? Or the one where you have to climb a skyscraper in a hurricane using a rope made of live rats? Holy shit! But to be honest none of the old bastards ever make it past the "parallel parking" test at the beginning. One lady even had a brain aneurysm while they were introducing her to the studio audience. It's a shame, really. But there are some joke challenges they throw in that are pretty killer, like having to run naked into a bank and withdraw $50 to buy some pants. Or one time they stapled all the foges to the studio floor and had them reenact that hilarious "I've Fallen and I Can't Get Up!" show from the 80's.

The next most popular reality show in my world is called Temptation Island of the Cannibal Sluts. Six average guys are let loose on the island, just looking to score. Only one comes back. Actually, usually none of them come back but it doesn't seem to hurt ratings, and Arby's has a tie-in promotional deal for a pretty choice sandwich. One time a guy came back but he'd just spent the whole time recording birdcalls, I don't know what his problem was.

One season they tried doing Temptation Island in Manhattan, with the whole island as the set, but that just got confusing as one guy ended up with a family, another got engaged to a drag queen and the others were all hacked up by the Meat Market Killer. Cool idea though.

Another popular reality show in my world is Big Brother, which sounds familiar, but it's actually way cooler than you think. On this one, contestants are assigned an immature, muscle-bound and nearly psychotic older brother who belittles them in front of their friends, pushes them around and tries to score with their girlfriends when they're at band practice. The first one to crack and split open their Big Brother's head with a jack-handle wins. This is one that really hits home.

So I don't think you have to waste any time arguing that this world's feeble reality programming can hold any kind of candle to the awesome shit I've got going on in my head. Maybe one day those TV people will wise up and come to me for ideas, but they seem to be the stubborn sort who will have to suffer through some pretty weak ratings before they wise up and decide to cash in the gold mine I've got going on upstairs.

Incidentally, the movies in my world kick a lot more ass than the ones here do, too. If you haven't seen Allan Quarterbag and the City of Lost Couch Poofs, or Fuzzbumbers in Paradise, and I'm thinking you haven't since they've only played out on the vast theater screen in my imagination, you truly haven't enjoyed film. Sucks to be you, but you have my condolences.

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