Where the Streeps Have no Name

I went to see the latest Streep film last night. It was great! Steve Buscemi played this mad inventor who also happened to be a huge Streep-o-phile and decided he was going to create a perfect Streep clone so he could live out all his deepest fantasies. Unfortunately, some of his science was a bit wonky, so he ended up creating all sorts of Streep-based chimaera. Eventually, these monstrosities were taking over his house and he found he didn't have room to conduct his experiments anymore, so he just stacked them all up in his cellar- even though they retained some dim form of consciousness- 'til there was just a huge mountain of bodies in there. Anyway, once again free to work, he evntually succeeded in creating his perfect clone. Unfortunately for him, it contained all the spunk and feistiness of the original, and was appalled when she found out about her sisters piled in the basement. So, the perfect clone mobilised the Streep-heap, burned down Buscemi's house with him inside, and went off to found their own Streep-topia somewhere in the Indian Ocean. Anyway, it was fantastic; I really enjoyed it. Only trouble was, I wasn't allowed to take my four-year-old son- who's a Streep fanatic- to see it. I kicked up a fuss, but the people at the cinema insisted it wasn't allowed. Apparently it's because the film contains scenes of piled Meryl.