Beautiful mega-star and child-rearing extraordinaire Angelina Jolie ingests one veggie sandwich late this morning, an unnamed personal assistant reports. The sandwich is said to be healthy-looking and fresh. While it is certain that her light luncheon’s sandwich contained sprouts and hummus, reports of cucumber and red peppers are as yet unsubstantiated. Personal representative Elle Meier makes no specific comment on the sandwich, but does mention that Jolie “had a wonderful meal today and would like to thank all the vegetables involved for their nutrition and flavor.”

A single drop of sweat is confirmed to have dropped off of Angelina’s brow during her afternoon jog through the Jolie-Pitts’ multi-acre estate in Brignoles, France. Paparazzi quickly clamor around the small briny puddle and manage to capture dozens of photos before being shooed from the premises. The photos are leaked to the Internet, where they cause a cyber-fracas of wild speculation regarding the volume, pH, and salinity of the fluid.

Angelina takes her one breath of the day out of a mysterious tin canister she keeps hidden on her person at all times. Her fitness coach has reportedly recommended that Angelina cut down on her respiration to keep lean for her next film (nude scene?).

Upon reading a Time article about an orphaned Iraqi child, Angelina releases a tumid cloud of empathy into the atmosphere of the public park she is sitting in. The bluish fog (color indicating her disposition as “sad”) induces passers-by into brow-furrowing and general philanthropic concern. A pleasant almondy aroma is also mentioned. “Angelina emotes with veracity,” says her therapist Dr. Martha A. Goodwell. “I see this as a healthy habit.” The nebulous mist moves northward with the wind and dissolves over an unsuspecting meter maid, who gingerly fingers her uniform’s hem before looking skyward and pleading, “Why?”

Twins! After a lengthy period of anxious anticipation, Angelina finally makes her much-awaited bowel movement just after dinner. Jubilant hubby Brad Pitt appears excited and thankful, telling reporters, “We’ve been waiting so long for these little miracles … they give our lives meaning,” before breaking down into joyful tears. According to friends, the family had been entertaining guests over tapas and wine when Angelina abruptly stood up, looked down with face aghast and charged to the lavatory with her husband, children, and guests hot in pursuit. Brad is reportedly present during the procedure, videotaping for posterity. Concern had surrounded the bloated and gassy Angelina, whose little ones—known in advance to be twins—had been due for 6 p.m. Family gastronomist Dr. Alfonse Terry reported that Angelina goes “in the natural way,” though she does elect to be given an epidural. Doting over the two beswaddled turdlets, Angelina announces that the two newest family members will be named Zaphistoe and Mandrake.

Just before climbing into bed, Angelina hikes up her nightie, crouches into a half-squat and births a baby boy. The tiny newborn is quickly swarmed and devoured by the rest of the multi-racial brood while Brad and Angelina make wild, passionate love. “We have awesome sex all the time,” Brad says afterward in a rare candid moment.

The world of nautical antiquities has been abuzz with excitement since the recent announcement that the Twitter log of noted whaler and monomaniac Captain Ahab has been recovered. The find came during the demolition of the Nantucket Home for Widows of Fishermen and Drunken Irishmen, when workers in the sub-basement discovered thousands of player-piano rolls labeled PEQUOD, as well as a primitive 19^th-century computing device made of whalebone, hemp, and crab legs. When properly fed through the device, the piano rolls proved to contain encoded data, including two recipes for clam chowder, a Minefield game, several risqué descriptions of women’s ankles, and Captain Ahab’s lost Twitter log, reproduced here for the first time ever. The journal begins when Ahab was still on land, shortly before his final voyage:

Captain Ahab …
dreamt the beast again. I, in the water. From the inky deep he came, his open maw the very gate of Hell. Woke to kippers for breakfast. Yum.

Election near. Zach Taylor or Cass? Can’t bear idea of that lubber Fillmore being one bad cold from Presidency. Will vote for Cass.

Visit w/ the Hawthornes. Nate reads his new yarn, “Red Letter.” “Needs more action,” says I, “some redskins maybe.” Nate changes subject.

Ride home from Hawthornes. Show wife cloud that looks just like the white whale. Rolls her eyes. “What a surprise,” she says. The cow.

spent an hour hoppin’ round looking for me leg. Find her out back beating rugs w/ it. Tis well for her am Quaker. Must get back to sea soon.

She hands me plate of Spotted Dick & pretends tis not the very likeness of the devil whale. Harsh words. Sleeping in hammock tonight.

did not think on the white whale yesterday. Not once. Just realized. Must remember to tell my alienist next week.

wrote Capt. Peleg orders to outfit the barky for sea. Mistakenly wrote “Pegleg” on envelope. Haven’t laughed so hard in donkey’s years.

tried to show her cloud even more like white whale than last one. Wouldn’t even look. Last straw. Making camp on Pequod ‘til we’re a-weigh.

took on 2 hands today, Ishmael & savage w/ odd moniker: “Weak Leg” or some such. Seem more like “weak wrists” to me. Bit fond of each other.

At last we’re a-weigh; Fedallah & his mates secretly stowed. Stubb & his blather already on last good nerve. Still getting my sea leg.

offered gold coin for 1st to spy M.D. Nailed it to mast. Nice flourish I think. Starbuck nigh ruined speech w/ his caviling. The pantywaist.

in cabin reading “7 Habits of Highly Obsessive Sea Captains.” Seems like horse sense, really, but kills time ‘til the white devil is found.

having 2nd thoughts about reward of gold piece. That doubloon’s worth $16. Thinking maybe I’ll be first to spot white whale, whether or no.

WHALES 2DAY! No joy, but brought up Fedallah’s lads for chase. How other crew stared! You’d think no one ever hid Filipinos in hold before.

Tiny black Pip fell overboard & spent day alone in sea. Crazy as bilge rat now. Saw “God’s foot on the treadle of the loom,” he says. WTF?

Long time b/n tweets-very busy. Many sperm whales caught, much oil & spermaceti in hold. No sign of Moby Dick, but I’ll drain his sperm yet!

set crew to squeezing sperm in the vats. Saw Ishmael squeezing everyone’s spermy hands in the vat & grinning like a fool. He’s a queer lad.

Regret bringing Fedallah now. Spends most of his time lurking, foreshadowing. Harps on my doom like a wordy fortune cookie. Creepy bugger.

TYPHOON! Starbuck nigh soiled his breeches, but I shook fist at God! Cathartic, it was. Eager to get home & share breakthrough w/ alienist.

Forged new dart, tempered it w/ the blood of the harpooners, & baptized it in the Devil’s name. “Stabby McSharpington,” I’ve dubbed it.

Up in crow’s nest when big bird plucks hat from head, flies off w/ it in highly symbolic manner. Must stop keeping breakfast kippers in hat.

THAR HE BLOWS! & I saw him 1st! CHA-CHING! That sea-lawyer Tashtego tried to horn in on sighting, but I set him straight. Oh sweet doubloon.

Ahab’s final entry was spread over two tweets:

2 days now we’ve striven; the boats are smashed to shivers; Fedallah’s lost, & his mad prophecy w/ him. What a load of bollocks that was…

M.D.’s full of our sharp iron (Stabby!), & I still have my lucky rope. Oh to see Starbuck’s face when we deliver the beast back to the ship!

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t was 1943, and the tide was finally starting to turn. A small American vessel glided stealthily through the waters off the coast of the small Italian town of Passo Oscuro, seeking out a remote spot to make landfall. The boat’s lights were off, its passengers silent. Army Intelligence Operative Lilly Peters steered the boat to a sandy embankment, mere feet from a rickety fishing dock. Her companion, American Mafioso Benedetto “Little” Parisi, sent by the Crime Syndicate after they agreed to help with the war effort, disembarked with a flourish.

“Ring-a-ding-ding, knuckleheads,” said Parisi. “Uncle Sam’s got a message for you: Tie those spaghettis into nooses, cuz you’re hangin’ out to dry!”

“Shhh!” said Agent Lilly Peters, shock and anger written on her face. “This is a covert mission, keep it down! If we’re discovered, it’s curtains.”

“I’m zippin’ it like a zoot suit, lady!” said Parisi.

“Uh huh,” said Lilly. “Listen, there’s supposed to be an encoded communiqué hidden on this dock for Nazi intelligence. We need to find it before they get here!”

Lilly Peters searched under every board of the small dock until she found a manila envelope.

“Check out those gams,” whistled “Little” Parisi, growing increasingly restless.

“Shut up!” hissed Lilly. “You’re not helping! I’m trying to break this code, I need to concentrate! And why didn’t you tie up the boat? It’s floating away!”

“‘Now this broad’s the kinda nutty I like!”

“Watch it, I’m with army intelligence. Who are you talking to, anyway?”

“Woah, this doll’s got fire roarin’ in the belly!”

Unfortunately for our heroes, all of the noise had gotten the attention of two burly Italian army privates. They came barreling over in the direction of the racket.

“Wonderful, now we’re done for!” yelled Lilly Peters. “Why are you even here?”

“I’ll tell you why,” Parisi said, turning his attention to the first soldier who was now only mere feet away. “Hey birdbrain, lemme introduce you to a boot cocktail, courtesy of the Stars & Stripes! One part steel toe, two parts your teeth!” Benedetto kicked the large guard square in the mouth. “Just your size, wiseguy,” he said.

At that moment, the second soldier grabbed Lilly by the throat.

“Benedetto, help!” gurgled Lilly.

“’Ey, Madonn’,” said Parisi. “Didn’a no one tell you howta treat a lady?”

The private just stared at Parisi, dumbfounded.

“I thought you spoke Italian … speak … Italian” sputtered Lilly, her throat grasped ever tighter. “That’s why you’re … on the … mission!”

“No problem, sweetheart,” said Parisi. “See if ya like the taste of this one, pencilneck: Here’s a calzone with extra sauce!”

“Calzone?” asked the soldier.

But it was too late. Parisi knocked the big man out with only five gunshots to the face.

“What happened to the fluent Italian?” said Lilly, catching her breath. “I’m having trouble figuring out what you’re here to ‘help’ me with.”

“I’m here to help you teach the Kaiser how to do the Charleston two step!”

“What Kaiser? What are you talking about?”

“I’m gonna give old man Churchill the Brooklyn broomstick, right up the wazoo!”

“He’s on our side!” Lilly screamed, exasperated.

“’Ey!” yelled Parisi, shrugging his shoulders dramatically. “This dame’s a firecracker!”