Ron posted a spate of fantastic entries this morning but before we start polling, a couple of last-minute entries trickled in. First up, as soon as word of the contest went out I strongarmed Maclean's Assistant Editor and TV blogger Jaime J. Weinman into entering (though since the conflict of interest is pretty damn clear, we're making this an exhibition entry.) He came up with a song for Andy Kelp, the loyal sidekick of everyone's favorite comedic criminal, John Dortmunder, designed for a musical of Donald Westlake's THE HOT ROCK. Weinman admits that "yes, Kelp sounds way more like a stereotypical comedy criminal in this song than he does in the book. That's what adaptation's all about, yo."

Hey, Dortmunder,
I was hopin'
They would spring you
Like they done.
Say, Dortmunder,
If you're open,
I can bring you
Cash and fun.
And sure as my name is Kelp,
I really could use your help.

When I start a caper up
I can't pick a paper up
And pick the crooks I wanted from an ad.
I would be an ass if I'd
Rifle through a classified,
But suddenly the searching ain't so bad,
'Cause now the guy I wanted can be had.
Boy, am I glad.

John D.!
John D.!
I'm still your biggest fan.
I'm trained in crime,
But when it's time
To organize a plan,
I go to see
My pal John D.,
The organization man.

There's a black ambassador
Hopin' we can pass a door
And get the rock that Talabwo is due.
Useless aimin' at a gem
'Til I got a stratagem,
But strategists are missing from my crew.
I need to find a strategist like who?
Probably you.

John D.!
John D.!
You ain't no also-ran.
Though you're a pain,
You've got a brain
No brain is brainier than.
So if you're free,
I hope you'll be
The organization man.

You'll get happy
In a jiffy
With a plot so
Sharp and keen.
Like Topkapi
Or Rififi,
Only not so
Europeen.
You'll prove, to all crooks and cops,
American crime is tops.

Plan some cool tomfoolery
For this piece of joolery
That's waitin' under glass and on display.
Once we take the rock away,
Then we get to sock away
The kind of dough no other job would pay.
I'll put it in a prison kind of way:
A hundred thousand cigarettes a day.
Say it's okay,
Then we can make our play!

John D.!
John D.!
It's time that we began.
The ice is hot,
Cannot be got,
But who's the guy who can?
We all agree
You're him, you're he,
So come with me
And be John D.,
You're back from vacation,
John D.,
The shame of the nation,
John D.,
The organization man.

THIS MIGHT BE CHICK LIT (OR HEY, MAYBE NOT): THE MUSICAL

ELIZABETH MERRICK take the stage with a sheaf of pages in her hand:

"My MFA's from Cornell, my BA is from Yale

Who would ever think my ambitions would fail?

But ten years out of college, all I have is a collection

No, not of short stories...of agents' rejection

(QUOTES FROM SHEAF OF PAGES)

The plot's too dense! The dialogue's confusing!

The writing's flat! The denouement is bruising!

Peddling classes on Craig's List - it's not why I was sent here.

Guest-blogging stints on Bookslut - it will not pay the rent here.

I could just rewrite; take it with a grain of salt...

An ANDROGYNOUS FIGURE, possibly wearing Prada, steps out of the wings to whisper in MERRICK'S EAR

Devil: Or maybe, dear, your failure could be someone else's fault.

BRIDGET JONES appears on-screen, dithering over cigarettes smoked and calories consumed. MERRICK studies the image for a long moment. Her eyes narrow. She nods.

CUT TO the PINK LADY CLUBHOUSE, where LAUREN WEISBERGER, JENNIFER WEINER, EMILY GIFFIN, CANDACE BUSHNELL ET AL. ARE GATHERED.

When you're a chick you're a chick all the way

From your pink Cosmo drink 'til they cart you away

When you're a chick when the bling hits the fan

You've got Louboutain heels and a gorgeous fake tan!

You're never alone, and when you're disrespected

Just take it on faith, your sales won't be affected

You're well-protected!

YA AUTHORS:

So what's your secret? Tell us how to do it!

There's a formula to this, we always knew it!

PINK LADIES:

Well....if you really must know....

[THEY FLIP THEIR LAPTOPS SHUT, PLACE THEIR TONGUES FIRMLY IN THEIR CHEEKS, AND RISE]

We write crap! We write crap!

Then we drink and take a nap!

Add pink covers! Red-hot lovers! Plus gay best friends, it's a snap!

Name-brand purse! High-heeled shoes!

Happy endings, we can't lose!

Posh book parties, screw the smarties,

It's our books the readers choose.

Sassy tone! Saucy stars!

Lots of big scenes set in bars!

Bitchy bosses, diet trauma

Or your heroine's a mama

Fat advances! Movie options!

Grab that cash and do more shopping!

Have a cig! Take a drink!

But don't reveal our secret

(YA AUTHORS CHORUS: No, we won't reveal your secret....)

This entertaining stuff? Is harder than you'd think.

The PINK LADIES collapse on their couches and flip their gleaming laptops open once more.

Meanwhile, a Lady British Author of Impeccable Pedigree (but slumping sales) sits alone in her British garret, hitting "REFRESH" once every five seconds or so as she waits for the Paper of Record to weigh in on her latest....

Midnight

Not a word from the Times yet

Have those fools lost their memory?

I;m a very big deal

In the lamplight

Remaindered books are piled at my feet

And to whom can I appeal?

Memories

Of when I won O.Henries

I can dream of the old days

Folks were readers back then

I remember the time I knew what happiness was

Let the memory live again.

Every Bookscan, every Monday

Through the tallies we race....

Editors mutter, publicists splutter

"You need to be on MySpace."

Breadloaf!

Well, I'll always have Breadloaf

Not to mention MacDowell

And of course Yaddo, too.

Just remember: there's nary a prize

That I haven't won

[Hits REFRESH on her browser again. Still nothing]

But Michiko...et tu?

(AND SHE'S ON HER FEET FOR THE BIG FINALE)

Read me! Why won't anyone read me?

'Cause they all used to love me!

Back when I was the poo.

If they read me

Then they'd know what lit'ra'ture was

Not these books of...pinkish hue.

ELIZABETH MERRICK appears at the garret doorway to whisper in her ear. The PEDIGREED BRITISH AUTHOR nods, and they head to...

The PINK LADY CLUBHOUSE.

LIT SQUAD

Your reign of pink terror has finally come to an end….

PINK LADIES

Okay, so they're chicks, but these chicks don't appear to be friends....

LS

Your books are a pox on the retailers' front-of-store shelves!

PL

Well, at least we don't pay to publish them ourselves!

LS

Chick lit has less nuance than the average frat-house kegger!

VENDELA VIDA

Know who I sleep with? I sleep with Dave Eggers!

LIT SQUAD (advancing behind VIDA, who is brandishing her WEDDING RING, a la Frodo)

Time to give you dumb-bunnies a higher education

We'll take back the night, and novel, from a commercial corporate nation!

PINK LADIES

Judy Budnitz won a fellowship from Rona Jaffe's foundation!

The LITS recoil in horror at Rona Jaffe's name. Well-regarded speculative fiction author (and THIS IS NOT CHICK LIT contributor) JUDY BUDNITZ looks up guiltily, drops her copy of A ROOM OF ONE'S OWN, and flees.

PL

You hypocrites had a party in a fancy handbag store!

Your plots drag like pre-implant boobs, your dialogue's a bore!

LS:

Well, your sappy happy endings aren't politically correct

PL (sneering)

Want to borrow some money?

LS (lips curled)

Want to buy some respect?

June Cleaver wannabes, burn in hell!
You bitches can't write!

PL

You bitches don't sell!

Pretentious poser!

LS:

Slutty hack!

PL:

Let my nose go!

LS:

Take that back!

The LITS and LADIES rumble. Hair, handbags and high heels fly. Two MEN step out of the shadows....

DAVID REMNICK (rubbing his hands)

There's a place for us.

Right here, a place for us.

Column inches and open air

Will be ours...everywhere

SAM TANENHAUS bites into a brownie, chews, swallows, and sings

There's a time for us

Always? That works for us

Your work matters, you'll never fail

(If, that is, you're male).

TANANHAUS and REMNICK

Female protest, byline counting

Don't think you can scare us

If you're a girl, our lips will curl

Unless your name's Sedaris!

A ROW OF MALE EDITORS PARADES ON STAGE

You write crap! It's all smut!
Whether Lit or Chick or what!

Girlie books fill us with horror

We heart Jonathan Safran Foer

Get a grip! Buy a clue!
If you're a dude, then we'll review

Fights won't make you rich or famous

You still won't be Martin Amis

SAFRAN FOER, JONATHAN FRANZEN, JONATHAN LETHEM, AND GARY "JONATHAN" SHTEYNGART TAKE THE STAGE FOR THE TRIUMPHANT FINALE

Mart-in Amis!