I watched the classic film, “Predator,” yesterday on Encore. “Predator” was such a great… I watched the classic film, “Predator,” yesterday on Encore. “Predator” was such a great movie that it spawned multiple sequels, and two of its stars were catapulted into the governor’s mansions of their respective states. I mean, the only reason anyone would – should – vote for Arnold or Jesse is because of their ass-kicking involvement in this movie, right? What other reason could there be?

My mind, unencumbered by a need to understand plot, wandered between explosions to the sequels of “Predator” I have seen. My favorite by far is “Alien Vs Predator.” It is quite the entertaining cinematic romp. Unfortunately, the rest of the Vs’ catalogue rarely lives up to the caliber of “AVP;” this is because Hollywood hasn’t hired me, and is thus unable to acquire truly great ideas. Observe:

“Predator” Vs. “The Mighty Ducks”:Triple deek this, Pacey. Emilio Estevez’s coaching would be tested like never before, because this time they’re being hunted by an intergalactic Predator with a Plasmacaster. Carl Weathers will make a cameo.

Freddy Vs. Everyone Involved in the creation of “You Got Served”: “You Got Served” is one of the worst movies ever made. I thought I would like watching the rad moves and head spins, but the only thing that prevented my death from overexposure to cliches, manufactured sub-culture lingo and product placement was gnawing my own leg off. And thus, I would truly enjoy hearing Freddy telling the producer, just before he lops of his head with a chainsaw, “You got severed!”

Assorted Monsters and Serial Killers Vs. The Cast of MTV’s Laguna Beach: This one is self-explanatory.

My point is that I am really good at creating movie ideas. Hollywood needs to recognize that they are in desperate need of me and my skills. How many shows from the ’70s are there left to remake? Let’s hope that, for the sake of human kind, there aren’t many more – or that if there are, they all involve Jessica Simpson in really tight clothing. Scantily clad uber-babes are the only thing that can redeem the life wasted sitting through the slop Hollywood passes for its latest feature.

But, like I said, hire me and those problems are solved. I wouldn’t even need compensation, except in the form of invites to parties hosted by the likes of Jessica Alba or Scarlett Johansson.

Being a philosophy and history major, I used to be very content in my aspirations of becoming a learned, contributive member to society. But, upon watching HBO’s “Entourage,” and seeing the kind of lifestyle awaiting those in the entertainment industry, I would, in a heartbeat, throw away every bit of my goal of educated well-roundedness just to be in a position where I can carnivorously ogle Rosario Dawson without a keyboard.

Who cares about what distinguishes “self” and personal identity, when I can introduce myself to Amanda Peet, star of Identity?

For goodness sake, Hollywood! Why haven’t you called me yet? Can’t you see it’s impossible for me to be satisfied with the course of my life after seeing my wildest dreams paraded before me on television? Every time I watch an episode of “Entourage” and realize that I will never be invited to those sorts of goddess-sodden parties, I thank Vishnu that my apartment building is only four stories tall, making jumping to my doom incumbent upon me getting off my couch.

And it is in this suicidal thought that I realize that Tinsel Town is on the verge of becoming the catalyst that eventually seals civilization’s – certainly mankind’s – fate. Luckily, “Entourage” remains hidden away by the subscription fees of HBO, for once its destructive content becomes common knowledge, then there will be a mass migration of the country’s, and eventually the world’s, male population to Los Angeles.

Because who could care about curing cancer, developing renewable energy or any other “for the good of mankind” advancement necessary to our civilization’s survival, when they know that some douche bag, former marketing major is currently grinding with the most attractive females on the planet? The knowledge that one can cultivate the fruit for which we all labor, without wasting time in libraries or laboratories is simply deadly.

But since this column isn’t going to halt the impending doom, can’t you guys hire me so I can enjoy our last days telling Lindsay that she’s the ultimate?

Arun has too many midterms. Commiserate at [email protected].