Kate, you must return, if you can ever find the place again on your own (mighty unwise of you to leap into that chocolate-filled motor car: "Would you like some candy, little girl?  Would you like to help me find my lost puppy?").  Surely you do not believe that business about how the ice palace "will melt when the event is over, leaving no trace"?  Clearly, there is a big story in this for you: a murder has been committed; everyone will deny that the ice palace ever existed, let alone that any such event as you describe ever took place there; there will be suggestions that the chocolates in the motor car were drugged; nevertheless, you will persist, and go over the mountain with a fine-tooth comb; and, assisted by a friendly wolf and a mustang filly, both doomed to be slaughtered, you eventually find the damning clue.

And by all means, insist on getting an appointment to interview Josh Hartnett.  If you are lucky, you might get to observe him while he is being carbon-neutralized.  Carbon-neutralizing Josh Hartnett, in fact, must be a quite memorable experience.  Why, that shot in "Pearl Harbor," where he is up on top of his airplane, doing maintenance, wearing a skimpy t-shirt, and he looks down underneath his armpit, sent me crashing to the floor in a swoon.

Cut!  Print!

Chickens are our cousins! So are other sensitive animals! Enough is enough! No more factory farms!

that more celebrities were not in attendance. If the time-honored technique of political carnival can't sexify global warming as a hot (entendre intended) cause-célebre for Hollywood trendsetters, I don't know what the world's coming to.