Recently, we were enjoying a plate of camarones al ajillo atMadre’s when our friend felt a bump under her seat. “Oh, snap,somebody left behind their BlackBerry!” she exclaimed. We werehitting the sangria pretty hard, so we checked out what was savedon it. Turns out the pager belonged to Madre’s owner herself, Ms.Jenny From the Block. We thought about returning it to J.Lo so thather correspondence with fiancé Ben Affleck could remainprivate, but those prawns made us violently ill, so we decided toprint it out of spite. Below are the exclusive and completelyfictional Jen and Ben prenup two-ways.
BEN: What up, fly girl?
JEN: Ben, stop texting street.
BEN: Are you alone?
JEN: What’s-his-name is firming my nipples, but yeah.
BEN: Okay, which lawyer are you gonna use? The one who handled the restraining order against your hairdresser?
JEN: Yeah, what’s-his-name.
BEN: That’s dope.
JEN: Ben! Stop it!
BEN: My guy assures me this whole thing is going to be quick and painless. But before we turn it over to the suits, I justwanted to touch base with you and make sure you’re okay with everything we discussed before.
JEN: You’re so sweet! Everyone! My boyfriend is so sweet! Oh, I didn’t mean to type that.
BEN: Okay, so we agree that no matter what, we keep this going until the Gigli and Jersey Girl DVD releases,at least.
JEN: And my remix album This Is Me…Then but Longer With More Guest Rappers.
BEN: Great. Got it. I guess sex is next.
JEN: I’m on a shoot!
BEN: I mean the prenup! Now, when you say that if I cheat I have to take out an apology ad in the Hollywood Reporter, that’sclear, but I’m a little fuzzy on the six-figure donation to the Kips Bay Boys & Girls Club that I gotta make every time I screw around.Is that high six figures or low?
JEN: It depends on who you do.
BEN: A costar?
BEN: Vegas whores? They don’t really count, right?
JEN: Um, high? That was funny. Like, “Um, hi,” but spelled “high,” like you have to pay a lot.
BEN: How about Gwyneth?
JEN: Very high. Like Pearl Harbor-budget high!
BEN: All right. Calm down. I have to ask.
JEN: I’m sorry. I love you.
BEN: I love you, too. So I promise to do you at least four times a week, right? How many times did Puffy do you?
JEN: Sean? I don’t know. Sixteen, 17.
BEN: Shit. What about Cris Judd?
BEN: Never mind. So, what if I’m on location? Should I fly to the booty?
JEN: Just gimme the glow when I need it. Like, before TRL and stuff.
BEN: You rock.
JEN: You’re so cute. You said, “You rock.” Are we done?
BEN: Almost. Now, if we split, which isn’t gonna happen, you can keep the Rolex, the Ferrari, and the engagement ring.
JEN: As long as I get the Oscar.
BEN: Jen, it’s my Oscar. What about the press?
JEN: I want the first sit-down with Diane Sawyer. You can have the drunk guy.
BEN: Charlie Rose?
JEN: Whatever. I’ll tell them you’re a perfect gentleman who loves Matt and his momma and all his fans. You just tellthem I’m real–if that’s what I’m still selling when we split. I mean, if we split.
BEN: Which isn’t gonna happen. Okay, I think we’re good to go. You wanna text dirty?
JEN: No. I gotta put this thing down, baby. It’s heavy, and what’s-her-name says she can’t hold it while I type. Plus the otherwhat’s-her-name is calling me for a fitting.
BEN: A’ight. Peace out, fly girl!