Free 2007-Eleven by Frank Cammuso Page A

Springsteen team up to bring you
Beanstreets!
You’ll travel back to a bygone era and meetJack, the tough-talking-but-lovable Vietnam vet who gets laid off at the refinery and must sell his beloved 1972 Dodge Dart.…
    The car door slams,

Mary’s trunk waves.

Like a Buick she sputters across the lot,

As her radiator sprays.…
    This summer, case the promised land with Jack, his girlfriend Candy, and a cast of characters only Disney and the Boss could create. You’ll meet the Magic Rat, Crazy Janey, Jack the Rabbit and Weak Knees Willie, Sloppy Sue and Big Bones Billy. They’ll be coming up for air! Because when Jack needs $2,500 to cover child-support payments and debts no honest man can pay, he heads to the boardwalk to see the mysterious Madam Marie.…
    Show a little faith!

There’s magic in the beans,

It ain’t a dollar, but hey,

They’re all green.…
    It’s
Beanstreets!
the classic tale mixed with classic rock! And after Jack gets into an argument with hisdad, who’s out on disability with the gout, his exwife Sandy tosses the beans into the parking lot of an abandoned factory—and something incredible takes root.…
    Thrown down in a dead man’s town,

The first sprouts, they took

Before they hit the ground.…

Grown in the U.S.A.…
    Featuring the voices of Matt Damon as Jack, Heather Graham as Rosie the talking harp, Clarence Clemons as the Big Man, and Howie Mandell as Tramp, the incredible goose that lays golden eggs.…
    Jackie, let me in, I wanna be your hen,

I wanna buy you tea and crumpets.

Just check my eggs with the Franklin Mint

And write your checks off my omelettes.…
    You’ll visit Gigantic City, that world above the clouds, where everything that dies someday comes back. But when Jack meets the Corporate Giant, it’s a death trap, it’s a suicide rap.…
    And the goslings down here

Don’t lay nothin’ at all,

They just honk back

And let it all be.…
    Don’t waste your summer prayin’ in vain! Because the fireworks are hailin’ over
Beanstreets!—
coming to theaters on the edges of towns everywhere. And in time for Christmas 2000, Bob Dylan
is
Alexander Graham Bell.…
    But I would not feel so all alone,

EVERYBODY MUST GET PHONED!

The Electric Kool-Aid Antacid Test

    Ken Kesey’s current bus tour, reliving his

Merry Pranksters’ cross-country trip in 1964,

could inspire an update from Tom Wolfe.…
    “N ext exit, pull over?” (O, the pain—)
    “BUT I WOULD NOT … FEEL SO ALL ALONE …”
    “Next exit, please.” (O, the freakin’ pain!)
    “EVERYBODY! … MUST! … GET! … STONED!”
    “C’mon, guys! Next exit, PULL OVER!”
    Hey, Tummytuck, chill. I am sitting with Tummytuck, a literary agent with a three-day goatee and the cultured whine of an Ivy League president, which is designed to say: I’ve grown tired of this ride, this singing, and suggest we stop somewhere for a strawberry-blond lager and some wood-fired pizza. We’re doing seventy-five in a sixty-five-mile zone, racing to make Ann Arbor in time for Keseyto do the Action News Live Eye at Six, then the book signing at Borders. For Tummytuck, the tight schedule is a serious bummer, because four mocha lattes and the bouncing of the bus have launched a two-pronged assault on his swollen prostate, and he needs a freaking rest room so badly he can taste it.
    “Hold on until Michigan!” Carpal-Tunnel Girl howls from the back, flashing a Day-Glo, it’s-a-manly-deodorant-but-I-like-it-too smile, gorked on ginseng and a sugar cube laced with Melatonin, which might help her survive this all-you-can-eat bellyache of a bad trip. During the Chinese fire drill in Chicago, she slammed her shin into Further’s back bumper, and, YEOW, it still hurts to stand. The bus’s psychedelic pattern is giving her a migraine, not to mention her son, Brandon, who just called from Stanford to say he totaled the Range Rover. She accepts a hit from the Pepto-Bismol bottle being passed. “JUST KEEP