And the Terminators fought the Predators and the Predators fought the Aliens and the Aliens fought the Transformers and the Transformers fought the X-Men and the X-Men fought the Orcs and nobody cared. And Natalie of Naboo had a new hairstyle even more hideous than the last but nobody cared about that either because her quest for new dialogue had failed.

And so it was that on a thin rope, from one of Ilium's topless towers to another, swung Tom of the bared teeth and the built-up boots, but the boots were too weighty by far and when he landed he slid off the edge of the tower and began to fall. And Viggo of the pronounced masculinity said: "Somebody should do something." And Orlando of the less pronounced masculinity said: "Yes, they should."

But then the invaders faltered and drew back as the giant silver air chariot of well-preserved Harrison of the hat, whip and determined maxillary musculature emerged from the billows, drawn by three hundred thousand horses. Astride the silver air chariot's vast and glistening back, Harrison of the even more fiercely focused eyebrows  than in any previous scene cracked his whip and called for silence. 

And there was silence, even from Mel of the loose mouth. Spreading as a lack of noise spreads in the leaves of trees when the storm dies, there was a deepening stillness from all except Dennis of the hysterical mirth. Restored to life by a breath from Poseidon, Dennis of the psychopathic merriment rose from the water on the dripping wreck of his jet-ski, and cried: "Don't let Gary Oldman on the plane!" 

So the water retreated, and there, lying in the mud, ready to be gathered up and burned, were the corpses of all the poets who had ever been under contract to write epics. A vulture tasted one of them and turned away.