Or start the week laughing till you cry: Ephron spoofs Larsson in "The Girl Who Fixed the Umlaut"

This one's for you, Colleeny. From Nora Ephron's hysterical Stieg Larsson send up in the New Yorker:

There was a tap at the door at five in the morning. She woke up. Shit. Now what? She’d fallen asleep with her Palm Tungsten T3 in her hand. It would take only a moment to smash it against the wall and shove the battery up the nose of whoever was out there annoying her. She went to the door.

“I know you’re home,” he said.

Kalle fucking Blomkvist.

She tried to remember whether she was speaking to him or not. Probably not. She tried to remember why. No one knew why. It was undoubtedly because she’d been in a bad mood at some point. Lisbeth Salander was entitled to her bad moods on account of her miserable childhood and her tiny breasts, but it was starting to become confusing just how much irritability could be blamed on your slight figure and an abusive father...

Click here to read the rest before you dive into your day. I promise your writing week will be better for it.