Sensing that two months of Jonathan Lethem touring around the nation was not enough, Doubleday has extended Mr. Lethem’s book tour to five years, hoping that this will increase sales of his latest novel, You Don’t Love Me Yet.

“We got the idea this weekend while watching a Gilligan’s Island marathon on Nick at Nite,” said Doubleday publicist Nadia Meringue. “We figured that if it worked for Bob Denver and Alan Hale, Jr., that it would likewise work for Lethem. We will not rest until their is a Lethem volume in every household’s library.”

Critics raised cautious eyebrows over this eleventh hour publicity move, fearing that Mr. Lethem might be overexposed and unable to write additional novels.

“Novels schmovels,” said Meringue. “We figure that if enough people can get a piece of Lethem in person, they will be compelled to buy any book with the words ‘Jonathan Lethem’ on it.”

To ensure that Lethem-mania goes as planned, Ms. Meringue has fitted Mr. Lethem with a medallion designed to hypnotize all audiences who come into contact with him.

An advanced copy of the seventh Harry Potter volume, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, unexpectedly made its way into the hands of longtime fan Harriet Schultz, a 14-year-old girl in Milwaukee. Schultz, who finished the book a week ago, has done nothing but cry after learning that Harry Potter is allegedly gay. The moment occurs on Page 530, when Harry reveals that his favorite band is the Scissor Sisters and begins to demand that the Hogwarts begin ironing their shirts.

“How else do you explain that limp-wristed signal to the sky?” said a noted conservative resident who refused to give his name. “Forget witchcraft. J.K. Rowling has had this agenda all along and, as a concerned parent, I think we’re all entitled to a few answers.”

Rowling and Scholastic could neither confirm nor deny that Harry Potter was gay.

“Well, he doesn’t actually say that he’s gay, now does he?” said Harold Bloom, who called our office because nobody had quoted him for an article in a long time and he was in great need of attention. “I still find these books to be trash, but it’s of great comfort to learn that Rowling has become somewhat familiar with William Empson.”

Literary enthusiasts were shocked to learn that a video of New York Times Book Review editor Sam Tanenhaus and prominent litblogger Edward Champion had been released to YouTube. The two men are seen smiling and laughing, and then hugging each other. The tape cuts out at the 2:14 mark, just as the two men appear to be initiating a French kiss.

“Again, this demonstrates that the Internet is sub-literary,” said Tanenhaus, who claimed that the man on the tape was an impostor. “I am under no obligation to acknowledge that litblogger’s hugs.”

“What can I say?” said Champion. “Sam and I have a love-hate relationship. You’ve only seen the hate part. Deep down, Sam’s a good guy.”

Prominent litbloggers were prompt in their reactions, accusing Mr. Champion of selling out to get a reviewing gig with the New York Times Book Review.

Deputy editor Dwight Garner, however, had this to say: “Hell will freeze over before that edrants guy is published in these pages. You have my word on that. I don’t know what’s going on with Sam. He seems unwell these days. But that’s his business, not yours.”

This morning, a visibly frustrated Jonathan Safran Foer cooked himself some sausage and bacon for breakfast, vowing to the world that he would begin eating meat. “They’ve been making fun of me for the past few years for being young and successful,” said Foer, whose growling stomach was clearly not digesting the sudden carnivorous eating habits very well. “I want to show those bastards that I mean serious business.”

Foer’s wife, Nicole Krauss, revealed to reporters that she didn’t see this coming.

“I certainly didn’t expect him to turn to pork right before passover,” said Krauss, who was quite adamantly against eating meat. Krauss, however, did confess that Oprah had made the right move bringing baby-in-a-spit narratives to surburban audiences. Staffers from the Wall Street Journal plan to have Krauss take a polygraph test.

When a journalist remained unconvinced of Foer’s meat-eating habits, Foer grabbed an expensive-looking knife, proceeded to slice his wrist open and began supping of his own blood.

“You see! You can call me Jonny “Hard Core” Foer from now on, you little prick!”

The journalist then apologized. He worked for the New York Sun.