New York Times Book Review editor Sam Tanenhaus announced that “more chicks” will be contributing book reviws on a weekly basis. The decision came when Tanenhaus grew disgusted at Norman Mailer’s boorish behavior at a recent cocktail party.

Tanenhaus promised, “Women won’t just be reviewing poetry or women’s fiction. I’ll be assigning them science and history books too!” There’s no firm word yet on whether the NYTBR will cover fiction in any pertinent way in the future, much less translated fiction or obscure titles.

John Updike, author of the Rabbit Angstrom books, has decided that writing about upper-class adulterers simply “isn’t fun” anymore and has decided that writing about impoverished characters will be “a welcome change.” The New Yorker doyen will be penning a new series of books featuring Joe Angstrom, a down-and-out man from the skids. “He’s the Angstrom the rest of the family doesn’t want to talk about,” said Updike. “And get this: he’s black!”

Literary critics remain skeptical. An early draft of It All Happened in East L.A. has made the rounds and some have felt Updike’s references to OutKast and the Notorious BIG to be sadly dated. Tom Wolfe, in particular, is watching from the sidelines. “Let’s see if the old boy who called my novels ‘entertainment, not literature’ has the stuff to do the kind of backbreaking research I did for Charlotte Simmons,” said Wolfe, whose own take on college life has been called into question.

Writer Harlan Ellison woke up this morning and discovered that his anger had been lost. Mr. Ellison, riding high on cheerfulness, was seen driving around Pasadena and, later this afternoon, in a comic book store, where he began French-kissing a clerk who called him “a science fiction writer.” “Where have you been all my life?” said Ellison to the clerk.

The clerk, fearing that Mr. Ellison would punch him or track him down, after calling Ellison’s wife “an old tart” on an Internet message forum, was astonished at Ellison’s change in temperament. “He just isn’t the same,” said the clerk, who declined to give his name. “I mean, I’ve long had wet dreams of shaking the man’s hand and being publicly humiliated by him at a comic book convention. But I never thought he’d plant me a wet one.”

Prolific writer Joyce Carol Oates will write no further stories or books. Not so much a smidgen of prose. “I’ve had a good run,” said Oates. “It’s time to let the scholars sift through my work.” Oates has had some difficulties adjusting to this new state of being, but she figures that Bill Vollmann and T.C. Boyle can take up the slack.

“American literature has always had its share of prolific writers,” said Oates. “I felt that it was time to hang up the boots and give my wrists a rest.”

King Wenclas, founder of the Underground Literary Alliance, has finally realized that alienating nearly every member of the literary community hasn’t exactly worked in his favor. Wenclas attended a recent Rick Moody reading with the idea of pantsing Moody as he was signing books. Moody, however, offered Wenclas a a hug instead, causing Wenclas to break down in tears. “A good portion of my life is now gone. I haven’t written anything in years. And nobody loves me anymore.” Fortunately, after enrolling in an affordable evening knitting class, Wenclas has found a new lease on life. “I didn’t realize that one could court controversy while cross-stitching,” said the kinder and gentler Wenclas. Wenclas promptly disbanded the ULA, causing his fellow members to call him a sellout.