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In a deal so absurd that it virtually defies any chance at parody, the good folks at Columbia, MGM, and Revolution Studios have lured Sylvester Stallone away from his nutritional pudding empire with the siren call of an utterly ill-advised sequel. What wonders does the sixth Rocky installment, Rocky Balboa (after V, Roman numerals get so unwieldy) hold? Stallone himself proudly demonstrated his advanced, self-developed Rocky Sequel Random Plot Generator software for Variety:

Stallone said the story has the aging, widowed Rocky initially refusing a chance to get back in the ring.

"There's a computer fight between the reigning world champion and Balboa, and Balboa wins," he said.

"The champion's management says let's do this for real, for charity. Rocky says no but decides to be true to himself even though he's going to be berated by everyone. Just to compete, not to win."

A widowed Rocky? The climactic fight scene practically writes itself: Rocky, ready to throw in the towel after The Champ's repeated right hooks have knocked free his latest facelift, is visited by the encouraging ghost of his beloved Adrian. You can do it! lilts the wraith; Rocky tears off the last, ragged flaps of skin from his battered face, utters one last, primal Adriaaaan!, and promptly dies in the ring. What, you thought Rocky was going to stage an incredible comeback and knock out The Champ? The guy's sixty years old, don't be fucking ridiculous.