LOS ANGELES, CA—Timothée Chalamet, who famously lost an Oscar to Michael B. Jordan Sunday, unwittingly found himself in the crosshairs of the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) for taking SAG-AFTRA president Sean Astin hostage a week earlier in an apparent attempt to coax an Oscar out of the unaffiliated judge of an unrelated voting body.

It was unclear why the FBI only now took Chalamet into custody, given that he had held Astin at gunpoint in front of a room of reporters – a standoff we’re told lasted into the week and was only cut short by Chalamet’s arrival at the 98th Academy Awards ceremony, held yesterday. While Astin remained firm in his pleas to Chalamet that “I don’t represent the Academy Awards – I can’t do anything,” Chalamet told TTT reporters he was convinced Astin would “pull a rabbit out of his bulbous hobbit head hat in the eleventh hour.” Despite the young boy’s determined ambition to “be one of the greats,” Chalamet nonetheless left the ceremony empty-handed, and reportedly early, having tried to sneak his Golden Globe trophy into the ceremony in an apparent display of dominance and last-ditch effort to will his award into existence.

“Look, we don’t pursue innocent people,” FBI director and recreational drug user Kash Patel told TTT reporters while wielding a ping-pong paddle as he repeatedly struck Chalamet’s naked, now spanked pink rear end. “Timmy didn’t shoot anyone. He said he would if he lost, which is exactly what forced our hand into opening an investigation into the young man.” Intermittent squeals were heard from Chalamet on the higher register between slaps. Patel, with a half grin, offered an explanation to jaw-dropped TTT reporters: “Believe me, this hurts me more than it hurts him,” Patel clarified, with what appeared to be a full erection forming a noticeable tent in his pants. “Mhmm,” Patel added as he noticed TTT reporters’ lowered eye-line at his crotch. “I’m very aroused. It’s only natural!” the director of the nation’s principal law enforcement agency explained with a hearty laugh. 

“Now, are you going to shoot Astin or what, Timmy,” Patel asked. 

“No! I swear!” Chalamet said, his voice pained, unsteady, with tears starting to pool under his eyelids and stream down his face.

“See! Nothing to see here,” Patel laughed. “No further threat detected. Case closed. No further investigation needed.”

Patel added, “That’s a good little twink!” 

Chalamet flinched, apparently expecting another strike of the paddle. 

“Ha ha! You got nothing to worry about, Timmy,” Patel reassured. But Patel’s eyeline was fixated on Chalamet’s reddened buttocks, which would normally be pasty white. 

“Your ass is perfectly flat, Timmy,” Patel said with a deranged grin. “The perfect surface for doing a line of this sweet white powder,” he added, twirling a vial of cocaine between his fingers.

Just then, a door in the distance opened, a light shining through and the faint glow of a bald figure entered. 

“Is that you, O’Leary?” Patel called out. 

“Yes, I do believe the boy owes me for that bet,” the republican cohost of reality television show Shark Tank relayed in a quiet but strong tone. He was wearing a silk Kimono, black and white and decorated with floral patterns. “You know I can afford it,” he explained. “But it’s the principle – you made me look like a fool, Timmy.” O’Leary, undoing his Kimono, revealed a nude midsection and crotch. His belly was encircled in sweat despite the temperature of the room being in the low 50s. His penis was hard to make out in the thick of his 70s-era bush. “You can leave us now, Kashy,” O’Leary demanded. “You, too, you radical left fake newsboys,” O’Leary screeched while pointing his extended finger aggressively at reporters onsite. Despite his claims, the reporters onsite were a healthy mixture of TTT and The New York Times staffers, the latter group comprised of many who appeared to be butch lesbians. Both papers are held in high regard, though TTT is the trusted paper of Air Force One, soaring higher than the once well-regarded New Republic.

At press time, moans were heard through the walls, both at the lower and higher register – though it remained unclear which belonged to O’Leary and which Chalamet. 

-TTT.