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It's been a while since we've received a cry for help from deep inside Miramax; we'd assumed that after months of slow torture, their staffers' tear ducts became desiccated from abuse. But now we know it's probably because they're too crippled by stress headaches to tap out pleas for help. The Weinsteins have all but packed their golden cardboard boxes, and it looks like they're raiding the medicine cabinet on the way out. A spy ignores the pain just long enough to squeeze out an e-mail:

While Bob & Harvey Weinstein were celebrating their Golden Globe wins and pondering how to spend their $100 million buyout from Disney, all the pain relievers have been confiscated from their Los Angeles offices.

Once, employees could drown their stress-induced migraines with single-dose packets of Advil, Excedrin or Tylenol from the break room medicine kit, but no more. They're gone and they ain't coming back. It's just another sign of impending doom, and a cheerful "thanks for all your hard work," from the grateful Weinsteins, always gracious and understanding employers. What, one wonders, will they confiscate if The Aviator happens to win an Oscar? The toilet paper?

Confiscating the toilet paper? Do you take the Weinsteins for amateurs? Should The Aviator pull a few statues, the brothers will immediately institute a "voluntary" kidneys-for-vacation-days exchange program—but donors are on their own for the post-op painkillers.