Since that god awful, tragic day four years ago, I have had one recurring nightmare: that Hollywood would make a movie about September 11, 2001.

I imagined Ben Affleck directed by Michael Bay with Paris Hilton as a rescue worker; there was a dream of a sweating, out of shape NYFD George Clooney running up 110 stories of the World Trade Center carrying 85 pounds of equipment, directed by baseball capped Ronny Howard and co-starring puckering Amanda Peet as a trapped office worker. There were the grotesque special effects, computer generated and more real than real, that captured the planes exploding, the body parts falling, all in a digtial, surround sound vulgarity.

There were the sanctimonious publicists and marketing campaign, trying to generate buzz about an event too awful to dramatize, in order to bring more bodies into the theaters, and more DVDs into Target and Wal-Mart. The nightmare continued with the stories in Variety and Hollywood Reporter, about production snafus with badly acted scenes of people inside the Pentagon after the planes had hit. There was Sylvester Stallone and John Travolta as Four Star Generals rushing to help victims… and interviews on “Entertainment Tonight” and “Extra” about “how we so respect those heroes who gave their lives on 9/11”.

The nightmare continued as publicists arranged interviews with Katie Couric and Matt Lauer as the movie neared release. The TODAY SHOW showed clips of Adam Goldberg as the only surviving bond trader who crawled out of the south tower; there was footage of Teri Hatcher as an air traffic controller helpless as the planes went off course. Goldberg, dressed in rock star t-shirt under a black blazer with ripped jeans, and Hatcher, botoxed and boob lifted, sitting in the studio with Al Roker and Katie and Matt, crying about how hard it was to pretend to be in danger on the most dangerous day in America.

It went on and on, and the big guns of Hollywood, the Geffens and the Ziskins and the Spielbergs with their eyes on their egos, conjuring up a big screen entertainment that never should be put on screen.

And now, the worst director of all time, the man who falsified JFK’s assassination for a movie, and made such lamentable and repulsively infantile films as “Any Given Sunday” and “Alexander”, yes the sick minded Oliver Stone, he is now building styrofoam sets of the World Trade Center in a back lot in Culver City as he prepares to direct his psychotic version of “9/11”. God help us all.