Wednesday, November 29, 2006

Marry Me a Little

Little Pamela Anderson’s breasts (By the way, Little Pamela is a dead ringer for me as I looked in 1920.) just jumped on the latest Celebrity Fad bandwagon, by announcing her intention to divorce her new husband, Little Child Rock. Like all Celebrity Fads, this one was started by ME. According to my award-deprived autobiography, My Lush Life, I have been divorced at least seven times, from F. Emmett Knight (Who called me "The Whore of Babylon" in divorce court, which was pure slander. I’ve never been anywhere near Babylon!), Louis B. Thalberg, Boris Karloff, Rod Towers, Rudy (I’m certain Rudy had a last name, after all, it was my last name for ten years, although I’m damned if I can think of it now, and probably damned if I can’t also.), Ernest Borgnine (When I discovered The Importance of Not Being Mrs. Ernest Borgnine.), and Trevor Berman.

There may have been others. I can’t remember exactly how many times I’ve been divorced, because I’m a bit hazy about just how many husbands I’ve had. Honestly, can you remember how many husbands you’ve had? Hell, even if I limit it to just how many of my own husbands I’ve had, I still lose count. If I start factoring in how many other women’s husbands I’ve had, well, do numbers go that high? Anyway, Little Dougie puts it at a minimum of ten.

(Speaking of Little Dougie, I should comment on the headline in today’s Times: McEwan Denies Copying. It turns out that the author refuting plagiarism charges is someone called Ian McEwan, a little Scots wannabe who probably changed his name to McEwan to capitalize on Little Dougie’s famous connection to me. Anyway, although Little Dougie mostly just copies down my words as I speak, exactly as he’s doing at this minute, still, he wishes it made clear that he’s never denied copying. There Dougie, does that help?)

Back to Little Pamela’s breasts: Little Pamela has topped me (Who hasn’t?) by marrying Little Kid Rock some three or four times about twenty minutes ago, which seems like rather a lot of times to marry a child. I guess they kept doing it in locale after locale, looking for somewhere where it was legal. I may have been married time and time again, but always to different men. (Some of them were extremely different.) I have never made the exact same mistake twice, which is more than Pamela’s breasts can say.

I have seen the famous pictures of the best part of Little Pamela’s breasts’s earlier husband, Little Thomas Leigh. Good God, look at the size of it! Why on earth would you divorce that? True, the rest of him is repulsive, and terminally over-embellished, but so what? Why not just close your eyes and think of Huge Jackman. I would.

What? Oh. Thank you Dougie. Sorry all. I closed my eyes and thought of Huge Jackman, and now it seems that three hours have slipped by. Where was I? Oh yes, up on that chair. I must have slid off. Well, no wonder I slipped off this chair. It’s soaking wet. I’ll just sit over here to finish.

Back to my point; Little Pamela’s breasts and Infant Stone are just jumping on the break-up bandwagon. In recent weeks Little Brittany Spears has wisely left her K-Fed-Up. I must confess that I was wondering just what the hell she was thinking to have married that pathetic droob in the first place, until I remembered that sentient and cognitive thought are outside her intellectual range. And Little Whitney and Bobby are divorcing as well. It seems they won’t be The Browns anymore, although I don’t see why they chose to make it all about race.

Then there’s little, and I do mean LITTLE, Tommy Cruise and mentally-challenged Katie Holmes, bucking the trend by getting married. Little Tommy always does swim upstream. I rest assured that they will be joining the Divorce Crowd soon, since Tommy is a looney-toons, middle-aged control freak, while Little Katie makes Brittany sound like Stephen Hawking (Stephen, you insatiable sex machine, call me!), and is actually younger than their child together, Little Suri-With-the-Lunatic-Fringe-Dad-on-Top.

I was going to point a wagging finger at Little Thomas and Katie for having a gigantic, over-the-top wedding in a castle, when the groom has already been married twice before, so we know just how deeply felt his marriage vows are, when I remembered that my own third wedding was also held at a castle, picturesque Schloss Tepes in romantic Transylvania, when I tragically married the doomed Count Vlad Tepes. (Ah Vlad, my doomed darling, how I long for one more of your trademark impalings.) But at least we didn’t invite the entire Scientology rolodex, and I didn’t wear white. Oh it was white when I put it on, but by the time I staggered down the aisle, it was a riot of different colors, in Rorschach patterns.

I’d love to jump back on my own beerwagon and get divorced again. While never as emotionally satisfying as widowhood, still there’s nothing as refreshing as a divorce. The problem is, I checked all over the house, and it seems that I’m not married at the moment. Thanks to our antiquated laws, you have to get married before you’re allowed to get divorced in this backward country, which is the only plausible reason for Little Tommy and Katie’s nuptials.

So, is there any celebrity out there looking for a brief marriage who might want to marry me for the weekend? How about a gay star looking to defuse those nasty true rumors? Kevin Spacey, want to stop having to bring your mother to the Oscars? Why not marry me for the holidays? No one will take me for your mother. Grandmother, perhaps, but never merely your mother. Hayden Christensen, you’ve been telling the press that you’d never say if you were gay or straight, something I have never heard any straight man say. Why not prove your heterosexuality to the world by marrying me? I’m 109. Little Ashton would just die of envy! TR Knight, you are too adorable for words. Why not marry me and say your little announcement was just a prank? Neal Patrick Harris, it’s not too late to say you made up your "I’m gay" statement for the fashionable publicity and wed me. You could soon be starring in How I Married Your Great-Great-Grandmother. If Little Anne Heche can flip-flop, why not you two too? (However, David Gest, stop calling me. Even I have some standards!)

Who says Gay Marriage is illegal? I’ve had several Gay Marriages. Why not one more? Come on boys. Jump on. Just close your eyes and think of Huge Jackman.

That’s what I’ll be doing.

Cheers darlings.

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