Thursday, November 23, 2006
Some Pratt's Birthday
Along with being Thanksgiving (see post immediately below, Gratitude Imparting Day, for Thanksgiving.), today is also November 23, which is the 119th birthday of William Henry Pratt, who, under the self-imposed name Boris Karloff, was not only the greatest actor the cinema has ever known until Huge Jackman, he was also my fourth husband, a fact the Karloff Family denies to this day. Apparently they fear a loss of his posthumous prestige when people remember that he was briefly married to a far greater star.
The full story of our brief, all-consuming romance can be found in Chapter 15, The Bride of Frankenstein, in my better-selling autobography, My Lush Life , still available merely by clicking on it's title. For those of you still waiting for your copy to arrive, I'll just say that our blissful union ended in a misunderstanding, when Boris failed to understand that the phalluses filling the shelves of my locked cupboard weren't actually real, and had almost-never been used. I'm afraid that, in the end, Boris was just another stupid Pratt. But I loved him.
Happy Birthday Boris.
(Oh, and it's Harpo Marx's birthday too. I was never married to him, but his fingers could pluck my brains out! I blew his horn more than once, and while not much of a conversationalist, Man oh man, could that man Honk! Happy Birthday Adolf darling.)
(It was his name, honest!)