Craig's List

I think Daniel Craig lists to the left. What do you think? He certainly made me listless, and I generally list in all directions. Just watching me standing still has been known to make some men, even inveterate, lifelong seadogs, seasick. The simple fact is, my feet are steadiest when above my head, rather than below.


I apologize for being so long away from you, my Tallulah-craving darlings, but I was so depressed by the Tragic Clown Loss last week (See Quit Clowning Around!) that it sent me into a shame spiral so deep that only large amounts of vodka, and enough rough manhandling to ruin a new hip could bring me out of it again.


I know you all need me. Look at poor Rip Torn, if you can stand it. Rip darling, it was my fault, for not calling you and insisting you read my previous post, Social Driving, to warn you of the peril you faced and show you my so simple solution. Read it now, Rip darling, and learn, before even more unflattering pictures are published. And Rip darling, let's get together and get ripped again real soon. (Though I of course looked stunning in my mug shots, taken back in 1947.) (Google them. I'm not going to post them.)


Poor little Brittany may well lose her paternity suit from K-Fed-Up because I wasn't there to consul her on the proper way to party non-stop pantyless and drunk while ignoring your small children at home with the manny. Darling, I was partying nonstop, pantyless and drunk, back when my daughter Patty was newly-adopted, but I knew how to keep it out of the papers. Of course, winning an adoption battle with some crack whore would have been no challenge for me. So that's the important thing to remember, Little Brittany, to win your custody battle, you don't have to be a Great Mom, or even a Good Mom, or even an Adequate Mom; all you have to be is a better parent than Kevin Federline. Brittany darling, I have housepets that are better parents than Kevin Federline. You could sink much lower than you have before losing! So you go, girl! Don't just lose the panties, lose all your clothes. Vomit on photographers. Have oral sex with street trash on camera! Continue to hang with Paris and Lindsey, because that way you'll never quite be the worst skank in the room. And don't be afraid darling. Never actually being with your kids is good for them! After all, as long as you're out partying with trash, you're not home, endangering them. You're doing it for them! You don't want to party non-stop, pantyless and drunk. It's a sacrifice you're willing to make out of your love of your children. I'm a drunken bad mother too, so I understand.


Douglas finally shook the cobwebs off of me (I mean that literally. Our spiders weave up a storm. I can take a short nap, only a couple of days at most, and suddenly I have Shelob's Lair on my face. Sometimes it takes hours just to spit out all the orc bones.), and dragged me down to a multiplex, incognito of course, to see Casino Royale. Let me tell you, Daniel Craig woke me up, as he's welcome to do, really Danny anytime!!! (Danny. Call me!)


Allow me to understand this please; there were websites full of morons criticising the casting of Daniel Craig as James Bond, from fools who hadn't even seen him in the role yet? Good Lord, those idiots are stupid enough to run Metro! Daniel Craig is amazing! I predict the man will single-buttedly start a new furnishing fad for seatless cane chairs! I've been sitting here between martinis, cutting the seats out of all my cane chairs ever since I got home from the movie. All the style of cane and wicker, combined with the comfort of a primitive toilet. It's the perfect "Easy Chair" for the sexy, the incontinent, or - if you're lucky enough to be like me - both! I won't describe how I have Little Douglas accommodated to write this, but if he doesn't type fast enough to suit me, it's a mere flick of my elegant riding crop ( A long-ago present from Lionel Atwill. It's signed!), and he speeds right up. And it lessens those too-frequent "potty breaks."


I remember back when I was a mere slip of a young elderly movie star, when Dr. No came out. Sean Connery just cooked my eyeballs. Let me see; was I married to Al Bronze then? 1962? No. It might have been during the marriage to Ernest Borgnine. No. I have blocked that whole afternoon out of my memory, yet I remember seeing Dr. No. All I know is Sean was so incredibly sexy that I made my companion at the time, the lovely Paolo, whom I had met and leased on the streets of Rome in 1960, do as much work for his money that night as he normally had to do over a month, and Paolo, a very well-equipped young man who was always enthusiastic for the job at gland, earned his upkeep that night.


Back then, the James Bond movies were seriously sexy. That was so many decades ago now, that we forget. When I came out of my decade-long blackout after the 70s, one of the things I was shocked to discover, as I rooted around trying to learn if I'd slept through any husbands, was that while I'd been out of it, some gonad-deprived flotsam had cast Roger Moore as James Bond! Had this been done as a joke? Really, I'm asking. I was in a Social Blackout at the time. I can't think of any other reason.


Because I've seen mollusks who were sexier than Roger Moore, the master of the single entendre. I had sex with Roger once, and he even turned him off. At one point I said, "O Roger, rodger me hard please, Roger." and he asked me to stop.


I'm sorry, Tallulah," he said while dripping pancake make-up into my eyes, "I know you're way too good for me, and that you're slumming by even doing me, and I appreciate it, but please don't call me Roger. It snaps me right out of it. Please, call me Sean."


In your dreams I thought to myself, but, like all women, I gritted my teeth and lied through them, calling him Sean, though I had to stifle a laugh each time I said it.


And then there was Timothy Dalton. I saw him in The Lion in Winter. I'm not being fooled into another gay marriage. And Pierce Brosnan? Were they being serious? I've married gay houseboys with more manly sex appeal than Brosnan.


Well, with Casino Royale, James Bond is sexy again. The person who got my seat at the next performance drowned!


Chairs darlings.