Happy St. Valentino's Day

Happy Valentino's Day, darlings. Wasn't it nice of them, whoever they were, to name this romantic holiday after dear Rudi Valentino? He was romance on tap, and he had nearly as many gay spouses as I did.

When you've been married as many times as I have (And if you have been married as many times as I have, how many is that? I don't remember.), when Valentino's Day rolls around every four years, you began thinking about all the ex-husbands you can remember. I thought you might enjoy a gander at all the husbands I can remember. Click on the above picture for a closer look at them. I believe that three or four of them are even still alive, as I believe I am also. There are probably more of them. [Editor's Note: Yes, there are. D.M.]

For those of you who have not yet read my award-adjacent autobiography My Lush Life, they are:

F. Emmett Knight. My first husband and agent. We married back in 1918. I'm afraid he was the merest whisper of a homosexual, but only around men.

Louis B. Thalberg, founder and head of Pari-Mutual Studios, better known as PMS. Our marriage was short, but brief.

Count Vlad Tepes of Transylvania. Genuine European royalty, our love was intense, but sadly his lethal allergy to Sunlight took him from me too soon. I'm 109, and I'm still not a fourth of his age.

Boris Karloff. Wonderful actor, but a 'Fraidy Cat at home. His family denies this marriage ever occurred. Will the jealousy of me never cease?

Rod Towers. My co-star in so many movies. He was a tiger in bed. Just ask all the men he cheated on me with. He left me for my ex-husband Louie, and they lived happily ever after. How nice for them.

Rudy. My Filipino husband and houseboy. He won me in a party game. It was my longest marriage. He wanted a green card. I wanted a dependable staff. We both got what we wanted. He was gay, but unlike F and Rod, he was upfront about it.

Ernest Borgnine. He was the star of TV's McHale's Navy. I never could resist seamen.

Al Bronze, CEO of Whoopsi-Cola. I think of Al whenever I have a rum and Coke. I think I'll have one now, and see if it calls him to mind.

Trevor Berman. An actor and a few measly decades younger than myself, but I ask you, if a couple like us was in love, did it matter that he was in his 20s and I was in my 90s? No! It was my lack of a penis that doomed the marriage.

You'll notice that the Headless Indian Brave is absent from this montage. There are three reasons for this:

1. They are headshots and he has no head.

2. He doesn't show up on film, and

3. I never married him. He's dead, and it seems there are discriminatory laws against marrying the dead. Damn those Republicans!

After a thorough search, I can find no trace of a current husband, so I am apparently unmarried at present. If you're looking for someone to gift with a good, hard Valentino's Day shag, I'm available. Drop by Morehead Heights and slip me one. No need to call ahead. Just come by and walk right in. I'll be the old lady with her feet in the stirrups and her mouth open. No conversation required. Just whip it out, pick an end, shove it in, and start pounding.

I know. I know. I'm a hopeless romantic. Just like Rudi Valentino was. In fact, he was also fond of saying, "Just whip it out, pick an end, shove it in, and start pounding," only with an Italian accent.

Cheers darlings.