A Message For Rick Warren.

It's the holidays, so I'm feeling generous and giving. In just six more days I'll be making my debut posting on The Huffington Post, with my annual Dead Celebrity Round-Up for 2008. (Actually, I only do an annual Dead Celebrity Round-Up, I don't do an annual Dead Celebrity Round-Up for 2008. Prior to this year that would have been prescient, and after this year, it would just be repetitive, so this is the only year I'll be doing the the Dead Celebs of 2008.) It's the one time all year when I only discuss other celebrities, and selflessly omit myself. (I hope.)

The "Deadline" is in just five more days, sooner still if you're dying alone at home, and have to have your body discovered before the cats eat you. Everyone is scrambling to get in under the wire. Yesterday, on Christmas, when people should have been thinking about others, like for instance, about ME, we still had celebrities with nothing on their agendas but getting into my column. Eartha Kitt and Harold Pinter were elbowing each other aside to die their way into my column in time.

Harold was a great writer. Shakespeare never wrote the equal of this inspiring moment from his play The Birthday Party, or, as it's also known, The Straight Version of The Boys in the Band: "[PAUSE]"

And there was an hilarious line in act 1, after Stanley tells Meg that the cornflakes she's just served him are putrid or terrible or something.

Meg: "You're a liar! They're 'refreshing.' It says so on the box."

But like I said, time is running out. And I'm speaking to you, Pastor Rick "Unrepentant Homosexuals are not allowed in my church" Warren. We're all just dying to honor you by including you in my Dead Celebrity Round-Up of 2008, even though, a year ago, no one outside of Saddleback (I thought that was just the name given to the sexual version of playing "Horsey") had ever had the misfortune of knowing you existed. Thanks to President Elect O'Bama, and his First Official Bone-Headed Presidential Decision, we all know of you and your Evil Ministry, as you prepare to dishonor the country by befouling the inauguration.

Bone-Headed Presidential Decisions are a duty of The Office of President of the United States of America at which Dubya excelled far beyond all previous presidents, even Reagan, Nixon, and Harding. Further, Bone-Headed Decision Making is an area where O'Bama has so-far been particularly lacking. The one aspect of his expertise where O'Bama has shown excellence in Bone-Headedness is in Pastor Selection (Rev. Jerimiah Wright anyone?), and to get his administration off on the wrong foot early, he has made the exceedingly Bone-Headed decision of inviting this fat scum to desecrate the inauguration with an invocation that excludes homosexuals, and supports Proposition 8.

In his hilarious defense of this Bone-Headed Decision, President Elect O'Bama has said he did it to demonstrate "Inclusion," although how including a minister who excludes gays from his ministry (Which, if you think about it, is doing them a favor.) constitutes "Inclusion" escapes me. But then, having all of his decisions make sense would be a very Un-American approach to being a 21st Century American President. After all, none of Dubya's decisions made sense. I just notice that O'Bama hasn't invited a Ku Klux Klan pastor to do the benediction. That's not very inclusive if you ask me. Barack, don't you want to reach out to racial bigots along with the Religious Wrong? They're all a part of America's Big Table. If you exclude the KKK, who's left out next? The Neo-Nazis? Not that I'm equating the KKK and the Neo-Nazis with Rick Warren. Oh wait a minute! I am too.

(By the way, off-topic, but why is Tom Cruise advertising Valkyrie as a suspense thriller? It's about an actual historical plot to assassinate Hitler. We all know Hitler wasn't assassinated. Where's the suspense? Only to morons from The Tonight Show's "Jay-Walking" segments, those idiots who think that World War II took place in 1970, and involved Lincoln freeing us from England, can there be any suspense about whether the plan to kill Hitler will fail or not. Tom, in promotional interviews, keeps saying, "It's not a World War II movie." It's not? Has he set it in The Civil War? The Crusades? No wonder the plot to kill Hitler failed. It was being run by that imbecile Tom Cruise. BTW, Scientology is another religion with a poor track record on gay issues, to put it mildly)

Maybe the Mormon Tabernacle Choir could sing at the inauguration. They could even sing the little ditty I wrote for yesterday's posting: A Utah Yuletide. That would be lovely, and so inclusive. And then we could tell them to all go jump in a lake, perhaps jump into The Great Salt Lake. They certainly won't sink, but don't let it get in your eyes. We could get the polygamist Reverend Warren Jeffs (Beware of any pastor with "Warren: in his name.) to speak on how immoral Gay Marriage is.

I know that the Official Mormon Church says they are opposed to polygamy. After all, Brigham Young only had 26 wives. With such inhuman restraint, it was practically monogamy. My dear friend Guy Thanatos was in a movie some years ago, titled Brigham Young, Frontier polygamist. The picture featured an unusual romantic triangle subplot, when Brigham Young was briefly tempted to cheat on his twenty-six wives with thirty-two cheap sluts he met at his lake resort. However, the limpid, weepy eyes of his fifty-six children stopped him at the last minute, and kept him on the straight and narrow path of polygamy, making love only to the mobs of women he was semi-legally married to. Talk about inspiration and morality.

You know I have had at least ten husbands, maybe more (Way more, if you count other people's husbands!), but call me old fashioned, I had them one at a time.

Of course, Rick Warren is no Mormon, he just aids them in robbing gay people of basic civil rights. He's an advocate of "Religious Freedom", being one of those people who think that by legislating his religious delusions into our laws, he's helping Religious Freedom, rather than destroying it. Yet my religious beliefs are that he is a crock of shit! Hallelujah!

Rick Warren went on TV recently and equated Gay Marriage with incestuous marriage (which, oddly enough, he's against.), pedophilia, marrying animals, and so on. This week he announced that he does not equate Gay Marriage with incest, pedophilia, and bestiality. Rev Rick, we have this modern invention which you may not have seen yet in your Saddleback Church, mired as you are in the 18th Century. (I'm sorry. That was a terrible thing to say about the 18th Century, aka The Age of Reason. I meant the 12th Century.) It's called "Video tape". Using it, we can still see and hear you equating Gay Marriage with incest, pedophilia, and bestiality, so your denials don't work.

Speaking of Idiots United Against Gay Marriage, or I.U.A.G.M., Pat Boone publicly wrote that anti-prop 8 protesters were as bad as the terrorists in Mumbai, who murdered a lot of people. So far the Anti-Prop 8 Death Toll stands at 0, while the Pat Boone Brain Cells Death Toll stands at "All of Them." People like Rick Warren, Pat Boone, The Osmonds, the Mormons, the Nazi Pope, etc., sort of beg the question: Are they stupid because they're religious, or are they religious because they're stupid? Boy, there's an impossible-to-answer "Which came first, the chicken or the egg?" conundrum for you.

While we're at it, someone should explain about video tape to Dubya, and Vice President Lon Cheney, and Donnie Rumsfeld, all of whom these days are saying that they never said or did things we have them on video tape saying and doing. Hello? Don't you morons ever watch The Daily Show, or Keith Olbermann, or Rachel Maddow? Stephen Colbert claims to agree with you, but he's putting you on. Okay, Rachel is an unrepentant dyke, so watching her would be like watching your sister, or molesting a kid (Either kind of "kid": a child or a goat.) but Stewart and Olbermann are straight, and they all have these new-fangled video tape devices that keep catching you in lies. At least Nixon believed that no one but him would ever hear his tapes. But Dubya, Cheney, Warren, oh, and Blagojevich too, don't have that excuse.

Anyway, Rick Warren, my deadline is coming up. A shameless attention-grabbing media whore like yourself (Does he refuse to allow unrepentant Media Whores into his congregation? I bet not, or he wouldn't be able to be there.) won't want to miss out on being on my 2008 Dead Celebrity Round-Up, so get the lead out and kick off right away; today would be good. Make your demise your Christmas Gift to America. Besides, if you wait another year to die, you'll probably no longer be a celebrity, and I'll have to ignore you. This is your only chance to go out famous. So grab it! If you're wondering about how to do it, well, today is Boxing Day, and I know about 18,000 Californians more than willing to punch you to death.

Just a friendly reminder. Don't be left out. After all Rick, better dead than gay wed.

Cheers darling.

PS. Darlings, my first flogging chained to The Huffington Post is now up for all the world to see. Please do check it out: Dead Folks Cheers!

A Utah Yuletide.

Have yourself a very Morman Christmas,
Make your loafers light.
From now on our homos will be out of sight.


Have yourself a very Mormon Christmas.
Make the Yuletide gay.
If they win, our weddings will be wiped away.


Here we are, what a pity,
Salt Lake City,
Oh wow.
Faith-based friends who are queer for us,
Can't be near to us,
They vow.


Some day soon the courts will all resolve this,
If the Latter-Day Saints allow,
But till then, tell Brigham Young to screw a cow,
And have yourself a very Mormon Christmas now.

Cheers darlings.

Old Holiday Chestnuts

Merry Christian Cultural Incursion darlings. It's December, the month where everyone is a Christian, whether they want to be or not. It warms the heart and turns the stomach.

You know, we have to put up with a lot of crap from the superstitious and the religiously deluded about how "America is a CHRISTIAN Country!" even though any 8th grader who has read the Bill of Rights knows that this is a secular country, forbidden by the constitution from establishing any religion as "America's Religion." This gets particularly heated whenever the Religious Wrong are trying to justify legislating their delusions into our laws, such as during the ongoing anti-gay marriage battle, or the grossly offensive appointing of that walking-piece-of-shit Reverend Rick Warren to do the invocation at the inauguration next month. (Strictly speaking, this being a secular country and all, there really shouldn't be an invocation at all at an Official National Government event like an inauguration.)

I got into an argument with a religious moron at Disneyland, of all places, when visiting The Magic Queendom with Little Dougie at Thanksgiving. This idiot, after blessing the Moron Church, I mean the Mormon Church (Though what else would you call believers in "The Angel Moroni"? I mean, how upfront could he be?), for "Saving us from Gay Marriage," trotted out the tired and mistaken "This is a Christian Country" idiocy, and then added "We came here for Religious Freedom" (Apparently he was a 300 year old Puritan.), without noticing that legislating his particular religious delusions into our laws is the very essence of destroying Religious Freedom.


He babbled on about how Our Founding Fathers were all Christians, which is not true. Here's Thomas Jefferson on Christianity: "The day will come when the mystical generation of Jesus, by the Supreme Being as his father, will be classified with the fable of the generation of Minerva in the brain of Jupiter." Notice how this pretty much denies any meaning to Christmas. Merry Christmas, Tommy. Here's another Jefferson quote: "I ... do not find in our particular superstition (Christianity) one redeeming feature." Now there's a devout Christian.


The founding principles of America were taken from Common Sense by Thomas Paine. Here's a quote from Thomas Paine: "The Christian system of religion is an outrage on common sense." Paine also wrote: "The study of theology, as it stands in Christian churches, is the study of nothing; it is founded on nothing; it rests on nothing; it proceeds by no authorities; it has no data; it can demonstrate nothing." Paine was not only not a Christian, he was, in fact, an atheist. Sense? Yes. Common? No. Rare sense. Too rare.


Let's take another particularly beloved American Founding Father, Benjamin Franklin. Here's something Ben had to say on the subject of Christianity: "I have found Christian dogma unintelligible. Early in life I absented myself from Christian assemblies." Not exactly something you'd expect to hear from, oh, say The Nazi Pope. Next time someone tells you this is a Christian Country, tell them what a surprise that would be to those famous non-Christians Tom Jefferson, Tom Paine, and Ben Franklin.


For the record, George Washington was a Christian, but that doesn't make America a Christian country.


But we do still have Religious Freedom in this country, despite the best efforts of the Religious Wrong and Georgie Bush Jr. to remake this nation into a Theocracy, including the freedom to be a Muslim, a Jew, a Hindu, a Mormon, a Buddhist, an Atheist, or even a Christian Scientist, while still being just as American as Thomas Jefferson, though you Christian Science dumbells really need to get your kids proper medical care. Religious Freedom does not include the right to kill your kids in the name of Mary Baker Eddy. And you all get to celebrate Christmas or any other religious festival all you like.


Here's Little Dougie, his mom, and his sister Gretchen, in 1955, celebrating Christmas the way it should be.


Here he's awash in gifts. These days, it's all I can do just to get him to wash. By the way, are you perhaps wondering what the perfect gift is in this holiday season? Well here's what Hunky Santa, The Gay Claus, recommends.

And it's inexpensive. You can get "New or Used" copies from Amazon for embarrassingly low prices. That is important this year as we try to have a nice holiday in our ravaged economy. Someone stole America's prosperity over the last 8 years, through sheer stupidity, applied Reganomics (Same thing really), and rampant, unchecked greed. Who could it be? Who did such a terrible thing? Why, most of the Whos down in Whoville can barely afford to buy their children shoes to throw at the President.

Disneyland may seem like an odd place for a Religious Freedom and American Equality argument to break out. A mother nearby clucked at me: "There are children here. They don't need to hear this."

I'm afraid my snapped reply was, "Oh? Are they too young to learn that America is supposed to be all about Equal Rights for Everyone?"

But Disneyland was getting kinda weird on the subject itself. We went on the newly-revamped It's a Small World boat ride. Normally riding It's a Small World ranks right above waterboarding as an aquatic form of torture, what with that endlessly repeated, monotonous song. Back when they had ticket books, the E Ticket said right on it: "Subjecting an unwilling person to riding It's a Small World is a violation of The Geneva Conventions." But at the moment, it has been done up for the holidays, and instead of The Sherman Brothers' musical horror, they are playing a variety of secular Christmas songs - all different ones, not just Jingle Bells played over and over.

But here's the weird thing. It's a Small World is supposed to be all about how people are all the same despite our cultural and geographic differences. However, with the "Holiday Overlay," we suddenly have no cultural differences at all beyond costumes. The "Children of the World" even all have the same face! We currently get to see that we're all Christians!!! Because, as we cruise through the ride, we see that EVERYONE IN THE WHOLE WORLD CELEBRATES CHRISTMAS!

There they are in Saudi Arabia, celebrating Christmas! No pesky Muslims in the Arab countries on this ride! There they are celebrating Christmas in India, in China, in Japan, all over Africa! I don't know how the Muslim woman seated behind me in the boat resisted standing up and yelling, "This is very offensive!" through her bhurka. They might as well have been singing:

It's a Christian World after all.

It's a Christian World after all.

It's a Christian World after all.

It's a Christ- ian World!

But if the Christers were bound to be happy to see all those other belief systems wiped out of existence by singing doll robots, over at The Haunted Mansion they were probably shrieking in horror and clamping their hands over their kids' ears and eyes, because the vastly-more-entertaining holiday overlay on that attraction was all themed to the charming Tim Burton animated musical The Nightmare Before Christmas.

Jack Skellington and the denizens of Halloweentown run rampant all over Christmas there, this Holy Christian day being defiled and mocked by witches, wizards, devils, mad scientists, and demons from hell, and it's all a big laugh. It's delightfully sacrilegious. I loved it.


The only thing more obnoxious about the Christmas Season than the way Christianity forces itself on everyone all month, and accuses you of "Waging War on Christmas" if you insist on resisting their cultural Fascism, is what it does to television. When you're 111 like me, you don't always feel like going out on the town every evening, and TV is essential. Without TV, I'd be so desperate for entertainment, I might even be forced to resort to - gasp! - reading! God help me! And what is on TV this week? Well, some of our beloved, and less-than-beloved, regular shows, but all in repeats. And what else is on besides shows you saw two weeks ago?

The billionth repeat of of Charlie Brown's Christmas. Darlings, Charlie Brown in on Social Security. He's almost 70. How The Grinch Stole Christmas, not the unbearable Jim Carrey horror movie (Though that is on, if you know any children you really hate!), but the delightful animated version starring my ex-husband Boris Karloff. Darlings, Boris has been dead for 40 years. The show still airs every December! Also on, the hundred billionth repeat of Frank Crapra's It's a Maudlin Wonderful Life with Jimmy Stewart. That picture was shot 100 years ago. For everyone in that movie these days, It's a Wonderful Death, because they are all dead, and if I ever have to sit through that movie again, I'll kill myself too. If an angel had ever shown Crapra what Life would have been like if he'd never been born, he'd have seen that no one ever made this movie, and the world was full of a lot fewer bored people every Christmas.

What else is on? Repeats of all the Christmas shows that have been on every single year since the manger in Bethlehem. (If we pretend for a moment that the Christmas Fable is actually true, and is not what it so obviously actually is, a myth. Hint: Virgins don't get pregnant. Believe me, I tried that one on my mother a century ago and, unlike the Reverend Rick Warren and his ilk, she wasn't stupid enough to fall for it.) Frosty the Red-Nosed Reindeer (Had a nip or two have you Frosty? Me too.), The Little Bummer Boy, Rudolph the Big-Dicked Pornstar, Miracle on 34th Street, A Christmas Story, and of course, 8000 different versions of A Christmas Carol. Much as I love Charlie Dickens (And I might add, he adored me!), how many times can I see that same exact story? Who is your favorite Scrooge? Alastair Sim? Albert Finney? George C. Scott? (George, here's a note that obviously your director was afraid to give you: Scrooge is supposed to be English. You might have at least thought about trying an English accent.) Patrick Stewart? Mr. Magoo? Scrooge McDuck?

What was that, darlings? You don't remember Rudolph the Big-Dicked Porn Star? How could you forget him? Well, let me catch you up.

You know Arpad and Mattox, Russo and Ryker,

Six guys all named Chad, Stefano and Stryker,
But do you recall?

The hunkiest porn stud of all?

Rudolph, the big-dicked porn star,

Had a very shiny ass.

And if you ever saw it,

You would say it's smooth as glass.

All of the other porn stars,

Used to laugh at his behind.

They never let poor Rudolph,

Come and play and fuck them blind.

Then one horny Christmas Eve,

Chi Chi came to say,

"Rudolph with your dick so hot,

Won't you do my money shot?"

Then all the porn stars loved him,

And they shouted out with glee,

"Rudolph, the big-dicked porn star,

You'll go down on him and me."

Doesn't it bring a tear to your eyes? I know it makes me moist. Anyway, if the TV networks can put on nothing but Christmas reruns, why not me too? So here are two of my favorite holiday entries, both posted before.


First off, my favorite holiday song, perhaps because I wrote it. Enjoy:

It's beginning to look too much like Christmas,

Everywhere you go.

Thanksgiving was yesterday,
And now the streets look so gay,

Your eyes will blur,

And you'll get vertigo.

It's beginning to look too much like Christmas.

Gets worse after dark.

I really do hate to grouse,

But, my God, my neighbor's house,

Looks like Disney's park.

Horrible tinsel.

And way too much chintz'll

Make everyone wish they were dead.

By far the worst folly,

Are trees looking jolly,

When all of their leaves have been shed.

And I will grant, a-

-nother Santa,

Fills me up with dread.

It's beginning to look too much like Christmas.

Please gouge out my eyes.

You'll soon see a Yule log,

Blazing at the synagogue.

An elf robot?

My brain lobotomize.

It's beginning to look too much like Christmas.

Soon my brain will split!

I hate to sound so gruff,

But I've already had enough,

of this Yule,

Bullshit.

Remember Mel Gibson's drunken, Jew-baiting arrest two Decembers back? I did when I wrote, under my non-de-plume, this instant Christmas classic. Again, enjoy my present to you.

The Passion of the Elf
by Inclement Clarke Morehead


'Twas the night before Christmas, all through Morehead Heights
Not a creature was stirring, 'cept deep in my tights;
My pantyhose hung by the chimney with Nair,
In hopes that Huge Jackman soon would be there;
The vodka was nestled all snug in my head,
While visions of sugar-tits made my legs spread;
Like me in my turban, the brave with no head,
Had just gone to sleep, or perhaps we were dead.
When outside my skull there arose such a clatter,
I fell out of bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I crawled like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up my hash.
Then mooning my breasts from my new-fallen pants,
Gave the luster of porn to my sagging implants.
When what to my blurry red eye there appears,
But some really big gay, and eight quite tiny queers,
And a little old driver, so drunken and glib, son,
I knew in a moment it must be Mel Gibson.
More rapid than virgins, his coursers they came,
And he humped them, and shouted, and cursed them by name;
"Now, Flasher! Pole Dancer! Fag Prancer, you Vixen!
On Slutty! On Trampy! On Scrotum and Nixon!
To the top of her porch! To the top of her house!
Now dash away! Dash away! Tear off her blouse!"
As dry heaves that before the wild hurricane barf,
I can’t get these stains off my lovely headscarf.
Up to my house-top they flew just like Krypto,
With the drunken old fool who made Apocalypto.
And then, in a flash, I heard on my ceiling,
The horrible sound of my juices congealing.
When I stuck out my butt, to show my endzone,
Down my chimney Mel Gibson came hard, with a groan.
He was painted bright blue, and was covered with gore,
And he smiled and he laughed and he called me a whore;
A bundle of buttplugs was flung on his back.
He was stinking of gin, my aphrodisiac.
His eyes -- how they watered! His dimples -- how sexy!
I don’t know why he gives the Jews apoplexy.
His wet drooling mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard on his chin was as yellow as snow;
The stump of a leg he held tight in his teeth,
And the blood it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face, narrow mind, and round belly,
That shook when he raved, like petroleum jelly.
He was skinny and drunk, a right smelly old elf,
I got damp when I smelt him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his knob,
And his purple-eyed warrior started to throb.
He spoke not a word, but just started to jerk,
And soon stained my poster of Young Captain Kirk.
Then shoving his finger inside of his nose,
And giving a prod, up my chimney he rose;
He soon gave his team a quite mean disemboweling,
And then filmed their deaths, as they all lay there howling.
Last I heard him exclaim the incredible news,
"Happy Christmas to all. Now go kill some Jews."

So darlings, I'm your Auntie Christ, keeping the Christ out of Christmas. On behalf of myself, Little Dougie, the Headless Indian Brave, Eduardo my gardner's son, and everyone here at Morehead Heights, I'm wishing a very happy holiday to all of you little people sitting out there, in the dark, watching me, and touching yourselves.

Cheers darlings.

Deep Throat Gags.

W. Mark "Deep Throat" Felt has died. Felt was an authentic American Hero, who played a pivotal role in The Fall of Richard Nixon, an event that provokes nostalgia now that an even worse President is being allowed to leave office unimpeached, and Illinois's Governor Rod Blagojevich refuses to resign despite his overwhelming disgrace.


(Off-topic, but before you Blagojevich-bashers start knocking Illinois as The Most Corrupt State in the Union, bear in mind it's liberal credentials. Even as "Liberal" California rescinded Gay Marriage, "Corrupt" Cook County, Illinois, remains the only place in America that doesn't strip you of your right to vote just because you're dead. Now that is being committed to Civil Rights! Remember, being dead doesn't make you bad. It just makes you smell bad.)

Why did Bob Woodward title his book about Mark Felt The Secret Man? Well take a look at this picture of Deep Throat. I'd never have guessed he was a man. Talk about a convincing drag queen! Eat your heart out, Dame Edna!

And what was Felt's tip? "Follow the money."

Cum to think of it, maybe what Deep Throat said was: "Follow the money shot."


Frankly, when you've done a really decent (By which, of course, I mean a really indecent) job of deep throating, you will have Felt more than just the tip. And W. Mark Felt Tip did just that, as he gave Richard Nixon the shaft, the whole shaft, and nothing but the shaft, so help me, oh god! In any event, we now know what Mark Felt; he felt Nixon was a crook! And he was right!

If you're cloudy on the details of The Watergate Scandal after all these months, and all The Bush Scandals, check out Ron Howard's new horror movie Defrost Nixon. He's the scariest monster to emerge from the ice since The Thing.

We've lost a lot of interesting people this month, Beverly Garland, Nina Foch, Paul Benedict, Sam Bottoms (Frequently), Van Johnson (Yes, he was still alive, only now he's not), Robert Prosky, Majel Barrett-Roddenberry,and even one elaborately not-interesting person, Forry Ackerman. There's a reason so many famous folk have died this month, and why I expect that several more will pop-off before New Years rolls around: my 2008 Dead Celebrity Round-Up. The "Deadline" for my Round-Up is you have to make the news as being dead by December 30. In case of duplicate deaths, the earliest postmarked demise will win. These are people who will do anything for publicity, even die.


But the death of Deep Throat was too important to wait for the end of the year. (Reverend Rick Warren, you piece of horseshit, you still have time to die and make my list, rather than befouling President Obama's inauguration with your vile presence. Take the hint and go meet your phony-baloney god face-to-face pronto.)


(Everyone else, please don't tell him that, should Warren do the world a favor and die, he'd actually make my Good Riddance List.)

And just why is My 2008 Dead Celebrity Round-Up so especially prestigious this year? Well darlings, here's the Big Announcement I promised: Starting with my 2008 Dead Celebrity Round-Up, I will be posting entertainment writing on The Huffington Post. Yes, that's right. My 2008 Dead Celebrity Round-Up won't be running here on my flog; it will be posted on the entertainment pages of The Huffington Post. However, those pussies over at Huffington only want the round-up of celebrities that I will miss. My Good Riddance List of all the people who died this year whom we are better off without (Take the hint Rev. Warren.) will only run right here. So, for some quality Speaking Ill of the Dead, check out this flog at the start of the year.

Where was I? Oh yes, Huffington and Puffington and Blowington your - ah - house down. (Well, this is an obit for Deep Throat.) It seems that Arianna Huffington is Greek. She must have heard somewhere how much I like it "Greek Style," (Who doesn't? Oh yes. Rick Warren.) plus she was so jealous of the genius of the writing on this flog, that an invitation was extended to me to lend my literary brilliance to their reader-hungry pages.

So, in addition to my 2008 Dead Celebrity Round-Up, I will be reviewing the major award shows, The Oscars, Emmys, Tonys, Golden Globes, and the Screen Actors Guild Awards, for The Huffington Post, just as I do here. And, when Survivor: Brazil starts up in February, I will be doing next-day episode recaps on that site as well.


(Why, you ask, am I not recapping American Idol for them, when I am the inspiration for the show, the original American Idol? Simple; my fair-weather friend Little Kent Levine is hogging that show. Honestly, I am so American Idol that my biggest fan, Paula Abdul, committed career suicide in her car a block from my home. If it had been anyone else, it would have been a tragedy!)

What was I blathering on about? Oh yes, the death of Deep Throat. Let me just be clear on this, Hal Holbrook, who played Deep Throat in the movie, is not dead yet, which is a huge relief to Mark Twain. Hal is the go-to actor to play guys named Mark:, Mark Twain, Mark Felt, Mark of Zorro. There are still 13 days left before Deadline, Hal, so get the lead out. Don't be among the unfortunate ones who will have to wait until next year. (For the record, I have nothing against Hal Holbrook, who is a totally darling, kind, talented man, who could not have been nicer to Little Dougie 24 years ago. If we must have living celebrities besides myself, Hal is just whom I'd choose to keep around.)

Yes, Deep Throat is dead. That only leaves me, Morehead, upholding America's Great Oral Tradition. I've always sucked; just ask the critics. And in the new year, I'll be sucking on The Post.

Cheers darlings.

The Asteroid Belt

Hello darlings. Have you missed me? I know it seems like I posted my Flogaversy and then vanished. Blame Little Dougie. He's finishing up the last chapters of a new book, and has been "Too busy" to help me flog. It's the same excuse the gayer of my husbands always gave me for avoiding sex. But then, Dougie's new book is about me, so I figure the sacrifice is worth it for everyone.


So posts will be sparse this month. Dougie's busy writing, and I'm still recovering from seeing Quantum of Solace. I mean really; I pay $10 to see a James Bond movie, I expect Daniel Craig to take his shirt off for more than 45 seconds. I can get car chases, fist fights, stunt work, and confusing plots in any action movie. When I go to see Daniel Craig play 007, I expect some serious man-nipples screen time. Danny, why work so hard to pump up those pecs if you're not going to show them off?


One of my daily habits these days is a bit of net-surfing, checking out other flogs. I always enjoy a visit to By Ken Levine for instance. Another I often check out is called Electronic Cerebrectomy, which you'll find at http://samuraifrog.blogspot.com/ . I first found it by Googling "Electronic Cerebrectomy," after a doctor recommended I have one.


So I was visiting it today, and Froggy had posted a list of his 20 Favorite Actresses, and I was appalled to find I wasn't on the list!!! Can you imagine? These 20 hags, living and dead, weren't/aren't stars. They are at best, asteroids. So let me run through his list, and wise him and all of you up.


JOAN CRAWFORD.




That no-talent SLUT Joan Crawford is on Froggy's list and not ME????? Did she come back from her grave and blow him? Because she will. All you have to do is look in a mirror and say her name three times and she appears, mouth open. Don't do it in a small space, as you need a lot of shoulder pad room. There's a special word that was coined just to describe Joan's acting. The word is "Fakey." Joan couldn’t communicate an honest emotion if her life depended on it. You see, an actress like Joan, and I use the term quite loosely, has no access to her emotions. She put so much dedication into hiding her true self, and creating a completely synthetic persona, that her emotions were all damned up deep inside. Admittedly, given what her true self was like, it was probably a wise decision on her part, but that’s not important right now. However, she was one hell of a babysitter. Back in the 1930s, when I would tell my toddler daughter Pattycakes that Joan was coming to babysit, she would shriek and scream her lungs out with delight.


GRETA GARBO.


All face. No chops. And boring to talk to. She wanted to be alone, but believe me, when you were with her, it was like being alone. Even she didn't like being with her.


KATE HEPBURN.


You know why Spence never left his wife and married her? Because he cut his face on her cheekbones. She used a knife sharpener on them daily.


MYRNA LOY.



I liked her at parties. She based her performance as Nora Charles in The Thin Man on ME! but we had a falling out when she played my step-daughter in Fu Manchu's Blessed Event. She kept telling me to go "Fu" myself. What does that mean? I don't speak Chinese.


BETTE DAVIS.

Some talent perhaps, but too much of a shrinking violet to ever be a real Star. I kept telling her, "Bette darling, assert yourself. Don't be so shy." I don't know if she heard me, or if she was even there. She traveled around in such a thick cloud of cigarette smoke that she was like a portable fog bank. But there's nothing like being impossible to see to make you look younger. And I was a much better Baby Jane than she was when I played Jane Hudson onstage in 1974 in the musical version: BJ!


JEAN SIMMONS.



Okay, she was extremely nice to Little Dougie when he met her, and even arranged for him to meet Margaret Hamilton (It's typical of Little Dougie that he was more excited to meet Margaret Hamilton than Jean Simmons.), but did you see Jean in that awful Scandinavian ghost story she was in with Larry Olivier, Hamlet? I couldn't figure out what the hell she was talking about. The damn thing needed subtitles. And then, when she joined KISS, she just wore way too much make up!


ELIZABETH TAYLOR.


Well for starters, she stole her private life from ME! I had been married to a long list of men (in fact, a longer list of men.) before Liz was even born. And all that Anti-AIDS crusading she's done that makes her such a saint in so many people's eyes: it's all just grandstanding. Sure, I could devote all my time to raising money to find a cure for a deadly horrible disease, but I'm not so selfish!


MARILYN MONROE.


This still is from her thriller Niagara. She's never looked better than she does in this photo. But Marilyn an actress? Please. Tits are not talent, although I can tie mine in knots, and kick them over my shoulders. That's one hell of a talent! And frankly, Marilyn is all washed up these days. When was the last time she made a movie? She's not dead. She just started that rumor because she's too vain to let fans see how she looks now. It's Garbo all over again, only with boobs.


SHIRLEY MacLAINE.


Well, now I know he's not serious. Even Shirley MacLaine isn't a fan of Shirley MacLaine. Warren Beatty has finally confessed that she's not his sister at all. He was just telling people that to explain why Shirley was the only female in California he hadn't hit on, when the real reason was that he couldn't stand listening to her screechy voice any more than anyone else. Given how ear-splitting she is when she's just (over) "acting," imagine what her orgasms must sound like? I'd rather hear one of Senator Fran Drescher's filibusters. Plus, Shirley's insane. In fact, her next book will be titled Off The Deep End. (BTW, while Fran has Hilary's senate seat sewn up, there's still time for you to become senator from Illinois. Just place a bid. It's up on eBay.)


SOPHIA LOREN.


Well, I'll grant you her, though she should still be listed below me. I'd turn Lez for her. And judging from how she's leering at Mrs. Harkitay's boobs in this picture, Sophia would be ready, willing, and able to Lez me right back. But again, half the time in her films I can't understand a word she says. And she's such a dowdy frump! What about beauty? Doesn't that count anymore?


HELEN MIRRIN.


When does she get time to act while running the empire, secretly arranging the murders of her daughters-in-law, and launching ships? But in Caligula, when Malcolm McDowell performed unfaked oral sex on her onscreen? Now that was some fine acting!


SIR JUDI DENCH.



Get a clue. These are supposed to be actresses, not actors. Sir Judi is a man! Honestly, haven't you read any of the James Bond novels? M is a man!


SUSAN SARANDON.


Okay, she's sort of good, in a hot-woman-who-can-also-act sort of way, but until she stops deliberately standing between me and Tim Robbins, who is fated to be my One Great Love, she is a pariah! She is anathema! Was she Thelma or Louise? I can never keep them, pardon the expression, straight.


MERYL STEEP.

Get serious. Daws Butler could do a lot of accents too, but you don't see him on this list.

SIG-HORNY WEAVER.


Out-acted by special effects. Her Uncle Doodles had all the talent in that family.


EMMA THOMPSON.

How can you insult Ken Branagh by honoring the trash he threw out on today of all days, his birthday? (Happy Birthday Ken. I know you read my every comment because you worship me. I can't blame you.)


KATE WINSLET.

Oh please, gentlemen. Just because she went down on the Titanic doesn't mean she'll do the same for you, unless you're seriously younger than she is.


CATE BLANCETTE?



Same cheekbone problem as Hepburn, and she's not even a human. She's an elf! Plus, she's so stupid, she doesn't even know how to spell her own name! Case closed. The fact that she's a brilliant actress doesn't even enter into it.


ASIA ARGENTO.



Who the hell is she? Never heard of her. Is she an actress or a continent? I'm an actress and I'm incontinent! (The photo is a placeholder. Someone said she's sexy, and always putting her hands on her boobs, so I took Lon Chaney in a similar pose, because he's a total dreamboat.)


ANNE HATHAWAY.


Excuse me? She was Shakespeare's wife. She's been dead for 400 years, like Eddie Fisher's career. To paraphrase Joe Mankiewicz, all actresses should be dead for 400 years, except me of course. The actresses flanking gorgeous Charlie Hunnam in this photo from Nicholas Nickleby are Anne Hathaway and Dame Edna Everage, but I'll be damned if I can remember which one is which. Maybe if I could take my eyes off of Chuck.


Watch this space darlings, for an exciting announcement Christmas Week. I'm not saying what. I'll just give a one-word clue: "Arianna."

Cheers darlings

My Second Flogaversary!

Hello darlings! This is my second Flogaversary, as it was two years ago today that I posted my first flogging here at The Morehead The Merrier. It was a different world then: Dubya was still firmly seated in power, halfway through his second term. Hilary thought she would be the next president. People still thought NBC's Heroes was an exciting TV show. The name "Heath Ledger" didn't make you want to cry. We all thought Ben Linus was the most evil person on LOST. And no one had ever heard of Sarah Palin.


I'd like to thank a few folks: The always-hilarious actress Jane Morris, who suggested I try flogging in the first place.

This is Jane and her husband, Jeff Michalski, doing a comedy sketch at Second City. Jane has been seen on such shows as The Drew Carey Show, Grey's Anatomy, 3rd Rock From the Sun, His & Hers, Freeks & Geeks, Lois & Clark, The New Adventures of Superman, pretty much any series with an ampersand, and will be seen shortly in an upcoming episode of 10 Items or Less. She has been in every movie Garry Marshall has directed since Nothing in Common over 20 years ago. Look for her particularly as Nedda in Frankie & Johnny where she steals the film away from Al Pacino, Michelle Pfeiffer and Nathan Lane. (I remember her comment about Al Pacino when they were shooting the movie: "They're paying him $7,000,000. For that money, you'd think he could learn his lines.")

That's Jane and Little Dougie at Second City back in 1987, preparing a sketch.


Next on my Thank You List is gorgeous Glen Hanson. Glen is a wonderful artist, and did my official portraits, like the one at the top of this column, and in my avatar, and that pops up in so many permutations in the various pictures that have adorned this flog for two years, with Glen's generous permission.

That's Little Glen. Isn't he a hottie? Talent and beauty, that's the combo that made me a star, and it's made him one too.

That's Glen with Little Dougie at a book signing for My Lush Life. I mention Dougie is in the picture because most people find him invisible standing next to Glen. Here's a self-portrait of Glen. Even he notices how adorable he is.

So for loads of visual delight and artistic wit, visit Glen's website: Glen Hanson.com.

Next on my Thank You List is Little Kent Levine, whose support and promotion of this site over on his flog, By Ken Levine, has sent many eyes this way. Here's Kent and I out engaged in some activity involving labor relations. Since we're doing it in public, I guess it's public relations, which is ironic, given that Little Dougie once barely escaped being arrested for "Public Relations". Fortunately, that night the only full moon was Dougie's, and his isn't reflective.

Rather than blather on today, I thought I'd just give links to some of my best posts over the last two years, so click and laugh darlings.

Cheers.

From Thanksgiving two years ago: Gratitude Imparting Day

Tomorrow is the birthday of my 4th husband, Boris Karloff. Revisit the tale of our marriage in my recent posting: Happy Halloween

I created a new Christmas classic in this Yuletide posting: The Passion of the Elf

The first of my Oscarcast reviews was never to be forgotten, which is more than you can say for the winners. (Quick, without looking, who won the Oscars two years ago?) The O Word.

The release of Walt Disney's version of Peter Pan inspired this tale of my performances as Captain Hook opposite Ethel Merman and Carol Channing - IN THE ROUND! My Peter Panned.

The publication of The Children of Húrin by J. R. R. Tolkien occasioned this unusual book review. Tolkien Resistance.

And that led immediately to an amazing revelation of the previously-concealed gender of one of Disney's 7 Dwarfs in Feeling Grumpy.

And the Tolkien theme climaxed in this black comic posting. ...And Fancy Free.

A visit to America by my dear friend Martine Beswicke inspired this tribute to another great star: The Second Most Glamorous Star on Earth.

Has a weirder review of a Sondheim musical ever been written than my Harry Razorhands?

If they are going to keep on giving out Oscars, I'm going to keep reviewing them: The Scariest Oscars.

I review the Tony Awards too. Tony Jerkins.

Back before the Mormon Church decided to wipe their asses with The First Amendment and make Gay Marriage illegal in California, I attended the wedding of Batman & Robin, as chronicled in Wedding Bells in Gotham.

The Summer Olympics of 2008 brought out many amazing and/or inspiring stories. This was one of the most inspiring, only NBC couldn't be bothered to tell it, so I did. A Tale of Two Divers.

Well that's more than enough to keep you reading all weekend. Enjoy darlings. And Cheers.