Wednesday, February 13, 2008

Happy St. Valentino's Day

Happy Saint Valentino's Day darlings, the most romantic day of the year. I hope someone is slipping you a big one and pounding it in deep and hard today and tonight, but then, I'm just a hopeless, mushy romantic that way.

The gentleman displaying his manly titties above is Rudolph Valentino, the man this holiday is named for, the Great Hollywood God of Love, circa 1925. Rudy was Italian, like all great lovers, hence the Ancient Proverb of Wisdom: "If he ain't Italian, he ain't no stallion." (Proverbs: 35:4) His birth name was Rodolfo Alfonzo Raffaelo Pierre Filibert Guglielmi di Valentina d'Antonguolla, (Actually, that was more of a birth-to-death name, as even if you began saying it as a infant, by the time you'd said all of it, you were dying of old age.), so he changed it to Adolph Hitler. When this choice tested badly, he changed it to Fred Alfonzo Raffaelo Pierre Filibert Guglielmi di Valentina d'Antonguolla, but that one also failed to catch on for unspecified reasons, so he changed it again, this time to Mary Alice Hayworth. This still tested badly, so finally he just edited his real name down to Rudy Valentino, and began making movies that had to be silent, because any soundtrack would have been drowned out by all the moaning and screaming of the women in the audience. Remember how the audience sounded while The Beatles (A musical group from History.) performed on The Ed Sullivan Show? They were a restrained version of females watching Valentino tango.

I made one movie with Rudy, Son of the Shriek in 1924. Although Rudy was far too old to be a believable love interest for me (He was a full three years older than I. Isn't that outrageous?), our combined sexual wattage made the film a scorcher. Here you can see Rudy trying to show me his tits. Rudy just felt a deep need to share his nipples with the world. Hence his acquiring the name Saint Valentino.

There was another factor to Rudy's sanctification. All his wives were lesbians, so clearly he wasn't in it for the sex. But then, most wives are lesbians. This is The Great Secret of Civilization: There's nothing like actually marrying a man to turn a woman into a dyke, and I speak as Tallulah Clytemnestra Morehead Knight Thalberg Tepes Karloff Towers Herkert Borgnine Bronze Rockwood Van Owen Berman, a woman who knows a thing or two about being married. This is why it is so important for married women to have affairs. It's the only way for a wife to remember why she used to like penis in the first place.

That was one of Rudy's functions also, to remind married women that men who aren't their husbands can still be hot. Rudy was Mrs. America's Tennis Instructor.

If you happened to see The Legend of Valentino, a 1975 TV movie about Rudy, in which Franco Nero (Who was, let's face it, even hotter than Rudy) played Rudy, and Suzanne Pleshette played June Mathias, a screenwriter/lover of Rudy's who pushed his career, you'll remember the famous last scene, when Suzanne woke up in bed next to Rudolph Valentino, and told him about the horrifying nightmare she'd had, in which she'd been married to a bald, stuttering, asexual psychologist. And then Rudy married a lesbian, and Suzanne married the handyman from her dream husband's dream-within-the-dream. TV movies. Go figure.

Rudy died ridiculously young, at 31. What could have caused his perfect, athletic body to drop dead so young? I can't imagine.

But, seeing as Rudy has been dead for almost 82 years now, I may well be the only woman left alive who has had one of Rudy's Power Pokes. I guess the time has come for me to move on, and send a Valentino's Day wish to my One True Love: Gollum! Oh Golly darling, I thought you were going to give me a ring, but you threw it away. And my heart crumbled like the Dark Tower. Raise me up again, Golly, and I'll do the same for you. Gollum, please be my Valentine. (And to that Andy Sirkis person in England. Call me again, and I'll call the cops.)

One last piece of business. Today is the birthday of Little Kent Levine, a friend of this flogging. That's Little Kent, one of his literate pals, and I, at a recent Hollywood Social Event. I won't say how old Little Kent is; just that he is 3 and a half months older than Little Douglas, so he's probably on his last legs, particularly after three months of marching around in a circle, and then picketing. Anyway, happy birthday Kent darling. Get good and plastered for me, as I will for you.

Cheers darlings.


Bitter Animator said...

What a lovely tribute to Kent and nice to see you getting yourself out on the picket line.

Tallulah Morehead said...

Thanks, Bitter. Sadly, Little Dougie was just too lazy to go out on the line with me, so I had to stagger around, in HEELS, on my own. Thank Heaven I was too drunk to feel teh pavement hit me.

Cheers darling.