111

I will keep this brief as I have to get to my birthday party. This is not my 111th flogging. Missed it by that much, as Steve Carell will be shortly saying. This is my 110th flogging, but it's my 111th Birthday. Yes, I am officially eleventy-one. Yet everyone is telling me I don't look a day over 97. And for my party? Well more on that in a moment. Here's a picture of last year's 110th celabation, with my ex-husband Boris burying the hatchet --- in my rum cake. Timid little Dougie looks a bit alarmed by Boris. Something about his having died back in 1969. Honestly, the whole point of the role Boris is best known for playing is being resurrected from the dead. Butch up Dougie.

I know you're all stumped by what to get me for a present. What do you get for the woman who has everything? Well here's a few gift suggestions.

Of course I am synonymous with the movies. Someone named Duncan just sent me a photo he snapped this evening of the marquee of the Hemet Theater in Downtown Hemet, California, the place where they stage The Ramona Pageant every year for no known reason. I can't think why he wants me to see the marquee. You couldn't drag me into seeing Horton Hears Doctor Who, and I can't remember who Sarah Marshall even is.

Wait a minute! What does it say there in between the two features? Let's take a closer look.

What the hell? Are they kidding me? What has happened to values in America?


Three dollars to get in? Are they serious?


My gracious, talk about cheap! And what's that below the price? Oh my God! That's not how you spell "Tallulah Morehead"! In fact, that's --- that's Little Dougie's name! What is that doing there?


Oh sure, it is Dougie's birthday today also. He's 58, barely out of diapers. Actually, given what his health is like, he's nearly back into diapers. The only reason I even let him on my sofa is because the frequent vodka spills disinfects it. At almost half my age, most people think he's the older one. The man bats with overcooked spaghetti, although he still sees himself like this:

What would Little Dougie like for his birthday? Well he likes to travel. He particularly enjoys Europe. How about Paris. He'd love a chance to once again mount The Eiffel Tower, and vice versa. (And Dougie prefers his vice versa.)



Yes, he'd love to have what's in that picture for his natal commemoration. You know, if you take The Eiffel Tower, turn it on it's side, and insert it through The Arc D'Triomph, then Paris is fucked.


Even more than Paris, Dougie loves London. He'd be your pal forever if you'd help him once again thrill to Big Ben. This is Ben himself. My, doesn't he have a big clock? Hey kids, what time is it? It's How'd He Do Me Time! (If you get that gag, you're over 50.)



As you can see from this psychic photo I snapped when Dougie and I were doing a bookstore signing of my beliked autobiography My Lush Life, there's always just one thing on Dougie's alleged mind.



Well, there's no help for it. Little Dougie and I happen to have, by a complete coincidence, the same birthday, so we have no choice but to celabate them together.


We are, however, receiving a lovely gift from ABC, for tonight they are giving us the three-hour season 4 finale of LOST, our current favorite show. (Though we are both very fond of Doctor Who as well.) Normally a TV network would want such a sure fire ratings giant as the LOST season finale to air during May sweeps. So why did ABC hold LOST back to today? So it would be a birthday present for Dougie and me, well, mostly me. Actually, entirely for me. Dougie is just tagging along, hoping Sawyer gets too drunk to notice Dougie's a guy.


So what can we expect to see on LOST tonight? Deaths? Twists? Freighter psychos running amok? A Bekins moving van hauling The Island to somewhere else? Yes, but [SPOILER ALERT!] also, my surprise birthday party! (Little Dougie too.) And for the highlight of the party, I take on five of The Oceanic Six! (Well baby Aaron is just too young. And I'm not really sure about doing Hurley again either. The last time I did him, I lost my keys in a flab fold.) Normally I want at least 8 or more, but given that it's my lovely LOST, I'm willing to settle for five, particularly since one of them is Sayid. Mmmmm. That hot Iraqi can torture me anytime!

Now if you'll excuse me, I want to swallow some of my cake. I understand that, in honor of my being 111, my cake's Italian creme filling is going to slip me 11!

Cheers darlings.