Why is there a picture of a shirtless Matthew McConaughey at the top of this column? Well, for starters, have you ever tried to find a shot of Matthew with a shirt on? They don't exist. Nor should they. With tits like his, it should be illegal to wear a shirt. Fortunately for all concerned, Matthew doesn't own any shirts. Or, if he does, he's too stoned to find where he stored them, or remember how to put them on. Matty put the "Wowie" in Maui.
Facts about me...........
3 jobs I have had in my life:
2. Movie Star
3 places I have lived:
1. Morehead Heights
3. My Own Fantasy World.
3 TV Shows that I watch:
2. Doctor Who.
3. Gay porn DVDs.
3 Places I have been:
2. Cary Grant's Pants.
3. Through the Desert on a Horse With No Name. (Well, he was hung like a horse, and he didn't tell me his name.)
3 Places I'd rather be right now:
1. In that chair over there, with my feet up.
2. Under a naked Hugh Jackman., with my feet up.
3. Alcoholic Bliss.
3 Things I am looking forward to this year:
1. The end of the Bush Administration.
3. My next vodka martini. Oh look. Here it is now. Thank you darling. (That adorable Headless Indian Brave always anticipates my needs. He is uncanny!)
You'll notice that I did not list American Idol under TV shows I watch. Oh, I'm still watching it, but I'm not proud of viewing this year's train wreck of a season. Paulagate this week, when Nostroabdullus was able to criticize a performance of Jason Castro's before he gave it, and do so with complete accuracy (She'd said he'd be lousy, and he WAS!), has been dissected to death. She was thrown a "curveball," that is, asked a question she wasn't expecting, you know, what other people call "Conversation," and she panicked, and started blathering. She said she read her wrong notes. Please! This raises two questions:
1. She needs notes to remember to say, "You are who you are. Your fans love you. You're a star. I applaud you."? and
2. Paula can read?
Nostroabdullus said of her idiocy: "This is hard!" Since she had both her hands where we could see them, she must have meant sitting there watching other idiots sing, and then blabbing the exact same thing to each of them. No, Nostroabdullus; roofing in 100-plus degree heat is hard. Brain surgery is hard. Little Douglas walking in on a naked Javier Bardem is hard. What she does is easy. Really, really easy. So easy, even Randy Jackson can do it. Well, almost do it.
You may notice that I selected the withered old Harrison Ford for my Studly Hunk of May. Now he at least, could sing Memory or September Song without looking ridiculous, if he can sing. (I've never heard him sing. Have you?") This is because, besides being sexy and adorable, he is also starring in this month's other important event: the release of Indiana Jones and the Retirement Home of Doom.
Okay, he's an old man, a sexy old man, just as I am a sexy middle-aged woman. But here's a couple more pictures of him looking great, and young.
Please ignore that Feiffer woman usurping my rightful place in this next picture. This shot is from What Lies Beneath. As it happened, I was what lay beneath. Michelle burst in, uninvited, while I was toying with Harrison's laptop, and I hid underneath him, while he fingered his laptop. Lots of people complain about all the ass-kissing in Hollywood, but then, they've never had Harrison use them for a mattress. Mmmmm. Forget Starbuck's. Give me Starbutts! Once Harrison got Michelle to leave again, it was all he could do to pry me out from under him again. I was comfy where I was - and I found a lost ark in there. And when I pried it open, I saw God.
Another big thing that happens this month, a week after Little David is given the title of this year's American Idol (Which Little David, you query? Ask Nostroabdullus.), will be the climax of season 4 of LOST! It's been great this year, as it is every year. Remember Benry going into that secret room in the closet of his other secret room? (Secret rooms inside secret rooms? That's LOST in a nutcase.) Remember the door covered in Egyptian hieroglyphics? In case you don't, here's what it looked like:
As soon as Benry came out of the closet (And about time too.), Smokey the Monster showed up. I guess it's the smoking room. Anyway, as you all are aware, I played Cleopatra many years ago, in my classic film The Revenge of Cleopatra, about the terrible vengeance Cleopatra wreaked on Octavius after the asp venom was sucked out of her wound. (Sucking asp seems to be the theme of this column, doesn't it?) Believe me, her vengeance was terrible. Every single critic who reviewed it emphasized how terrible it was. Some called it "Ghastly," others said it was "Unwatchable," one even called it "The Greatest Crime in History." Anyway, since I was the queen of ancient Egypt for five months back in 1934, I can, of course, read ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics. What this door says is "Men". Apparently seeing the girl he'd kidnapped as a baby shot in the head made Ben need to go right now! I have the same problem after too much vodka. (Just kidding. There's no such thing as "Too much vodka.")
But shocking as Alex's sudden murder was, an even worse horror awaited us in the opening scenes of the following episode, when we saw Jack wake up in Kate's bed, and some Evildoer had waxed his chest! Those bastards! As this comparison shows, Jack looks much better with his normal, hairy pecs. Only we women should wax our chests. I know it stings a bit when I do it, but believe me, given how low my poor titties hang these days, they would really look grotesque if they were hairy as well.
Actually, we saw Juliette, the Former Other, shave Jack's chest before she performed an appendectomy on him. Since she's an obstetrician, Jack wanted to talk her through it as she operated on him, but it turned out that "AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!" wasn't really very helpful. And after all, she did have a dentist assisting her. But his concern was proven well-founded when Juliette performed an epesiotomy on him. In fact, when Jack woke up, Juliette's first words to him were, "I had to perform a C-section."
Little Dougie has been occupying himself watching DVDs of The Avengers, The Complete Emma Peel Megaset. Dougie loves this quintessential, mod-60s, swinging London, silly spy TV series, which was great until Dame Diana Rigg left, and the show fell apart.
The problem, aside from Dougie's utter lack of Britishness, is that in a bowler or a derby, Little Dougie looks more like Oliver Hardy than John Steed. And walking about carrying an umbrella in California in the summer, just looks affected. No. Strike that. IS affected.
However, I would be perfect casting as Mrs. Emma Peel. True, I'm from Idaho, and I'm even a month, or possibly two, older than Dame Diana, but darlings, when it comes to looking good while guzzling champagne, I wrote the book. (The book, by the way, is My Lush Life, which you can buy by clicking on it here. More fun than a box full of The Avengers!.) And I will peel at the drop of a zipper.
Well I think I would be an improvement over Little Uma, don't you? Wait a minute. What's this? A note at the bottom of my martini glass. What does it say?
"Miss Morehead, We're needed. To get more vodka." Oh my God! Some supervillain has drunk all my vodka! I must mount my "Steed" (Patrick loves it when I do that.) and race to The Liquor Barn. England must be saved! After a cocktail. That's how The Avengers do things.