Roger Ebert once wrote of one of my films (though he denies it now), "If Tallulah wants this turkey pardoned, she'll have to ask the president." Well I did, and he did. (It was Lyndon's Johnson. Let's face it, if you were married to Lady Bird, a truly beautiful woman like me could get anything she wanted out of you too. She wanted to "Beautify America." All she had to do was leave.)
I know what you are all grateful for: that after three years, I am still flogging. And here's another thing to be grateful for: that President Obama is listening my advice on all matters of state. Admittedly, he has yet to start holding nude press conferences, nor has he shot Dick Cheney in the face "accidentally," and my plan for a Public Vodka Option isn't even in the bill yet (That damned Utah is opposing it! Orin Hatch said he'd even prefer Gay Marriage to a Public Vodka Option. Who died and made Mormons king? There's another thing to be grateful for: not being a Mormon.), but you can see how highly he values all my advice he's ignoring simply by noting the portrait hung on the Oval Office wall by his shoulder in this photo. (Do you know how hard it is to find picture frames bent to fit the Oval Office's curved walls?)
He was so taken by it when he noticed I'd slipped it up there (I was able to smuggle it into the White House hidden under my breasts. The security there is so slack that reality show stars are sneaking into state dinners. I hope it wasn't Psycho Russell from Survivor: Samoa. The President could lose his socks!) as a Thanksgiving surprise for him, and as My Gift to America, that he took it down at once, personally, I'm sure to hang it in a more intimate part of the White House, undoubtedly to have something to look at to - ah - inspire him when he's performing his husbandly chore with the drab, glamorless Mrs. Obama.
Barack darling, I would never move my mother into the White House with us, even if she were still alive, which she is not. (Something else to be grateful for.) Just ask Honest Abe, he wouldn't lie to you, because I had my ankles split apart by The Original Rail-Splitter on The Lincoln Bed back while Aaron Burr was still on the five dollar bill. (Man, how it annoyed Hamilton to have Burr on his money.) The only thing I don't understand about Honest Abe is why he didn't come backstage to congratulate me on my performance in Our American Cousin, after I opened in Ford's Theater. In fact, the rude statesman didn't even stay to the end of the show. What could have been so important? The war was over! I'll bet it was that jealous bitch Mary Todd. That woman was nuts! (Too soon?)
If you want to know what I'm giving thanks for, between stuffing and dressing, you can peruse my piece Gratitude Imparting Day over at The Huffington Post. And rest assured, I will continue on here. Joy all around.
Cheers darlings
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