No Beans About It

A short addendum to yesterday's post. First off, I'm including the above picture for those of you who thought I must have been hallucinating about seeing Tony Danza play Max Bialystock on Broadway in The Producers, simply because he is gross miscasting for the role. If I was, then that was the most overpriced hallucination I've ever had. I think the person who was hallucinating was whoever cast him. The man couldn't handle a talk show; how on earth could anyone think he was up to the rigors of a role that exhausted Nathan Lane, a man with talent?


Tony however, is now looking to make a career out of "Covering" all of Zero Mostel's old roles. Look for his Psudelous in A No-Longer-Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum, in which Tony will at least seem convincingly Italian, and then to replace Mel Gibson as Tevye in Fiddler on a Hot Tin Roof, which my devoted fans know I appeared in the movie of.


My thanks to constant reader Jeffrey Swanson for his suggestion that, in future, I cut back to just two beans. Perhaps he is wise. However, a discovery I made on awakening this afternoon suggests that the problem is not the amount of beans, but the source. When I awoke an hour ago, I found I simply could not turn over onto my back, a most alarming and unusual condition, given that I have spent the best part of my life, and I mean The Best Part, on my back. Struggling over to a mirror, I discovered the disturbing trouble.


There is an enormous beanstalk growing out of my butt! That's the last time I trade Rosie O'Donnell to Donald Trump for some "Magic Beans"!


Cheers, darlings.