Scooped

The Transcendence of B

2006-02-14T06:29:00.000-08:00

I remember fondly my first ride in a horseless carriage, as we called them then. Father was dropping off a delivery at the cemetery. It was a simpler time, then. A much simpler time. Such a simple, simple...

We didn't have to bother with seatbelts then, and we certainly didn't have to endure public scoldings by a US cabinet member.

U.S. Transportation Secretary
Norman Mineta was taking the pop star to task for photos that showed her driving with her infant son on her lap.

Mineta called the pictures "troubling."

"No matter who you are, there's absolutely no excuse for this display--not instinct, not fear, not even reckless paparazzi," Mineta said.

[Spears's] apology, which included the tag, "It is what it is, I guess," did not suffice for Mineta, who kicked off National Child Passenger Safety Week with a little kick to Spears.

She is a charming little whore, no?

Les Oscars

2006-01-31T06:56:00.000-08:00

Wel, the nominationsa are finally in. A few surprises and a few disappointments and a few delectable Hollywood stars whom I wouldn't mind filleting at the after party. And the nominees are:

Best Picture: Capote, Good Night and Good Luck, Crash, Munich, Brokeback Mountain
Best Actor: Phillip Seymour Hoffman, David Strathairn, Terrence Howard, Joaquin Phoenix, Heath Ledger
Best Actress: Felicity Huffman, Reese Witherspoon, Judi Dench (SIGH), Charlize Theron, Keira Knightley
Best Director: Bennett Miller, George Clooney, Paul Haggis, Steven Spielberg, Ang Lee

Judi Dench? Again? What is this... 2000? I remember an evening Judi and I spent in Picadilly, twirling parasols and nipples alike (but who's and when?) in that superb spring air. She was just a summer stock corkstopper in those days, with less talent than cleavage and I was a tired old director, even back then. We had moments by the river, moments in the Tower of London. I broke her heart and spared her, that night, on the terrace, that leather stretched so tight across my hand. I regret that night.

Paging Mr. Martin

2006-01-27T08:27:00.000-08:00

An inside source tells me Mr. Steve Martin will return as host of Saturday Night Live next week.

Yes, we did. And no, I didn't.

Furious!

2006-01-26T12:55:00.000-08:00

GWEN! TAKE THAT OFF AT ONCE! I AM FURIOUS!

I am sorry, all, for losing my temper like that. But look at that RIDICULOUS OUTFIT! GRAAAWWWLLLAAARRR!!!!

The Plan

2006-01-26T12:06:00.000-08:00

Though I've had more conquests than I care (or am able) to count, few were as satisfying as the night with the Naked Warrior: In my circle of friends, you see, irony is the highest art and to have seduced a figurine such as Richard Hatch, an ephemeral flicker, a -- as you might say -- hologram of fame, is both a delight for my friends and a feather in my cap. I remember him telling me that night, as I covered his thighs in Tazman bandu oils and he took a long, luxurious drag from a Malay stick, that he intended to "pull the wool over that [expletive] IRS's eyes." (I've never paid taxes, but I have friends, you see. And I keep a lower profile than Mr. Hatch.) I smiled, took the joint from him, and wished him luck, but, alas, his plan seems not to have worked.

Hatch, who is considered a flight risk because he owns property in Canada, was led out of the courtroom in handcuffs and taken into custody. His conviction stems from his failure to pay the IRS its share of his $1 million winnings from the CBS show.

He was also found guilty of skipping taxes on $327,000 he earned as co-host of a Boston radio show and on another $28,000 in rent on property he owned. The jury, however, acquitted him of seven bank, mail and wire fraud charges.

Richard, though you were a passing chuckle, I shudder to think what they'll do to you in prison -- only because I won't be in on it. Won't you allow me the pleasure, while sparing you the torture? I have a wonderful stainless steel mezzaluna (Crate & Barrel, I could marry you) that I think would do the trick. And, yes, I'll play that Al B. Sure song you were so enamored of that evening.

My Candidate

2006-01-20T08:52:00.000-08:00

I am not a political creature by nature. I find it unclean and uncouth and unsporting to fret oneself with ethics, morals, the this-and-that of society; never mind to discuss such matters with others.

But once in a while a candidate comes along what tickles and excites my better sensibilities and urges me to look up from the boudoir and take notice of that unsavory political sphere. It is with great enthusiasm and good humor that I endorse, for your consideration, Jonathon the Impaler for the executive position in the great state of Minnesota!

You have heard me mention about Impaling terrorists and criminals. Many people may think it is a barbaric form of punishment.

Well, is it more barbaric than what bin Laden and his followers did to us on 9-11 when they killed innocent Americans? Do you think the Al-Qaeda worries about being humane when they attack? How about when they decapitate and kill innocent American hostages?

Is Impaling more barbaric than when an adult rapes an innocent child? Is it more brutal than a man who rapes, beats and/or kills a woman?

Now, tender reader, you understand there are certain elements of his philosophy that I am unable to get completely behind - a mere superficial scratching will tell you that. But I admire his verve, his panache, his dedication. Mr Impaler, I tip my hat to you and wish you luck in this cruel world of simpleminded civility, of laws bent and broken. It could use a little of your style. See you in the ether!

Priorities

2006-01-19T14:26:00.000-08:00

I'll admit, there were times when guilt would wriggle its bony hands round my neck and make breathing a little more labored. To absolve it, occasionally I'd volunteer at the Youth Farm, that old stone building and its steaming chimney, shoveling glorp into the mouths of babes. And they'd sing and dance, their lilting cockneyed accent, their simple clothes, a patchwork quilt in fabric and in spirit. I recall those times, now, as some of my happiest: the looks in their eyes, when the ladle would come down, and I, the Bringer of Nourishment. Well...

Hollywood's own street urchin is, no doubt, the lovely Reese Witherspoon, who's been burdened with more this week than most dare think of bearing.

Photos published this week showed the Golden Globe winner wearing the same glittery Chanel cocktail dress that Kirsten Dunst had worn to the awards in 2003.

Witherspoon believed the gown — in a champagne color with metallic trim on the bust — was vintage, her publicist, Nanci Ryder, was reported as telling the New York Post in Wednesday's editions.

"Reese was told the dress was vintage," Ryder was quoted as saying. "It was not. I'm not angry — just a little disappointed, but the big deal is Reese won the Golden Globe."

Reese, I'd love to love you to pieces, and I'd stitch you back up again and have you as my own smiling rag doll. I'll borrow that high gauge thread from a "friend" in Detroit. Don't worry, the maid will take care of the mess. (She learned to stop asking questions years ago.) Just you and I. In the foyer, in the study, strolling in the garden. The moonlight, the night. You go limp in my arms, forever smiling.

Mentor

2006-01-13T15:14:00.000-08:00

Remember when he had one glove? That was my idea. The ghouls rising from the grave to show off their rhythm? Me. Molesting all those children at his amusement park home? C'est moi. For years, I've acted as a consultant to the King of Pop during his most debauched and most inspired chapters. But this, ladies and gents, is a masterpiece all his own.

[A] recent lawsuit [against Michael Jackson] hits the trifecta, alleging the pop star sexually abused a boy in the 1980s and 1990s, lifted lyrics and melodies from the child, who was as young as 2 at the time of the reputed plagiarism, and reneged on a deal to pay for the songs.

Perhaps making the lawsuit at least a quadfecta, Jackson, 47, is also accused of burning, beating, and torturing the then-child, and forcing him to undergo "unnecessary cosmetic surgery procedures."

Though the bloods of temptation have run thick through me, a teacher could never destroy one of his most prized pupils. Not without provocation, anywhow. No, this one I want to watch.

Ahh, the French

2006-01-12T17:02:00.000-08:00

A country of fine taste, France. The finest. I recall fondly my several months there on Montmartre, traipsing up and down that formidable hill, an explorer in the erotic wilderness. A young man named Jean-Luc, immersed in his studies -- Medeivel politics -- and I, as I always am, charming to the last. What a summer. Whilst my eventual knighting of Jean-Luc, oh, bookworm, involved a sharper steel, the lovely Penelope Cruz has received a more ceremonial nick of her own.

Spanish actress Penelope Cruz was made a Knight in the Order of Arts and Letters (Chevalier Dans L'Ordre Des Arts Et Des Lettres) in a ceremony in Paris, France. Yesterday.

The sultry Blow actress, who appeared in the French film Fanfan La Tulipe three years ago, was honoured for her international film career...

Penelope. When I look at your mouth, as it happens, I am reminded of that self-same scholar whose thigh bones still poke the ashes of my sleepy fireplace. Penelope, have some paella with me and breathe deep into my silk handkerchief, lest that Catalan lilt dissuade my mortal advance. Onward!

Not the Babes

2006-01-11T09:55:00.001-08:00

It wouldn't -- it couldn't -- I shouldn't ask. It would be too much. Three locked in the basement, singing songs? Brad, you I'd dress as a swimmer. Angelina, a nurse. And the child I'd raise on my own. I have plans for the child.

Angelina Jolie is expecting a baby this summer with Brad Pitt, PEOPLE has confirmed. "Yes, I'm pregnant," Jolie told a charity aid worker in Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic, Monday. The pregnancy has since been confirmed by representatives of both stars.

This is the first biological child for Jolie, 30, who is already the mother of son Maddox, 4, whom she adopted from Cambodia, and daughter Zahara, 1, adopted from Ethiopia in July.

Angelina, I could gaze upon you as Galileo on gentle Jupiter. Brad, you'd fit nicely in my well. All should come, have some dinner! Call me...

Is This Thing On?

2006-01-11T07:25:00.000-08:00

I love the Interworld! Oh, how I love it. It's been years since I've found something so erotic, so loving, so beautiful and so electric. Something I can sink my teeth into. I look forward to murdering all of you.

Lindsay! Oh, Lindsay

2006-01-11T06:35:00.000-08:00

In my youth we had a name for girld like Lindsay Lohan: dead meat. The murdering my chaps and I would commit on redheaded nymphs like her was rarely to be matched. While charming them was certainly a challenge, they were also always able to put up a fight. It was a much freer, much more innocent time and I rue its passing now, as my sides grey and my knees ache. But, alas, old MM has a murder or two left in him and a charming smile, to boot!

So when I read that Miss Lohan is in a state of self-denial, attacking Vanity Fair for publishing some unsavory bits from a recent interview, my antennae went up. This is just the kind of mindless vanity that attracts me, like moth to flame, and stirs up the old killing spirits once again!

"The words that I gave to the writer for Vanity Fair were misused and misconstrued, and I'm appalled with the way it was done," Lohan says in a statement to Teen People.

"Aside from [the writer's] lies and changing of my words, I am blessed to have this job and wonderful family that I do," Lohan's statement continued. Teen People says Lohan's publicist, Leslie Sloane Zelnik, claims the actress has never had bulimia.

"Evgenia Peretz is one of our most reliable reporters," the magazine said in a statement. "Every word Lindsay Lohan told her is on tape. Vanity Fair stands by the story."

I don't want to come right out and say it, but I find a bony elbow erotic, and the more lost in the tangling vines of one's own self-image and ego the better. For in that jungle a hunter like myself feels truly at home. "Yoo hoo, Miss Lohan! Yoo hoo... Where is that girl who danced with the Disney characters? Yoo hoo."

Miss Lohan, I'm not saying I'll murder you, but I'm not saying I won't, either. Believe me, I've laid to rest bigger bosoms than yours. And I've done it with class. But here is my proposition: dine with me, slowly, in dim light, and sip from a large round glass of champagne, the kind that hums when you run your finger across it, and pour your miseries into the fountain of my heart. I want to take it all in. Then I'll show you my rope collection. And while we're at it, let me have a crack at that lush father of yours -- old MM has never shied away from experimentation and it sounds like he knows how to have a good time.

Prima Noce

2006-01-06T09:10:00.000-08:00

Good morning lovely people of the InterWorld. Ah ha ha ha. Oh, the way you look today. Makes me breathe tiny breaths. Makes me smile tight smiles. Makes my penis stir ever so subtly beneath the perfect seam of my Italian pants. Salut, InterWorld citizens. Cheers and Na Zdrawie to those across the border. I am the Murder Man and in time I will have murdered you all. With style.

What goes on in that little head of yours? Hmm? Let me rub my finger across the length of your jaw, down to the nape of that neck and -- mm -- across your shoulders. Yes. I have fine tastes. And so do you. Which is why we'll be dining on one another for dinner.

I am Murder Man, my dear. But you may call me MM. Or M. Whichever you prefer. Probably M is best, now that I think about it.

So why am I here? Why are you here, is the better question. But we'll save it for another day. The answer may... frighten us both.

I am here because this is where you are. And you. And you and you and you. I am here to suck it all in, to taste the InterWorld, to run along its shores and, yes, to seduce and murder all of you. Man or woman. Ha ha! And, from time to time, I'll share my thoughts on current events, music, love.

I'm entitled to as much an opinion as the next guy, no?

Farewell, for now! Soon we shall talk sweet talks of sweetness and in the end, only one of us will walk away alive. LIFE! So fleeting!

Arrivaderci.