Let's talk OSCARS! 2017 was one of the finest years in cinema history. Here is my list BEST FILMS OF 2017 LIST.


Best Director: Paul Thomas Anderson - PHANTOM THREAD
Best Actress: Saoirse Ronan - LADYBIRD
Best Actor: Timothee Chalamet - CMBYN
Supporting Actress: Laurie Metcalf - LADYBIRD
Supporting Actor: Sam Rockwell - THREE BILLBOARDS
Best Original Screenplay: (Tie) Great Gerwig - LADY BIRD and
Jordan Peele - GET OUT
Best Adapted Screenplay: James Ivory - CMBYN
Best Cinematography: Roger A. Deakins - BLADE RUNNER

This is the OFFICIAL WORLDWIDE BEST OF FILM 2017 list. Better than any other list on the planet. No other list celebrates all of the films worthy of an award. Thank you. My work here is done.
Enjoy the ACADEMY AWARDS this SUNDAY MARCH 4th. I will be hosting! Enjoy the show.



I like Twitter better. I don't have the pressure to write complete sentences.

I'll be back with a post soon, but for now FOLLOW ME me at:


Δαμοκλης and The Wicker Hammock

Today I received a postcard from my step-brother. Penn.
Penn Badgley.

He consigned it first class mail in a manila envelope to my NY offices and Shoshanna shipped it post haste to my remote island off Crete. I was directing 'Mamma Mia!' under my pseudonym Phyllida Lloyd, and had a spare hour while Meryl took her time endowing a jazz square. A polite sweaty Greek serf in a satin turban and limestine sandals hand delivered the letter. I'll name him Δαμοκλης.

I perambulated to my trailer, and latched the bolt. I unfastened the clasp and withdrew the missive. It was still wet with ink and sweat. I furrowed my brow, sipped some Brandy and read aloud. The note was brief, and out of respect to the scribe I will shelter its contents.

Badgely and I go way back. November 1, 1986. I was fresh off my success in "SpaceCamp" when Momma wired me the news. I called my agents at UTA, and had Badgely signed immediately. With my looks, Momma's freckles and Badge's natural smoldering rodent-like bone structure he was a natural family investment. Right away, he booked a Nintendo voice-over job for Mario Kart 64. Really. He did. Check Wiki. Not kidding. Call his publicist. Its true. Ask Trent Vanegas. Really.

Penn and I had it rough. He was adopted, sort of, and Poppa had to intervene during many violent altercations. Once he nudged me in the gut, and I chewed off his ear. But he won. He only has a fake ear. I a nudged gut which in turn has given me irritable bowel syndrome or "IBS". But, many a joyful memory remain. A thrilling event, we were chased by a pack of wild arctic red wolves straight on through to Jacksonville. No one went to Jacksonville. It was the slums. That's where they went through the trash to recycle the plastics we threw away. Where they made poop into peanut butter. Where they bought things at 7-Elevens or Dollar Stores on credit!

Karmaharija Goot was the leader of the slumlords. He had a a grey beard, 84 teeth and a tattoo of Jordin Sparks. He also owned two concubines and a local trout pond. He had his cronies follow us home after the YMCA bus failed to pick us up after school. Poppa had mesothelioma, and Momma slept during the days. But because we were both celebrities we got free YMCA.

The men followed us in a brown El Camino with a hay bale, a pitchfork and a pirated copy of "Duplicity". Badgley and I quickened our steps. The El Camino pulled over and a man in the driver seat indicated that our parents were in some sort of incident. He told us to get inside the car so he could take us see to Momma and Poppa at the hospital. Badgley and I didn't care because we were both adopted, and knew that we would split a handsome insurance policy. But we obliged the lonely man 'cause back in those days we had to walk places, and my feet hurt from step class. Penn and I hopped in the back of the truck and the man us sped away cackling to the tune of "If I Had A Hammer." Then a net fell over our heads. Later I found out it was a wicker hammock. Just a side note.

I must have fallen asleep, but when I woke up I was in a ranch staring into the eyes St. Jolie. I said, "Saint Angelina please save my brother, Penn and I, from this creepy man that looks a lot like J.K. Rowling." She resonated, "Find out how much God has given you and from it take what you need; the remainder is needed by others." I wept a sapphire tear when she paused at the semi-colon. I did. It's in the Smithsonian.

Suddenly, I realized it was NOT St. Angelina Jolie but the creepy man dressed like J.K. Rowling! I sprinted, but he snatched (gross!) and clutched me by my jean skirt. Badgley crouched (gross!) next to a conveniently located blowtorch near a flammable pile of dry newspapers saturated in gasoline, and moved the blowtorch to a safer place. I lit a matchstick resting in the left corner of my lip, lighted it off Badgely's cheekbones and threw it in slow motion. We fled in fast motion and got double time out of our precarious situation out the back gate. We scaled walls, back-flipped over barbed wire. We somersaulted in unison into the old man's truck, and praised our kinesthetic responses. Penn quickly hot wired the El Camino. I took photos to sell later to TMZ.

As we took off, Penn told me that they were going to blind me with candle wax. I couldn't believe it. I felt pensive. So, as we drove through the desert and I stared aimlessly thinking of Latika. But, unfortunately, we did leave a good friend there back at the ranch. I think I remember his name. I think it was Walter. Yeah, Walter Collins. I know he got away. Got a letter from him from Cambodia. Told me his mother swapped him for a kid named 'Maddox'. Walter went communist and ate locusts. But he was happy. Fell in love with a cobbler's aunt. Owned a few kilometers of rice paddies. We heard he was alive and that was enough.

Penn and I had some laughs on the road. We sang Dusty Springfield and Kool Moe Dee. We ate Subway and always asked for Dijon even though the staff knows it as 'deli mustard'. He always had interesting criticism about my books on tape. He didn't make me stop at Starbucks. We were good road buddies.

I reclined in my faux chinchilla divan, and considered Penn's letter post-read. The stars lit in Gemini, and the stain glass shone from the brazen moonlight highlighting my high Irish cheekbones. A beam of moon illuminated a scribbled word from Bagdley's poor penmanship. It read: "P.S.- I can't believe Gossip Girl is..." The rest of the letter will be read on my guest staring role on the season finale of Gossip Girl in 2010. Hint: Mushy Patchouli.

Anyway this polite sweaty Greek serf in the limestone sandals needs me to sign something. Why can't Manuel or Shoshanna handle these trivial, physical tasks? I'm a glass menagerie, don't they know? I have osteoporosis and rickets. I'm also anemic and have lupus. But I can't let Δαμοκλης wait any longer. I've already had him proof read this twice. What is a customary tip for a Greek serf? I'll just give him porridge, five shillings six pence farthing and a gift certificate to Big Lots.

Also, to my fans. Stop sending me "Curious Case of Benjamin Button" joke mail with my face cropped over movie stills. I'm not amused and its tacky.



cc:christine collins

Beckett Boo, Esq.
Cat Blogger Extraordinaire


Beckett Boo Esq.'s 25 Random Things About Me

via Facebook

25 Random Things About Beckett Boo Esq.

Ostensibly, the Rules:
Once you've been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you. At the end, choose 25 people to be tagged. You have to tag the person who tagged you. If I tagged you, it's because I want to know more about you.

To do this, go to notes under tabs on your profile page, paste these instructions in the body of the note, type your 25 random things, tag 25 people (in the right hand corner of the app) then click publish.

25 Random Things About Beckett Boo, Esq.

1. I invented candles.

2. I have no STD's despite Larry King's accusations.

3. I throw away my plastic bottles like a normal person.

4. I pee sitting down.

5. I went to summer camp with Candace Bushnell.

6. Bubbles creep me out. So does, suntan lotion.

7. I have Academy Awards. As you know.

8. I’m part Cherokee.

9. I deflowered Joy Fanning.

10. I have no favorite cereal.

11. I file away junk mail and yell at my wife as to why coupons were not utilized.

12. I look down on the poor, and envy the blind.

13. I paid for two of the following, but won’t say which; Sex, Murder or Plutonium.

14. I am the only person with a DVD copy of Back to the Future IV.

15. Perez Hilton is my enemy du jour, and if I see him in a club at night I’ll piss on him so he’ll glow in the dark.

16. I hate Oliver Platt’s dramatic work.

17. I have a castle, chateau, estate, hall, manor, palace, hut, residence, seat, villa in all 193 Sovereign States.

18. I was a pirate in the summer of 1439.

19. I smoked a joint with Michael Phelps. I rolled, he lit.

20. My uncle’s cousin’s nephew was one of the “two thieves” who was crucified with Jesus.

21. I see a harbinger.

22. I’ve never eaten after 4 p.m.

23. I’ve never seen a laundry room.

24. I accidentally mentioned at a holiday party to Dick Cheney and Colin Powell that I “thought” Saddam Hussein had weapons of mass destruction.

25. I have camel toe.

cc: shoshanna
bcc: robin wright-penn


Olympic Sangria

Today I am competing in the Beijing Olympic Finals in the Men’s Judo and Gymnastics categories.  In my resplendent career I have earned Fifty-Seven Gold and Silver medals in various categories (even the discontinued Basque pelota).  But, I have never won a bronze.  I repeat, I have never won a bronze.  The bronze medal looks like a giant penny, and do you know what I do with pennies.  I commission copper chamber pots.  I don’t even capitalize “bronze” in sentences.  Unless it’s the first word of a new sentence (for all my 5 and under readers).  My favorite Olympic sports are Pentathlon, Synchronized swimming, Shalom, Discus, Women’s Softball, Men’s Wrestling, Pommel Horse, Skeet and of course the Gymnastic Floor Exercise.

The Gymnastic Floor Exercise program is the most demanding and masculine of all Olympic sports.  It consists of a series of tumbling passes which are performed to demonstrate flexibility, strength, and balance.  My routines include floor jumps, hump spilts, scales, and press handstands.  I  usually close my routines with my classic demi-grand rond de jambe, others don’t.

Since I was a commoner I have cultivated a love for the Olympics.  Perhaps it was my bi-racial community coming together, the fashions and bulk, the palm chalk, javelins, numbered back tags, sponsors, or perhaps it was the Winter of 1898.  I had a brief romance with Nadia Comanechi's grandmother, Gabby.  We lasted all summer until I playfully shot her with a potato gun full of sauerkraut.  She was humourless and sensitive.  I feared her needs.  I had my own.  I wanted the Gold.  So, I left her for Errol Flynn.  

When I was a child, Poppa surprised me on my birthday with a Redwood Sled handcrafted by a young Frank Lloyd Wright.  Poppa and I would hike to the top of the local alpestrine. We would eat Peanut Butter and Banana sandwiches on white bread and sing ‘Frere Jacques’ as we treked through the snow.  Even Mom and I used the sled to drag Poppa's luggage out to the sidewalk when they divorced.  

I always took the sled werever I went.  My favorite memory was in Norway.  Poppa and I raced an massive avalanche trailing behind us.  It was fantastic time I will never forget.  Although I have forgotten Poppa.  That’s when we last saw him.  Grandmother said he was frozen by kindness.

I loved Poppa, but I loved that sled more.  It was like a puppy to me.  My sled never left me like Poppa did.  I should name my sled.  But not for Poppa.  I don't remember his name.

Paul Hamm and I are having drinks this afternoon before the balance beam. I’ll need a pitcher of Sangria before we get to the Pommel Horse.  I do a lot of tucking for that event.  Soshanna is at Capezio right now buying me some spare dance belts.  I need two.  I do have quite a long tail.


Beckett Boo, Esq.
Cat Blogger Extraordinaire!


The Scab in the Hat

Today I was named "Scab of the Year" by the Writer's Guild of America. I considered it a compliment, but wondered how they knew I got scabies from that Castro District Motel 'Cot and Stomp'. But no one texted, e-mailed or considered to tell me we were going on STRIKE. Even my assistant Shoshanna who has access to my Sabbath courier pigeon did nothing. So, unknowingly, I went ahead with my scheduled meetings via my Armani Blackberry Pearl.

Imagine this. Me elated. I had just signed a multi-million dollar deal with Paramount Classics for my scripted romantic comedy, "Alkoholika". I was sooo ectastic I did one of those jumping side click kicks, and was pleasantly pleased with my soft landing.

But upon arrival at the Paramount Studio gates I was mobbed by striking union writers. They shouted defamatory remarks, hurled tomatoes at my abdomen, and, to really piss me off shot a poisoned arrow through the rib cage of my beloved Pomeranian, Shue-Shue.

Aaron Sorkin pulled on my ascot and screamed: " 'My name is Jessica Hodges, and I'm in the third grade, and this is my question: What's your favorite part about being President?' Bartlet replies. 'I'm doing it right now.' I wrote that!"

I was quick to blame. "You killed Shue-Shue for that wickedly witty, fast-paced sentimental dialogue?!" Sorkin replied, "No, Boo, you did. It's your blog. You wrote it." [Pause.] "So noted," I huffed appropriately adjusting my ascot back into its Cocolupa knot. Then Bruce Vilanch chimed in, "Panache!" for no reason.

Meanwhile, my beloved Shue-Shue lay twisted and writhing in a pool of blood. Soaking the concrete like a spilled Slurpee, and do you know what I did? I let them watch. Yes, It was tough for me, but harder for them. I held the intellectual property rights, and they could not write about it! In addition, it was my dog and my poisoned arrow.

Tomorrow I have meetings with Jeff Zucker, Sherry Lansing, Michael Lucas, Harvey Weinstein and Lorne Michaels. I'll let you know how everything goes.

Yes, my name is Beckett Boo, Esq. and I'm a fantastic opportunistic.


Beckett Boo, Esq.
Cat Entertainment Blogger Extraordinaire!


Britney Spears and the Celebrity Child Cellar

Today I o'erheard private gossip in my redleaf rose garden betwixt two serfs that the phenomenal actress of one of my favorite films "Crossroads", Britney Spears, has ventured into mainstream pop music with her debut album, "Blackout".

I first met Britney on December 2nd, 1991. I was a young 165. She was twelve seconds old. I was there watching her dramatic entrance into the world via the birthing canal of Lynne Spears. How Lynne fit a baby, a hot pink party wig and a Mercedes Benz up there is beyond my comprehension. But there is no doubt. I was there. In fact, the Mercedes Benz hit me upon exit. I sued, and we signed the papers saying I would own Britney's first born. Ron Spears. The one no one speaks of - except me. Even my assistants, Shoshanna and Manuel, do not have access to my celebrity child cellar. Ronald is doing well. He recently hacked the Ann Coulter Website. I love Ronald - and all my celeb first borns. We are starting a softball team in the winter. So no one sees us.

Despite the settlement animosity Lynne made me Britney's Godfather (so I get 30% of all profits) and I secretly reign as the Spears' holiday bash Santa Claus. Jaime-Lynn confessed to wanting her sisters career for Xmas. I said, "I'm a jew, but come back and see me when you f**k some of that baby fat off." Jaime-Lynn ran away crying while the elfish midget photographer and I snickered. We always quote lines from the cult classic "Showgirls to videotape the children's reactions. You should have seen when I exclaimed to her brother Bryan, "I use to love doggy chow!" But, he understood and replied, "I use to love doggy chow too!" Then we acted out the hospital scene after Nomi Malone pushes Crystal Conners down the staircase. Bryan Spears is a great kid. I'd exchange Ronald for Bryan anyday.

But, Britney will always be the star of the Spears family. From her sassy teen spirit on the "The Mickey Mouse Club", to her comical turn as a closeted lesbian Christian on "Will & Grace" and her stirring revelations in "Fahrenheit 9/11" Britney has been a true leader of Artistic independence. I wish her nothing but goodwill on her debut album. I encourage everyone to purchase it. If not for Britney and her family, but for my 30% profit.


Beckett Boo, Esq.
Cat Entertainement Blogger Extraordinaire!


Who Were They When?

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Joyce DeWitt
"Three's Company"

Joyce Anne DeWitt is a crazy American actress perhaps most famous for her role as Janet Wood on the television situation comedy Three's Company. She does autograph shows and last appeared on the hit Reality TV show "America's Next Producer". No need to tell you what she's up to because she tells you herself at her 70's chic, designer website She could use a new hair style, but I love her. More than I love Chrissy! She's an avid pant hose wearer, and dated LeVar Burton.

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Lee Majors
"The Fall Guy and 6 Million Dollar Man"

Lee Majors, birth name Harvey Lee Yueary, is an American actor, primarily known for his roles in movies, sitcoms and television who also starred in four long-running ABC TV series over four decades, retiring in 1986. Around the time you were born. He holds the Guiness Book of World's Record Titles for worst male birth name and best screen/porn name.

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Jodie Foster
"Moi, Fluer Bleue"

Alicia Christian Foster. better known as Jodie Foster, is a two-time Academy Award-winning American actress, director, French recording artist and producer. She has also won two Golden Globes, 3 BAFTA awards and a Screen Actors Guild Award, making her one of the few select actors to have won all four major motion picture acting awards. Ooops, she's still around. Note to self: Call Jodie.


Beckett Boo, Esq.
Cat Entertainment Blogger Extraordinaire!



The lyrics stain around the notes in repetition like a Gertrude Stein poem, dangerously subtle and unassuming. With a sound quality that would make Alexander Graham Bell’s old rusty gramophone blush Radiohead’s new album "In Rainbows" reminds the individual that our generation has gotten too old for psychedelic mushrooms. Produced by Nigel Godrich the introspective beats and poppycock lyrics sober your nerves while your car stereo suffers from its weak shriveled sound system like a cold wet penis. The music is so avant-garde I wear a hockey mask, and attempt eating risotto soy porridge with a plastic spork. It's cathartic. "Arpeggi" and "House of Cards" are among the classics of the bunch. The college boys will say they love it, but secretly don’t understand it. The Elite will play it at ballet class for their three year olds, and Suzanne Vega will probably do an acoustic cover of "Nude".

I love "In Rainbows", and give it a whopping four Mint Juleps out of five. The last one, I drank.

Ironically, I drank it at a gay speakeasy called, In Rainbows. Manhattan 22nd and 8th Avenue. October 12th Midnight. I was in the pumpkin camisole. You wore hazel khakis. Call.

The Radiohead guys are so rich they are giving away this album for free. I was never a Radiohead fan until my college days at Wharton when I first heard "OK Computer". I lost my virginity to the stinging love anthem, "Packt Like Sardines In A Crushd Tin Box". I’ll spare the details, and specific orifice.

Thom Yorke had the privilege of a rare sit down interview with me at the Four Seasons Beverly Hills:

Beckett Boo esq.: So what’s wrong with the eye?
Thom: Droopy lid.
Beckett Boo Esq.: So, I hear you have a free new album coming out?
Thom: Yea, it’s called “In Rainbows”. It’s a pay what can you can situation.
Beckett Boo Esq.: Is it tax-write-off-able?
Thom: I don't know U.S. tax law. I’m British.
Beckett Boo, esq.: That’s explains the mumbling. Continue - tax law?
Thom: Uh – uh don’t know, but its probably a tax write-off for wealthy Americans with income over $200,000.

[He turns to guitarist Colin Greenwood and they toast with recycled plastic bottles of Volvic water.]

Beckett Boo esq.: You like to get political don’t you?
Thom: I’m just calling them as I see them, bloke.
Beckett Boo Esq.: Is it true that “Creep” was written in the men’s toilet at your alma mater Exeter University?
Thom: I thoroughly deny that in my autobiography.
Beckett Boo Esq.: Wikipedia says its true. But we’ll talk more about that “off the record”.
Thom: No. We won’t.
Beckett Boo Esq.: Why does it take three times alone in your car to understand a Radiohead album?
Thom: That might be your experience, but I can’t speak from an objective point of view.
Beckett Boo Esq.: The eye thing is creepin’ me. No pun intended.
Thom: No problem. You're having an emotional response to something that isn't normal for you.
Beckett Boo Esq.: So do you have anymore questions for me?
Thom: I didn't ask you any questions.
Beckett Boo, Esq.: Touche.

[End of interview.]


Beckett Boo, Esq.
Beckett Boo, Esq. Cat Entertainment Blogger Extraordinaire!

Four Mint Juleps Out Of Five
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Beckett Boo's Apple Brownie Surprise

Preheat Oven to 350 degrees.

Mix 1 Cup of Sugar/Splenda, 1 egg cream and one stick of THC, Δ9-THC, Δ9-tetrahydrocannabinol laced butter.

Mix Together thouroughly. Disguise my hate for Charlize Theron overwrought performance in "Monster" when she calls.


1 cup of Flour 1/2 tsp Soda
1/2 tsp Salt 1/2 tsp Baking Powder
1 tsp cinnamon

Mix Together thouroughly. Pilates with "Manuel".


1 cup (2 Apples Peeled and Chopped)

Mix With a Wooden Spoon.

Put in an 8 inch Square Pan - ungreased.

40 minutes at 350 degrees.

[Double recipe for a 9X13 pan.]


Beckett Boo, esq.
Cat Blogger Extraordinaire!

G*DAMMIT, Miley F**CKING Cyrus!

I was present at all of Streisand’s Farewell Tours, Sang a duet of “Say, Say, Say” with Michael Jackson in Budapest, sat Luxury VIP at Justin’s Futuresex/Lovesounds Tour, rode motor bike across the country with Eddie Vedder and Sean Penn, had a recurring role on The West Wing, won three Oscars, trained all the gymnasts at Cirque De Soleil, wrote the bestselling autobiography “I Laugh and I Love That’s How I Stay So Fit!”, made a sex tape with Britney Spears and Kevin Federline (he was on bottom) and I STILL can’t get tickets for f**cking HANNAH MONTANA!

My adopted Anguillan son, Absolam, would be so thankful if some kind, generous, supportive individual would donate a ticket to my sickly, adopted, wretched child. One ticket will do. Absolam can go with the Ritchie’s and play with Rocco and David Banda. I’ll get seaweed facials with Lola, and Zahara. Ooops – mixing up the bastards and adoptees, again.

But the question remains. Out of the billions and trillions of VIP events that I have attended and presided over why the f**ck can I NOT GET A F**KING TICKET TO THE F**KING HANNAH F**CKING MONTANA CONCERT!

[Brief pause. Throws Baby Phat Sunglasses against glass cubed wall. Glasses shatter - upon Glass.]

Incidentally, my assistant, Shoshanna has just whispered to me, that I am the current owner the Staples Center wherein the concert is to be performed. I, apparently, have a private box reserved box.

So, now I am forced to cancel the show.

If I have to go, Absolam will not.


Our Publicity Department Thanks The Good People at Defamer.Com
For Mentioning The Debut of BECKETTBOO.COM:


Beckett Boo, esquire
Cat Blogger Extraordinaire!


Slacks, Pants and a Papsmear

Today is my first,
For Your Information Blog,
or FYI #1.

Here is a short list of words
that make my soul cringe:

















Harry Potter words (i.e. Quidditch, Horcrux, Reparo)







and, finally,


Please do not correspond with me using any of those ridiculous word. If so, you will be blacklisted..forever.

Right, Portia De Rossi?


Beckett Boo, Esq.
Cat Blogger Extraordinaire!

Der Unfall ist auf der Kreuzung Passiert! (English Version)

Today I arrived post haste via my black stallion carriage to Burning Spear's concert at the Hollywood Bowl. Burning Spear is a Grammy Award winning Jamaican roots reggae singer also known for his Rastafari movement messages and, of course, being Britney's grandfather. So it was good to see her, Small Fry and Tater Tot.

My assistant, Shoshanna, begged for an extra ticket. She, finally, confessed to being a Jewish Rastafarian. I was wondering why she hadn't washed her hair since I hired her. But, I got her a ticket anyway. Section V2. Far. An early Christmas bonus.

The night was a haze. A lot more white people than I would have liked, but, alas. I think I got what is commonly referrred to as a 'contact high'. I was so happy, free and less moody that I actually tried to speak to "the locals". I introduced myself to a German concert goer named, Digrib. She introduced me to her pals Atrebor, Hcaz, Divad, Deraj, Nais, Ttirrem, Sirhc and Mark. All wonderful people and considerate Germans. Except for Mark.

Mark is a considerate fellow, but no German.

I tested him by asking, "Wie geht es Ihnen?"
(How are you?)

He replied, "Zair goot."
(I'm good)

I questioned, "Letzten Sonntag blieb ich zu Hause."
(Last Sunday I stayed home.)

He responded, "In der Nacht wird es kalt"
(It gets cold at night.)

I retorted, "Ich bin gut in Chemie."
(I am good at Chemistry.)

He implied, "Der Unfall ist auf der Kreuzung passiert."
(The accident happened at the crossroads.)

I finalized, "Ich möchte zwei Ananas! Entschuldigung Sie bitte."
(I would like two pineapples. Excuse me.)

Then Digirb and I left Mark and searched for two pineapples. Somehow, people thought we were being racist. I was. Digirb wasn't. She was a lovely sweet pixie German girl wearing Dutch Adidas. She had red ponytails, and sold aspirin as ectasy. Quite a profit. I liked her ambition. Good person too! I'm sure if she were Oskar Schindler she would have bought many Jews.

If Digirb found the pineapples I requested I would certainly fire Shoshanna. But, Shoshanna, had me by the balls. All three. Photos of me. Audio converstaion. Private diaries. The password to my blog. She could put me in the poor house. I'm being blackmailed. Help. If you've read this far.

So, we returned to our garden boxes when Burning Spear invited me up to sing a duet of "Jah Say". I obliged much to the demand of the zealous crowd. When we got to the harmonies I bit my toungue to quell my vibrato. It may have made me sound "pitchy". But, I'll check You Tube tomorrow and see for myself. I felt like I was sitting by the pool on a Carnival Cruise line, but docked and obliterated. Everyone told me the next day I was singing with my back to the audience, and my pants were backwards and my fly was open. Perhaps, there won't be a You Tube post afterall. Note to self: Call lawyer.

I felt okay to drive, and I did. Right into a concrete barrier, and over a 50 foot bridge. It sounds cartoonish, yes, but it happened. Luckily, I'm alright ' cause I can write what happens to me. Unfortunately, Shoshanna did not make it. She died horribly smushed by a fender in the skull and a heavy bag of used moist towelettes.

[I'm alive, asshole! - $ho$hanna]

So, I have a heavy schedule flowing ahead. That's sounded menstrative. But, I'll be out of town for a time, and Audio Blogs will be arriving in late August! After I airbrush them.

Amen. Goodwill toward all of Mankind.

P.S. - All my blogs are copywrited by U.S. and International Law. I'll sue you, and insure that your families future geneology is extinct. Cheers.

Beckett Boo, esq.
Cat Entertainment Blogger Extraordinaire!


Hepburn and the Mint Julep Chalice

A Mint Julep is a summer porch cocktail traditionally made of four ingredients:

Fresh Mint, Kentucky bourbon, cane sugar and water. In the use of sugar and mint, it is not be confused with the mojito. I prefer crushed Viagra. But, I do not condone it because I'm just a fancy gay cat.

Kate Hepburn and I use to challenge each other by testing Spencer Tracy to figure out from whose garden the fresh mint came from. My forty acres and my mule, Cracker Jack, or Hepburn's luscious thousand acre compund 'Grayskull'. Spencer always guessed which one was Kate's. He knew not to cross Kate Hepburn. She had a special blowtorch that she promised to ignite his eyebrows with if he was wrong. I liked his eyebrows, so I always spat in his Mint Julep before he made his final decision.

Hepburn was a meticulous gardener. Pruning and snipping. Carefully choreographing the placement of each rose and snapdragon. The Mint had a special section. Next to the the gazebo, westward of the river's edge and 200 miles south of where she lived. There grew Katharine Hepburn's Mint leaves. She told me this was the perfect soil to grow Mint. I asked her, "Hep, why don't you grab a shovel and bring the dirt back to Grayskull with you?" "Darling", she intoned in her classic quiet wail, "we must go to the Earth. Work with the Sun. Let them guide the way." I could smell the Nag Champa breathing from her armpits, but I stood fascinated as she picked particular sprigs.

"Aaaaahhhhh-hhhhaaaa! Ttheeesseeee aaaarrreeee thhhee ooonneeesssss" She announced for forty-eight seconds. So, we got back in Kate's 1939 Hummer H2 Early Edition, and gas guzzled through the landscape smoking cloves driving to Grayskull compund. I was 'nipping Moonshine waiting for the fucking Mint Julep. I may have even popped a tab of acid. But, I'm not sure, or that day Kate looked very alienish. Either way we had a very fun ride back to wherever the hell we were.

When we arrived home. It took Kate twelve seconds to make four Mint Juleps. For Spencer, Kate, Me and a young Phil Collins. It was well worth the drive. The Mint was exquisite. The grandest Mint Julep I had, nor ever will have. Spencer guessed it was Mint from my garden after a tossle of the hair on young Phil. Katharine tilted her head to the side, and flared out the blowtorch. Spencer stood up and pulled her into his side and kissed her on the lips. Still and passionate, like those 40's movies. Katharine melted into his embrace. We all laughed and sang along to an early acoustic experiment called "Sussudio". Either way, Phil was a budding talent with that charismatic button nose and fantastic golden feathered hair. A talent I was willing to quelch with a little help from Hepburn's blowtorch.

There's nothing funny to say about Ms. Hepburn. She was one of my finest Mentors. She was as classy and unladylike as a gal should be.



"The origins of the Mint Julep are clouded and may never be definitively known. What is known for certain is that the Mint Julep originated in the south US, probably sometime during the 18th Century. The word 'Julep' is derived from the Persian 'Julab' meaning rose water. Traditionally, Mint Juleps were often served in silver or pewter cups, and held only by the bottom and top edges of the cup. This allows frost to form on the outside of the cup." Thank God for Wikipedia cut and paste. I prefer a platinum chalice.

Beckett Boo Esq. Mint Julep Chalice Cocktail:

Type: Mixed Cocktail
Served: Over crushed, or shaved ice.
Standard garnish: Mint leaves
Standard drinkware: Tall glass, or "Julep Chalice".

3 oz. Bourbon whiskey
4 to 6 sprigs fresh Mint leaves
Granulated Sugar, to taste.
(American readers, please use Splenda.)

Preparation: Put fresh Mint, sugar, and a small amount of crushed or shaved ice into the bottom of a Julep chalice or tall glass. Muddle the Mint and sugar, then let stand for a bit to allow the broken leaves to release their flavor. Add bourbon whiskey, top off with crushed or shaved ice, and stir well to mix and chill the libation.

In addition, always capitalize the "M" in Mint and the "J" in Julep.

Everywhere. Yet once more, amen.

Beckett Boo, esq. Cat Blogger Extraordinaire!


Clash of the Hilton

Today I ran into Perez Hilton at The Coffee Bean, literally, as he was jammed in the door. I wanted to help, but I figured it would give me more time to get out of the country with David Beckham before he "outs" him too. I smiled at him, and laughed - then wrote this. I'm still giggly.

The last time I saw Perez it was Mardi Gras '82 and we met at a Frontiers Magazine Party. He was a rent-a-twink, and I wouldn't pay 50 cents. He even tried to talk me down to a quarter, but I told I'd get all the diseases he had in the alley for free. So, we chit- chatted about "hooking" and I told him that based on the amount of time he was putting in the profit margin just wasn't worth it. My advice: Blogs. He scoffed, and I scoffed back. Then we looked up the word "scoff", and found that we meant "sneer". I told him "Fine. Here's a bit of advice then. Buy stock in Enron."

The next time I saw him was the bathroom at the WeHo Target being paid by a tranny. I pretended he was straight just to twist the knife a little deeper, and asked, "Who's your wife?" He pretended I wasn't there even though I asked him through my bullhorn. So, I let that one go.

Another time, I was doing a local access show as Perez was just starting his blogging "career". We were trapped in a thin hallway, and we knew there was no way I was getting through without a crobar and a vat of vasoline. So, I started some small talk:

- Well, Perez, here we are again. Looks like the camera adds ten pounds.
- I hate myself, he replied, I hate my body, my looks, the sad way I make living ruining successful people's lives.
- Boo, I whispered.
- Are you mocking me, Beckett? He huffed.
- No, that's my name Perez. Boo.
(I whispered it because that's code to my assistant, Shoshanna, reminding me to put a restraining order placed against him.)

"Well, I took your advice Beckett," he drooled, "I'm a big blogger now. I'm gonna make millions and buy the boots out from under you!"

"Perez, darling, the boots are priceless. They were a gift from the Onassis family. This is the fur of Jackie's yak, and if you want to make your legacy as a glutton, and cancer on culture, my friend, be my guest. But they'll find a cure for you, and I'm sure you'll find it on Craig's List under M4M Antelope Valley."

Perez, aka Mario Lavandiera, fell silent. He knew he was out of his league. "Well, I gotta get to jet, Beckett!" Perez said sinking into his signature slouch. "Watch yourself, and I'll get you Beckett Boo, esq. I'm powerful." He tried to step forward to no avail.

"Well, looks like I'll have to go the other way." I responded blithely. Perez insisted on sliding past, and I had already filled my "rude-meter" for the day, so I allowed passage. Our bellies barely touched. For once, I found remorse from him. It may have been the Panda Express he seemed to be digesting. I felt a heart. I mean a hard-on. I knew what it was. I saw it on the 'Manhunter' website years ago. Politely I insisted that my wife, Pegasus, would be offended. So, it was a no-go. I'm not marrried, but I had just seen "Clash of the Titans" that day, and a young Harry Hamlin was on my mind.

So, I had Shoshanna prepare me a bath - with Lavender, Ajax and Brillo Pads. I couldn't get the Perez Hilton moisture out of my pores. Shoshanna is good with a colonic, but no good at facials. So, I had my body rubbed down by Sven and Gorvac who do that radiation treatment thing Meryl Streep gets in "Silkwood."

The moral of the story is: Don't use your Arts Degree to sell your friends and fellow Artists short by "outing them" and damaging the mystique of the characters and stories they are telling. If you do you'll make a lot of money, but you'll always have rabbit teeth.

Sidenote: Watermelon is a very vaginal object. Tasty, but, remind me to tell Shoshanna never to buy watermelon again.


Beckett Boo, esq.
Cat Entertainment Blogger Extraordinaire!


How I made $7.75 In 22 Minutes

Last night I attended the opening for Robin Thicke's new men's cologne "Thickenesse". Not a catchy title, but I don't think there are gonna be buyers anyway. I sold my stock once I noticed he was white.

All the usual suspects were in attendence: Brooke Hogan, Cheyenne, Kim Stewart, Talon, Trishelle from The Real World, Jenna McCarthy and Chamillionaire. His new copper "grilles" are atrocious. I'm a Platinum guy. Chammilionaire suggests that Copper is set to make bundles in the stock market, but doesn't seem right that a man named Chammilionaire should wear pennies for teeth. At least that's what I thought until his bodyguards pulled out Coral Blue Diamond Grilles which Chammi told me "off the record" was only for use on certain female anatomallia.

Repulsed, I retreated to the VIP room, because, yes, Chamillionaire told me all this while snacking on whitefish piccata dumplings. So, there I was curtained off from all the Z-List celebrities, and Stalkkerazzi. I was finally at peace. Me, Robin, Alan Thicke, Robin's publicist Amanda Silverman, Adam Sandler, Gabriel Macht, Don Cheadle, and Suzannne Sommers. Maybe I was drunk, but I did get along pleasantly with Suzanne. I may have offended her when I said, "VIP room? This is more like the tram tour at Universal Studios." But she laughed and half of her face jiggled and we laughed again. Then again.

I spent 22 minutes total at the party pretending to listen to a duet with Robin and Chakka Khan. It was like peeing on yourself at fat camp. I was embarrased for everyone - except for me. I'm gorgeous. Luckily I was listening to an Oprah Bookclub podcast on my strategically placed Ipod Shuffle. "Light In August" F.Y.I.

So, I left because I loathe being the "biggest celeb" at the party. I need deflection.

I sold Robin Thicke's album that was so graciously inserted into my gift bag on Ebay. I made a 5 buck profit - plus shipping and handling. I'm never really gonna mail it anyway. So...$7.75. I don't know who the Purchaser of the album was, but I hope they know Robin's white.

Beckett Boo, esq.
Cat Blogger Extraordiniare!


The Truth About Penny Lohan

Today I despise Dina Lohan.

Dina and I go way back to summer camp. 1985.

I was a counselor at an unspecified government facility and Dina Lohan was my counselee. Dina told me things I could never say, by law, if they hadn't taken away my f***king Psychology license. But, I can shout them now!

She made a move on me. She used my love of Sweet & Low and told me there was an even sweeter tasting artificial sweetener except this one you snort up your nose. She was right. I lost 8 lbs. that night, and if you don't know what "lbs." is you shouldn't be reading this blog. She seduced me, and we did "it" despite the fact that I was "bi" then, and that day the coin had flipped to "heads". I dealt with it in the most appropriate fashion I could. Medevial Armor.

We dated for a few days. Dina bitched and complained all 3 days of it! I couldn't take it. She was speaking so fast that I thought it was Portugese. I am fluent in Portugese, so I misunderstood a lot of what she was saying, but I did hear her say, "I'm pregnant."

I said "Kill it. I'm too young to be wasting my time on babies. For goodness sake, Dina, we did it because of the Meth, and that's not a way to force a man into having a child!"

She threw a sucker punch at me, but my bodyguard Tonraq deflected with a elbow jab to her larynx. So, we broke up, and she met some convict, and had some more babies.

But I'm forced to know deep down, "Lindsay's" mine. I'm not saying anything publicly because I really don't care. She just taking up too much of my Press. I'm not going Larry Birkhead or anything. I don't want this on my resume. Nor my biography that's why I am settling this old score on this private blog. Plus I have 38 other children...

But the rest of this blog is for "Lindsay":

Dear "Lindsay":

It's me. Your true father, Beckett. First, lease change your first name. Your mother has a history of naming children poorly. I had no say. I am sorry. It's tough being the popular girl with such a lousy first name. These are my choices, daughter: Leighanna, Vianca, Lajita, Akeldama, Jezebel or Penny. If you had a unique name you wouldn't have to overcompensate. I'm not scolding you. Trust me, Penny, I've had my nostrils sewn together a couple times now. But, when you have this much blackmail over Hollywood I get great doctors.

[Stay with me this far "LIndsay". Almost done. No sleepy, yet.]

So, to recap, ditch the name. Keep in touch with Dina, but protect yourself from her "Peter Pan Syndrome". Don't call me, or that Michael guy. He's a patsy, and I don't really care. Go to acting school, or call my friend Hugh Hefner (323) 555-3187 at the Playboy Mansion - he'll hook you. But have a good life. Take better care of yourself. Don't blame anyone, but yourself and your publicist. Call Ken Sunshine. If he'll see you.

Also, your Mother was never a "Rockette" for Radio City Music Hall. Unless you call being a "Rockette" being the top call girl at Bling Bling's in Astoria, Queens. Your Mother has exaggerated that story for yeeeeeeeeears. Just like I brag about have four Bentley's on my episode of "Cribs". I only own two. The other's were borrowed from Ice T. There I said it. Let's all join a 12 Step-program.

You can just rest on your laurels, or you can be a woman and pull "an Angelina". Pay for Ken Sunshine. Whatever the cost. Look what he did for Leo, and Leo was a huge x-head.

There's a way to stay drunk and still make it look dignified.
Fix it, Penny.


Beckett Boo, Esq.
Cat Blogger Extraordiniare!


Universal Arabesques

Today I thought about the Universe.

I was relaxing in my marble jacuzzi ears underwater listening to the silence watching the glistening great beyond above. I wondered, would I be adored beyond the firmament? Do aliens worship me, as my fans do? Would I still be an entity after my immenint demise, and if so, what kind of spirit would I be and what would I look like? Is botox available in heaven, and how much does it cost? Are there coupons - and do they stlll double them at certain supermarkets?

No, I was not 'shrooming I was just relaxing with my rooibos tea and my chef, Manuel, who was saturated in olive oil and rasberry preserve. What would become of me when I came to my...End. My 'cul de sac', as Hemingway once wrote. Would Manuel be there? Would Zsa Zsa Gabor be there? Would my blanket, Tonky, be there? I was heavy in thought as the jets of the jacuzzi roared against my nether regions. What does it all matter? Would people continue to read my blogs? Would Steve Guttenberg ever work again? Would they ever make a sequel to my favorite film, "Showgirls"?

My final response: Yes. I matter. Yes. You matter. Even Elizabeth Hasselbeck matters - because Life matters. Because Love matters, and dammit I Love me. I do. Unquestionably. Actually, overwhelmingly. I have my webcam on myself as I write this blog right now. Damn, I'm f**king gorgeous.

So, I phoned my friend Dionne Warwick. Dionne awnsered the phone as she usually does, "I know it's you". I asked her, "Dionne how do you always know it's me?" She claimed psychic ability. I knew it was caller ID, but I placated her anyway.

-Dionne, you are such a brilliant psychic. How do you know such things?

-Beckett Boo, she replied, it's just about - listening. Stop. Breathe and listen.

For some reason I thought she was psychically telling me I was on fire. So instead, I stopped, dropped and rolled. As, I rolled I did a Petit Battement into a Plie and rounded off into an Arabesque. Manuel was impressed because I did it all with my bluetooth ear piece.

- Beckett, Dionne blurted, have you ever experienced Enlightenment?

I hesitated. Was she referring to my Nusrat Fateh Ali Kahn compilations, or the the 'Tao of Pooh' audiobook I received from Jared Leto? Nevertheless, I said, "I don't know, Dionne. How do I find this...Enlightenment?"

- Stand in front of a mirror and stare at yourself for 30 minutes, she spoke softly. Look into the design of your eyes. The richness of its green tint. The pupils and the pure whiteness of the outer circle.

I followed her instructions although my eyes were blazin' red from the Dom Perignon. Yet, I saw a vague green tint. I meditated on my beauty. I winked at myself when I felt charmed. Then I french kissed the mirror. If only I could meet me, and me was a 14 year old greek boy name, Zyylos. But, I saw Dionne's point. How could I question the universe when the universe was in my eyes?

Five hours later I fell into a spiritual coma. My pulse dropped. My extensions were coming loose. Manuel's fingers turned pruney, as I forgot to release him from the jacuzzi. But, I was at peace. Calm and stationary as a stillborn baby.

I spoke 'Pig Latin' backwards, and felt my head swarm with images of elephants having lyposuction. Was this enlightement? I rushed to my Wikepedia and found this, "Enlightenment (or brightening) broadly means the acquisition of new wisdom or understanding enabling clarity of perception." I had several words for Manuel to look up for me in the dictionary. I stalled as he turned the pages. My eyes averted ignoring his wrinkled index, thumb and pinkie.


It seemed to me that I shouldn't have skipped all my Calculus classes. I knew none of these words. Manuel had a lot of 'looking up to do'. Poor Manuel. At least he was nude, shaved and Argentinian. I certainly knew those words. By heart.

So, I'm still searching for Enlightenment. My best friend, Kelly Ripa, told me it would take a lifetime to find. Luckily, I have 7 left. So, I figured that it really doesn't matter and I can go back to doing what I do best - drinking. It was after my 8th cocktail that I fell into my infinity pool and drowned. During my resucitation I found Enlightenment, and it was chapped, shriveled and Argentinian.



Promises, Promises

Today I was, finally, released from rehab. Thanks to all the well wishers who, adoringly, have written and sent discreet packages of "legal" substances to get me through these rugged six (6) months.

In rehabilitation, with my anonymous friends L. Lohan, C. Love, M. Jacobs, H. Joel Osment, E. Van Halen, R. Williams, K. Urban, T. Haggard, M. Barton's sister Hania (oops-named her), I. Washington, and Ms. B. Spears we were forced to watch all 10 seasons of "The View". I've had enough of Joy Behar's Comedy Corner to last me 9 lifetimes. In fact, it caused my friend Britney to jump the gates and shave her head in the San Fernando Valley. That was around the time we got to Season 4 - The Lisa Ling Days.

These days the air smells significantly sweeter, but life is tedious and remarkably boring. I miss my opium infused Mint Julips and my crack dealer, Rajj. But, I have noticed positive changes in my day to day life since my release. For instance, I've read the first 30 pages of about 200 books. I use an escalator instead of an elevator. I tie my own ascot. I like running around nude in the sprinklers. I eat pork chops. My penis grew 14 inches, and I suddenly feel "feelings".

I did miss a lot being away from the news media for so long. I can't wait to eat lunch with the Beckhams and get my face back in the tabloids. I don't care what they say about me I just miss being in the press. Although, if PerezHilton "outs" me I swear I will shoot him with a Super-Soaker full of Cat Urine. Mine glows under a blacklight, so I'll make sure it happens at Club Stereo or Hyde. I'm starting to run out of enemies because now people have all this sudden sympathy for me, so I have made PerezHilton target and Plus-Size enemy #1.

The first thing I did upon my release was call Shoshanna. Shoshanna, as many of you already know, was my assistant that I fired after she forced my grandmother, Heidi Klum, to enter me into rehab. I understand now why Shoshanna did what Shoshanna did - and if you reading this blog aloud it must be fun to have said Shoshanna as many times as I have written thus far. Shoshanna was hired as my "Yes" woman. My Howard K. Stern, if you will, and when she said "No" to my request for a featherbed cot and a bottle of oxycontin I was forced, by terms of her employment contract, to let...her...go. She quickly found employment with my ex-"wife", Michelle Rodriguez. But when I phoned Shoshanna immediately left Michelle at some bar named after Frida Kahlo, and wisked me away from my isolation.

Shoshanna has since received a raise. Largely in part for her participation in my soul's renewal, but also because when I returned to my estate there was the featherbed cot, a Mint Julep, and a freshly filled bottle of oxycontin. Shoshanna, apparently, had had enough of Ms. Rodriguez, as I did during her Sapphic beginnings. Like I've always said, "Too much vagina is - repulsive."

So, I'm home.


Resolute - and resting comfortably on a listless cloud of vapid emptiness.

Shoshanna shall receive medical benefits, and I will re-instate her green card.

I now have my comfortable life back, and my "Yes" woman.

It's good to be home...wherever the hell I am.

Always Yours - well not always,

Beckett Boo, esq.
Cat Blogger Extraordinaire!