I'm going out to Weho tonight!
I'm trying to avoid Meredith Baxter-Birney's annual "End of '05 Bash" at her lavish pastel color spread in Rancho Cucamonga. It's too far a drive, and I'm not in the mood to run into Swoozie Kurtz nor eat her noodle coogle. We've all been friends since the 1995 made for television movie Betrayed: A Story of Three Women. I played a scorned cop, a la Ray Liotta withthout the bad acne and pockmarks. HDTV and I are best friends. My skin is flawless. Thank you to Dr. Brinstein at the Cosmetic and Neurological Center for Debutantes. I highly recommend him. In fact, if you use my name as a referral I'll receive a free eye lift - and I can donate the savings to some poor orphan charity. That's why I think I was, also, the only one with the Emmy nomination and Swoozie and Mer-Mer got nothing. I can flare a cheekbone better than Thomas Mapother Cruise.
Speaking of Tom Cruise, I haven't been to "Boy's Town" in a long while. I'm just going to let loose and dance. It will be interesting to hear how the hot new "gay gospel" gyrates my hips on the discoteque dance floor. My wife, Marilyn, has forbidden me to fornicate with men during the holy month of Ramadaan. Especially, during war time. It's a vow I'll keep, but that's doesn't stop the fingering. Which makes me remember the time...
[Flash to Bright White. Flashback.]
It was 1944. I was a strapping young dance captain for the Navy. I was paid to teach all the boys to fox-trot before we took them to all the USO dances. We fox-trotted all right, and all night. I may actually be the reason behind the "No Homosexuals in the Military" thing. But , what can I say, it was distracting them, and the limping made the marches look sideways. One day, I was in the middle of a Lambada session with a very young William Holden, and Gary Cooper walks in. Instantly, my gaydar went off, and I called him over to explain the initiation fee. He said, "I'll do anything for my country." I said, "Amen."
We jazzed, tapped, salsa'd, waltzed and square danced the night away. Soon, the sun was rising in the west and scorpio was travelling into virgo crossing. We woke from our "seperate cots" exhausted from a night of drunken revelery. He turned to me and asked "Do you think a gay man can make it as an actor?" I said, "Actors can only be gay men. For gay men are the ones who really know how to act. It all comes from your prostrata - your prostate."
Chatanooga Choo-Choo swelled over the Stromberg Carlson 1101-H and we laughed like fat chums in catholic school. Soon we riffed on some harmonies and (ten minutes later) I was taking his headshots. The composites looked splendid. He had such charisma, a natural smile and small ankles. I knew he was going to be - a Star. So, I somersaulted over to the window and reached my silver arm into the firmament. I pulled down Torcularis Septentrionalis and bequeathed it upon him. I said, "Have this Star. Be a Star. Go and bid do the Lord's work." He smiled at me with some soot in the corner of his mouth. I leaned in and wiped it with my paw. He said, "I love you." I replied, "Never love. Only be loved. It's safer that way." He said, "No, I do. I love you." I said, "When you say it, don't spray it. I want the news not the weather, asshole." I wiped his accidental spit wad off my face, and asked him to leave - I already had what I wanted. He said "I'll call you after I shoot Pillow Talk. I don't think it'll do well at the box office. I'l have some spare time." I never saw him again. I heard he got the Clap from some floozy boom operator. Wrapping it all up, I'd say he was one of the "loves" my life. My Sean Penn, my Kevin Federline. The closest thing I've ever come to true, absolute love.
Anyway, I'm sneaking off to DiCaprio's place later tonight. Leo, Giselle and I have a hot date with Yahtzee! and somehow I'm going to have to bring up the awkward moment telling Leo to quit the acting business, or take an acting class. I think he's losing it. Did you see him in The Aviator? Oscar nominated for a two-dimensional performance. He had so much potential. Then squandered it on Ego, and ruthless Hollywood mafiosa type killings, and such. I can't go into details of the investigation, but with my incriminating evidence and wire taps - Leo DiCaprio is going down - on me, or tonight's game of Yahtzee! The Feds are just one call away.
Well, off to WeHo. Please pray that I don't run into any drunk queer fans with no hair, but a beard. If so, my Martini's are going waterfall down several faces, and burn out the retinas in their eyeballs. I feel sorry for them. They just want my autograph, but the more I sign the lower they sell on Ebay.
Cheers, friends. Amen.
Beckett Boo, esq.
Cat Blogger Extraordinaire!