Cas(h)stration

Today I was abhorred after reading about John Karr, the self-alleged killer of Jon Benet. It put me in a fury that a man would not only do such a terrible act, but make up something so brutal. I quickly, snapped my fingers at summoned a Mojito.

I do believe in castration for useless people like that. If felines have to do it, at least use it as a consequence to all the child molesters in the world - starting with Jacko.

Nevertheless, I was pleased to see the tv show 24 take the Emmy, and Tony Shaloub for Monk - even though I've never seen it. I was titch dissapointed that Lisa Kudrow didn't walk away with an Emmy for her dramatic turn as Valerie Cherish on The Comeback. Mainly because Julia-Louis Dreyfuss and I do NOT get along.

One drunken day 'round the time of the '96 People's Choice Awards, JLD and I sat under a Central Park Bench, giggling and counting foreigners. It was a muggy morning, and I guess we woke up there. But nobody knew. There were no autograph hounds nor paparazzi. I guess we looked like vagabonds. Like Dylan or Kerouac. We were not romantically involved. It was just a coke thing. She was so grouchy that morning. Saying that there were ticks all over her private regions. I scoffed, " I'm clean as a whistle. Toddle-doo. I have brunch with the Prince of Cashmir and I have to clean up." So Manuel brought my segwy and I was off. But, just as I reached my grip on the handle bars Julia had the gall to ask for cash.

-"Cash?" I pondered. "What's that?" I said.

-"Cash? You know? Money in paper form. To borrow, you know." She pleaded, like a immigrant peasant.

- "I only carry cards, and my den mother, Cloris Leachman, told me 'Neither borrow nor a lender be'. You'll have to use your celebrity!

Then I wisped away on the Segway to brunch.

Julia has never forgiven me for some reason.

Its either that or because I zoomed over her as I drove away.

John Goodman told me I broke her ankle in eight places. I asked him for her address to send a bouquet. He advised I visit the hospital. I refused. I don't visit hospitals. Doctors visit me. The architecture bores me.

So, Emmy Night. Stephen Cojucaru (Cojo) has his little crush on me, but I can't be around him because he make my soul feel ugly, so I slipped into the HBO Party narrowly avoiding his cheek implants. So, I run up to Adrian Grenier and I hide out with him in the bathroom stall. He offers me a snort of "Splenda". I decline, but we share a stall while he does his thing, and I do mine. To him.

Otherwise I'd say it was a swell evening. I'm happy for you Julia-Louis, and I hope you can forgive me, someday - especially now that your employed again.

Off to Bermuda for a week. Aufweidersien.

Amen.

Beckett Boo, esquire
Cat Blogger Extraordinaire!
www.blogspot.beckettboo.com