Celebrity Crush

Your beloved correspondent with his current celebrity crush, although I'll never forget my first love

Beloved actress Mary Tyler Moore, who passed away last week at the age of 80. I have detailed in the past on these pages how Mary was my first celebrity crush and a small innocent part of me died with her when I heard the news of her passing. It's true that we weren't together long; after my initial but unforgettable dalliances with her, I quickly threw her over for a long odyssey of fantasy affairs with other celebrities including Loretta Swit, Nichelle Nichols and Natalie Wood when she was in The Great Race before settling in on a longterm masturbatorial relationship with singer Linda Ronstadt that lasted well into the mid-1980s. But my adventurous heart ultimately couldn't be tamed and I finally threw Linda over to begin a lengthy Casanova-like period with tumultuous imagined affairs with the likes of Jennifer Aniston, Julia Luis-Dreyfus and Lynda Carter as Wonder Woman (which, if any of them had known about it, would have made them regret that they ever attended drama school) until my roving eye was finally tamed when I beheld the spectacular rack of Anne Hathaway in the otherwise god-awful 2005 drama Havoc and I pledged to her my everlasting fidelity. I occasionally strayed with fantasy three-ways with Sheryl Crow and the redhead from The Office but then Anne would display her magnificent body in a movie like Love & Other Drugs and she would win back my devotion.

I finally called it off with Anne for good after her string of obnoxious acceptances speeches for awards for Les Misérables and I had a torrid week-long fantasy liaison with the chick from the AT&T commercials which gave me such a bad case of carpal tunnel syndrome that doctors told me that I would never enjoy a fantasy relationship with a celebrity ever again. I proved them wrong when I began a furtive imaginary courtship last year with legendary actress Frances Fisher (who I was attracted to because of her selfless humanitarian work and because I thought she was smokin' hot in an episode of Criminal Minds). The doctors tell me that with the damage that my wrist has sustained over the decades that they can't guarantee that I'll survive this latest celebrity fantasy relationship but, dammit, I think she's worth it to take the risk. It's been a wild ride and none of it would have happened if Mary Tyler Moore hadn't introduced me to the world of celebrity crushes all those years ago. You never forget your first.

My celebrity crush Frances Fisher striking a familiar pose protesting some kind of oppressiveness or other. It's a good thing she's hot.
My fore-mentioned current celebrity crush Frances Fisher, who I follow closely on Facebook to get ideas for amorous scenarios to play out in my twisted mind. Frances' latest piece of tree-hugging do-goodery was to command her minions in Los Angeles to join the Facebook pages California For Progress and March And Rally Los Angeles so we are aware of actions happening in our city, as well as a comprehensive list to make your voice heard. I was already keenly aware that Mr. Trump was the worst president in the history of our country only a week into his administration. What makes him even worse is that now that I have a bleeding heart like Frances as my fantasy girlfriend, I'm expected to get off my ass and do something about it. I guess all relationships have their sacrifies.

The fraud Horatio Magellan Crunch

Cap'n Crunch. A friend of mind reprimanded me that posting my recollections of wanking off to Mary Tyler Moore on the day of her death was inappropriate. I countered "If her sibling or one of her children had any chance of seeing my post that would have been one thing, but the reality is that she is no more a person to us than Cap'n Crunch." My buddy thought he had me at that point in the argument when he shot back "Cap'n Crunch is someone who qualifies for 'Stolen Valor.' Look at his sleeve. He has 3 stripes, not 4. HE IS NOT A CAPTAIN!!!" So I looked it up and sure enough, this Crunch character has been living a lie all these years. That may disappoint you but I find the sudden revelation that Horatio Magellan Crunch is really a "bad boy" to be incredibly hot. I may just have to jerk off to him tonight.

A recipe for Cool

My old pal Glenn "Piece of Shit" Simon. I recently began a series of illustrations depicting "cool people" in order to give my army of fans some hope during these dark days of Donald Trump and his fascist regime. They include such well-known figures as my current celebrity crush Frances Fisher, the Dalai Lama and debonair leading man of the 1930s and 1940s William Powell. And because I am a shameless suck-up, I throw in the odd person that I actually know in them in case I need help moving or a ride to the airport at some future date. Latest in that line was Mr. Simon, who was pictured with his ubiquitous Boob Cup. This prompted him to reply "If it wasn't for Boob Cup I'd never get to hang out with the cool kids." I'd never thought about it that way before but I realized Mr. Simon was right; without the porcelain mammary glad he's always clutching, there's nothing cool about him at all. It's kind of like imagining Rick Perry without his "smart guy" glasses or me without my beloved pug Winston; take it away and you get an entirely different effect. But with or without his Boob Cup, I know that as long as Simon is included, I'll never be the goofiest guy in the picture. And I think that's pretty cool.

History trying to repeat itself
President Donald J. Trump, who chose National Holocaust Remembrance Day to announce a nationwide ban on anyone entering the country from the seven most Muslim-dominated countries in the world (none of which had anything to do with 9/11 or any other terrorist attack on U.S. soil). Mr. Trump's statement on National Holocaust Remembrance Day made no mention of the Jews who were murdered in the tragedy but the ban he signed later in the day had their blood dripping between every line since it recalled the U.S.'s shameful rejection of refugees from Nazi Germany before we entered the war. As with everything he's done during his nightmarish first fascist week as president, his ban was met with massive protests and was issued a temporary stay by a federal judge. In the mean time, Mr. Trump has announced that he is committed to shoring up the military in an apparent move to follow his political idol Adolph Hitler's master plan to bring us into another world war. I frankly don't care what kind of smart bombs or super drones Mr. Trump wants to buy for his plot to dominate the world. I'm more concerned about the warning issued by Albert Einstein: "I know not with what weapons World War III will be fought, but World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones."