 |
|
Vermont Teddy Bears
Vermont Teddy Bears. Hall of Fame yenta Misty LaRue posted an image on her Facebook wall of a smokin' hot model embracing a Teddy Bear twice her size and lamented "Ugh...Those commercials again. Yes, nothing says romance like a big ass Vermont Teddy Bear to shove in the corner of your room and hang clothes all over...Can I just have the cash instead?" It's not often that Ms. LaRue and I are on the same side of an argument but I am compelled to agree that those ads are a low point of the Valentine season. They put out the supposition that the only way for a man to make his Valentine (who inevitably has the face of a movie star and the body of a world class athlete with an oversized boob job) happy on the ultimate Hallmark Holiday is to gift her with a stuffed toy designed for a three year-old that is so large that it needs to be delivered via fork lift. So much so that the manufacturers indicate such a gift will send his super model girlfriend into an immediate sexual swoon, although it seems to me like the sudden rush of hormones is directed at the bear as opposed to any mere human who provides it. I have no idea what kind of twisted shit they're into at the Vermont Teddy Bear Company but I suggest any suitor trying to impress a potential beau on Valentine's Day stick to flowers or chocolates. Because a year from now, you don't want to be making a toast at the wedding of your super model to a stuffed bear with genitalia that's six times the size of what you've been issued and covered with adorable shaggy fur. Or better yet, just give your lady cash, as Ms. LaRue suggests, so at least you'll save yourself the humiliation of buying the bear for her. You still won't be able to compete sexually with a seven foot-tall Teddy Bear but if she's desperate to cross that line, she can pay for the thing herself.
My Facebook pal Rosie De Candia, who posted on her wall the results of one of those applications which promised to tell her what would happen to her on Valentine's Day, with the answer being "Someone will ask your hand in marriage." Since I am superstitious about angering the gods who oversee the social network, I immediately replied "Will you marry me? Hey, it didn't say your answer would be yes." This prompted Ms. De Candia to seriously consider my proposition, warning me how high maintenance she is; something that I guarantee you that I was already aware of before I made my offer. But the Golden Gate Bridge is high maintenance as well and it offers all the qualities I look for in a woman: it's always supportive, it's great to look at and it's fun to crawl on top of. Not only that, but every time a movie is set in San Francisco, you know it's going to be destroyed by the end yet it's always able to pull itself together for the next movie set in San Francisco that's inevitably going to end with it destroyed again. That's important when you're in a relationship with a man like me since I'm pretty high maintenance myself and my bride-to-be is going to have to be resilient while serving me breakfast in bed and reassuring me that my many paranoid conspiracy theories are solidly grounded in reality. It's exhausting work but that's why our national infrastructure is crumbling. I suspect it's why one out of every four bridges end in divorce.
My longtime nemesis Jesse Merlin, who announced that he was cast in the role of Salo the alien in Stuart Gordon's stage adaptation of Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.'s The Sirens of Titan. Since I haven't read a book since Dick was trying to get into Jane's pants, I have no idea what the story is about. But that didn't stop me from crapping out one of my delightful pulp novel covers which depicted a space alien-green Merlin carrying off a scantily-clad damsel in distress to his extraterrestrial lair as my beloved pug Winston fires at him with a ray gun. Winston has since assured me that he is unaware of being a character in any Vonnegut novel so my artwork is probably not 100% accurate. I even screwed up the title in the first cover I attempted when I called the thing The Sirens of the Titans but that just shows my level of excitement at another Merlin/ Gordon collaboration, teamed so famously in Re-Animator: The Musical. I'm told Mr. Merlin's character is just three feet tall in The Sirens of Titan whereas he was whittled down to just a head Re-Animator: The Musical, so clearly Mr. Gordon has some kind of fetish for cutting Mr. Merlin down to size. I'd advise him not to bother. I've been trying to do it for years and I haven't had any luck yet.
The fabulous Lisa Glass, who posted a handy to-do list on her Facebook wall of what suspected illegal immigrants need to do if ICE agents come knocking on their doors with the aim of deporting them. Ms. Glass and her bleeding heart cronies advise our friends from south of the border to take such steps as don't open the door, remain silent, and don't sign anything. Good advice, to be sure, but what it doesn't take into account is that I have frequent brushes with the law in the form of being served restraining orders by woman like Ms. Glass; and her little inventory is just as helpful to someone like me from keeping the cops from making me stay 500 feet away from her. There's a Bob Dylan song whose lyrics say "Indeed you're gonna have to serve somebody" but thanks to Ms. Glass and her list, when the cops come to serve me I'll be hiding behind the couch.
The fabulous Mara Marini, who found the note pictured to the left attached to her car on Valentine's Day. Ms. Marini took the high road, saying "Awww! Someone just left a sweet love note on my car! Must be a secret admirer." Whoever he is, I think Ms. Marini's would-be Valentine should be congratulated for his selflessness. Whenever I give a woman a Valentine, the underlying message (regardless of how laden it is with chocolate or flower petals) is "please fuck me." It's nice to see that this latter-day Cyrano de Bergerac is thinking about the woman's needs before his, and I advise Ms. Marini to seek this Romeo out and see if sparks fly between them. If he turns out the be the man of her dreams, fantastic. If not, his handwriting is almost illegible anyway. Fuck him.
|
 |
