A Sad Week

Greetings Pets!

Well, it has been a sad week for me, as I have lost three dear friends. Actor Dudley Moore, Television Pioneer Milton Berle and Director Extrodinaire Billy Wilder. Let me say a few brief words about each of them.

The last time I saw Dudley was at the premiere party for Arthur 2. Arthur, as you might imagine, was one of my favorite movies for many reasons. Among them:

Of course, among heavy drinkers, we have a joke. Best comedy about drinking? Arthur. Worst comedy about drinking? Arthur 2: On the Rocks. Not that Dudley wasn't charming, but lord, he wasn't drunk.

Anyhow, I saw him at the premiere party, which may as well have also been the closing party. He was smashed. I was so inspired that I drank myslf into oblivion and woke up in the bed of Arthur 2 co-star Kathy Bates. I still don't remember what happened, thank God!

I only met Billy Wilder once, at the 1945 premiere of The Lost Weekend. I had been invited there to be Jane Wyman's body double. There deal was that if any producer hit on her, she would get him completely wasted and I would "do her duty," as they say. By the time the producer sobered up, I would have been long gone, having left a brief "You were great and SO big, love Jane," written in lipstick on their bathroom mirror. Jane was not the only Hollywood starlet who kept protected her virtue in this way, but she was the only one who paid me in oral sex.

I digress. Billy, or William as he liked to be called, was holding court at Mann's Chinese Theater as the movie ended. I approached him and stammered, "Mr. Wilder, a pleasure."

He replied, "Ah, Lady Potamus, your reputation proceeds you and is, no doubt, well deserved."

I blushed a hot purple shade, and he laughed with that husky Eastern European laugh of his. He offered to take me away from my life of endless parties, drinking, sex, and money. "I'll make an honest woman of you, Lady P," he said.

Alas, I knew in my heart it could never be. I offered, instead, to be his pen pal. Wistfully, he accepted. William and I exchanged erotic postcards with each other for 35 years. I've kept everyone in my attic. As a matter of fact, they are the only thing in my attic, in 45 separate storage crates. Someday, I am going to open the "Billy Wilder Erotic Postcard" museum, just you wait and see.

Finally, it is with special sadness that I bid adieu to Milton Berle.

Uncle Milty was, as many of you may have already heard, the best equiped man in showbiz. Oh, sure, there have been other television stars with big dicks, but his was a thing to behold. Easily as large as $200 in silver dollars. Maybe $250. Flaccid.

I can't recall very much about my encounters with Milt. Mostly, I remember pain mixed with pleasure, mixed with a little more pain. I called that man the name of every diety this plante has ever worshiped, and even invented names of some new ones.

"Oh sweet Borfloppa, god of over mittens!"

"Hakasama, goddess who watches over light rains!"

"Give it to me, Markoniboni, he who makes pickles turn to rice."

You get the idea. I can say with some certainty that he was still using that weapon of mass destruction as recently as the early 1990's. Dear lord, if he wasn't, he was using a baseball bat. I'm not kidding.

Anyhow, my heart breaks at their passing, and I wish them all the best in their next lives. Well, actually, I suspect Milton has achieved Nirvana. He certainly can't evolve anymore than he already did for my money. The man was blessed.

Ah, mourning makes me thirsty. I shall get drunk on sacramental wine.

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Lunch Time

It is lunch time!

Twelve Martinis for Me!

That is all.

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Lady P at the Oscars

Well, what a night!

This year, I will be taking you backstage at the Oscars and telling you what I remember, which is precious little, I'm afraid.

Anyhow, I arrived, as I do every year, a full twenty minutes into the ceremony. I find that this allows my entrance to be witnessed by everyone. First, they are typically in the middle of the Best Documentary acceptance speech by this time, which means that the many celebrities are already bored to tears. I usually enter the auditorium with a deafening "who's drinking?" Every head turns to look at me, including the concerned person accepting the award. They look more nervous than usual for a moment and continue with their speech while I greet many past paramours.

This year, as I burst into the auditorium, I was stopped by "security guards" who needed to do a "body cavity search." Well, I used to have to pay good money for this sort of treatment, so I existed the auditorium twice more. Each time, they repeated the search. How's that for service?

I am always seated in the back, but I like to make a big deal of walking down the entire length of the auditorium "looking for my seat." In the 70's, I used to be able to get some face time on the Oscar broadcasts doing this. Alas, I haven't been friendly with the Academy since I suggested that the only way they could make the Oscars more enjoyable for a general audience was by canceling them all together.

Anyhow, who should I be sitting next to in the back row of the theater but Woody Allen. Now, I confess, I have never been Woody's type by at least thirty years (or, now, more like sixty). Never the less, I thought I would try and score some time with the great man. I grabbed him roughly by the shoulders and huskily whispered, "If you ever get tired of that Korean whore, call me, dear child."

Well, alas, Soon Yi Previn was sitting right next to him at the time. Damn me for forgetting my glasses. She shouted some phrase in some sort of bizarre language, which I later learned was Brooklyn English, and dove at me.

She was the aggressor, so it was she the guards took away. Alas, alas. Woody went running after her and missed the rest of the ceremony. Just as well - he didn't win anything.

I realized that I didn't recognize anyone else up in the immediate area, so I decided to get something to drink.

In the lobby, who should I run into, but Will Smith and Jada Pinkett Smith. Now, I loved Jada in Swordfish and told her so. She shot me the sourest look I have ever received from a woman named Jada. "Jada, I would kill to have those large, firm breasts of yours," I announced, reaching out to give one of them a gentle squeeze.

Well, Will didn't care for this. I had thought he would be in to a little girl on girl action, but it was not to be. Ah, how I longed for the days of the great actors like Spencer Tracy, Sidney Poittier, and Monty Clift. They wouldn't have turned down a threesome, let me tell you! I still remember a tryst I had with Spencer and Kate (as we all called Katherine Hepburn back in my day) on the set of "Guess Who's Coming to Dinner." No need to guess anymore, children. We all came.

As I wandered back into the auditorium, there was Sidney, accepting an Oscar. Well, I felt just awful. I don't know what film he won it for, or whether it was for acting, producing, or directing. Hell, with Sidney's talent it could have been for make-up design.

Let me tell you something about Sidney Poittier. Maybe you young people drool over the likes of Ryan Philipe these days, but back in my day, nobody made our pulses pound more wildly than Sidney. Those eyes. That body. That clipped style of articulation.

He was one of the most beautiful men on screen then and, looking at him on stage, I must say he has only improved with age. I felt myself getting all weak in the knees, like I did when I first met Caruso. I'm not sure exactly what he was saying - I think he was thanking some dead people - but I experienced such a tremendous climax that I screamed in ecstasy and then passed out in the middle of the auditorium.

When I returned to my sense, I was in a large, warehouse like area surrounded by people walking on their hands and rolling around in cages. I figured that I had finally arrived in hell, but learned that these were just (ahem) circus people. Standing over me was Donald Sutherland, a gentleman if ever there was one, and some girlish man named Glenn.

Donald asked if I was all right, but all I could blurt out in reply was "are you real?"

Donald and this horrible Glen person laughed and said, "you're the second person to ask us that!"

I was a little taken aback at their laughter at first, until I realized I was sharing a cot with John Nash, subject of the movie A Beautiful Mind. He had apparently had the same reaction I did to Sidney, but they were just leading him back to the auditorium.

I had had enough of Oscar night, so I stayed backstage with my new friends from Cirque du Soleil and showed them some tricks I learned at a circus in Bangkok. Ah, if ever there was a more appropriately named city on the planet, I have yet to see it!

That's it from the Oscars! Have a nightcap on me!

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Rejected Screenplay - Fuh Fuh Fuh

Fuh Fuh Fuh...
A Moving Film


A middle class elementary school assembly. Children are filing in. It is a large elementary school. Close ups of kids coming to their seats, pushing each other, smiling and laughing.

They are settled. A man in glasses, the PRINCIPAL, is at a podium. He is indicating with his hands that the kids should sit down.

Children! Children!

Quiet at last. We see the children settled in.

Good morning. To get us started today, here is fourth grade president Jamie Hoffman with the pledge of allegiance.

A cute little boy is standing next to a teacher, MRS. SMITHERS. He, JAMIE, looks up at her imploringly.

Go on, Jamie.

Nervously, JAMIE walks out to the front of the assembly. The PRINCIPAL sets up the microphone in front of him. He stares out at the audience, petrified. Silence. A nervous giggle from the audience somewhere.


JAMIE looks over at MRS SMITHERS. She nods encouragingly.

I pee... pee... peee...

Somewhere, a couple more children start to giggle and snort.

I peeledge allegiance to the fuh... fuh...

The PRINCIPAL looks at MRS. SMITHERS, bemused.

Fuh... Fuh...

JAMIE is nervous. The crowd is starting to laugh.


The PRINCIPAL and MRS. SMITHERS look alarmed. The auditorium falls silence.


The PRINCIPAL, infuriated, grabs JAMIE and pulls him off stage. His rant continues.


Cut to an office, later. JAMIE is sitting on a chair in the background.

Fuh Fuh Fuh

We pan over to a concerned looking mother, MRS. HOFFMAN. She has been crying. We hear the voice of BRAD, the school counselor.

Mrs. Hoffman, I'm afraid I have some bad news.

What, doctor, what?

Mrs. Hoffman, little Jamie is suffering from a medical condition.

Oh my God.

It is a disorder of the brain that compels him to swear.

Noooo... My baby has potty mouth.


For God's sake, get hold of yourself Mrs. Hoffman. This is the twentieth century. We call it Tourette's Syndrome and its nothing to be ashamed of.

Fuck. Fuck the goat bitch fuck fuck.

Cut to a dinner table. MR. HOFFMAN is scowling.

Turd what syndrome?


Tourette's Syndrome. It is a disorder that makes him shout out dirty words when he is stressed out.

Eat my hot fuck.

You're no son of mine.

MR. HOFFMAN gets up and stalks away from the table.

No! Daddy, I love you fuckhead shit fuck!

It's just you and me now, sweetheart.

Cut to DR. BATES, a very caring looking female doctor. We are in a psychiatrist's office with teddy bear wallpaper. Any child who wasn't troubled before entering the office will, no doubt, be messed up after sitting in the office.

Now Jamie, we need to find the route cause of your problem.

Cunty cunt cunt cunt.

That isn't appropriate right now, Jamie.

I'm trying not to swuh... swuh... Swuh-fuck your skank bloody gash whore.


Cut to the PRINCIPAL at the door to the school. JAMIE and MRS. HOFFMAN are being blocked from entering.

I'm sorry Mrs. Hoffman...

Darn. Rats.

We like Jamie. We all like Jamie.

Curses. Bollocks.

But his language is unacceptable, syndrome or not.

Piss down my throat and crap into my anus.

We'll see about that.

Cut to JUDGE BAOER, in a courtroom. He is pounding the gavel. Each time the gavel hits, we hear Jamie exclaim "cumguzzler."

Order! Order!

Cut to a courtroom scene. MRS. HOFFMAN are JAMIE are sitting at one table, the PRINCIPAL and an OLD CORPORATE ATTORNEY are at the other table. The hero's YOUNG ATTORNEY is leaning on their table.

Please continue, Mr. Butts.

Ass. Ass ass.

Thank you, your honor. In conclusion, when we, as a state, punish a little boy who swears uncontrollably...

A juror is weeping uncontrollably.

Don't we really punish...

Even the OLD CORPORATE ATTORNEY is crying at this point.


The entire court, including the judge bursts into spontaneous applause.

The jury needn't go out. I find this little boy innocent and say he should be allowed to return to his school.

The court applauds. The YOUNG ATTORNEY and JAMIE are lifted on the shoulders of everyone.

Fuck my skull.

Cut to a new school assembly. The children are all wearing "Fucking Free Jamie" buttons. The PRINCIPAL is at the podium.

Sometimes we even we adults get a little scare and make a mistake. With this in mind, I want to welcome back Jamie Hoffman on behalf of the entire school.

JAMIE enters and shakes the PRINCIPALS hand.

Jamie, would you do the honors of reciting the pledge?

Close up on JAMIE, as his hand goes over his heart. Cut to the flag, waving proudly. Back to JAMIE.

I pledge allegfuck to the fuck of the fuck fuck fuck.

The entire crowd bursts into applause and the PRINCIPAL lifts JAMIE's hand in the air like he is a champion.

Freeze Frame of their smiling faces.


Everyone prepare to accept your Oscar.

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Well, today on YesAnd.com, the very alluring Shaun Landry of Oui Be Negros, an American improv group, mentioned that she loves me, even if I am using a psuedonym.

Coincidently, the last time I used a psuedonym was in 1936 when I was running a hotel in Belize. A rugged pudding of a man wandered up to the bell desk and asked for a room using the name "Marion Morrison."

"Is that your wife?" I inquired politely.

Well, a dark cloud passed over the man's face and he said "No, that is my name."

He was despondent, so I offered to send up out hotel's massuese to cheer him up. Of course, I was the hotel masseuse and had some ideas about how I could best cheer him up.

Young Marion was in a deep sulk when I arrived at his room. After a vigorous rub down and some heavy petting, he confessed that he was trying to start an acting career, but that no producer would hire a man named Marion.

I suggested he pick something a little more macho.

"Like what?" he asked, hopelessly.

"I don't know, Marion! A name like John, Wayne or... well, whatever!"

"John Wayne" he murmered, his eyes lighting up.

I was a little distressed that he picked two first names to be his full name, but I can't argue with success. He was so grateful that every year until his death we would get together once a year and he would break me then ride me like a wild mare.

Neigh, Marion. Neigh.

Now, let's all have a pint of something fierce!

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