This week we shall ignore all of it; every wretched, heartbreaking bit: the tsunami babies and the secrets of their soggy DNA, the tragedy of poor Johnny Carson wryly quipping nevermore, Armageddon-commencing inaugurations, and even the terrible end of that magical, romantic oeuvre that was "Braniffer" so that we may instead refresh our dish-weary souls in the bubbly fresh waters of one Benjamin Exworthy, Man with Money.
Mostly. Actually, we shall presently address the breakup of Brad and that WASPy Friends fish with the hair and the nose, as I was just lying like hell when I said we wouldn't. In the words of our Mr. Exworthy (he's worth $25 million and counting!), "The breakup of Brad and Jennifer, some say, can be traced to a complicated and tremendously improbable series of collisions of infinitesimal buckyball-like nanoparticles colliding in the tropopause over Jaipur, India. I disagree. I think it's ants." It's probably unsurprising that some people might consider Mr. Exworthy to be a man fucked in the cantaloupe.
"I collect all my old fingernails," Mr. Exworthy continues, possibly off topic. "Toenails, eyelashes, and anything else that used to be in my body. Oh, and I keep them in glass vials, lest you think I'm unsanitary."
So who is this mad Ben Exworthy? And what's his eccentric agenda? Is he a techno-geek trillionaire with a plan, someone's vengeful and booger-obsessed eighth grade ex-boyfriend, or just some philanthropic attention-hogging male Angelique? Yes. Here's some composite insights, leaked by informants or something:
"Ben was scrawny and nerdy. Despite this, he was a vicious little bastard, once plunging a pencil into the arm of a taunting thug in drama class (or was it band?). I believe him when he screams things like, 'I'll gouge your eyes out!'"
Indeed. Here's what we know: Ben almost kicked the shit out of Quentin Tarantino once and has shared blueberry smoothies with Michael Keaton (who hasn't). Allegedly breederish, it's been confirmed that Mr. Exworthy has deep connections to the gay adult porn industry. "I never got a drop on me," he says. "My timing was good." Also, he's lunched with Marla Gibbs. You know. The Jeffersons.
Lastly, in a final word from Mr. Exworthy, "Ants. Kennedy was killed by ants." Of course he was. Thank you, Ben Exworthy. Farewell, Johnny.