But, you know? I wonder: Will the starchy, buggery vagaries of prison life force Michael to burn off as much spare tonnage as Martha did when he's at last lingering, boyless, behind bars? Twenty pounds, Martha lost. If Michael Jackson loses 20 pounds, his kidneys will fail and his teeth will fall out. If he survives even the night, naturally. We'll just have to wait and see.
Yay!
Speaking of prolapsed anuses and things to look forward to, maybe: If you've been, for whatever lame reason, unable to experience the footage personally (and I marginally suggest you do), allow me to assure you that Fred Durst's sweet little weeny is as steamy pink and hairless as a baby mouse. It curves slightly upward and has a curiously elongated and oval glans region (hookers call that part "the head"). It is also sickeningly adorable somehow. (Like Lindsay Lohan, but less foreskin.) Whether or not my seeming obsession with Fred Durst's penis has yet begun to concern me or my mother is none of your fucking business.
More locally: Sigourney Weaver is in town doing some play or something. So if you see her, there. You'll have something to talk about.
Next: "Everyone has done something similar to what I did, and nobody cares about it," is what Fred Durst said about the whole penis thing. "Touch my BALLS! Touch my ASS!" is what Fred Durst said during the whole penis thing. And, "I was just being silly--of course I think that Tinkerbell is very cute. Maybe they will have a little play date together!" is what that revolting little pork chop Britney Spears said about something recently, but no one knows what the fuck she was talking about. The Kaballah, maybe.
Lastly: Do you remember that one time when someone was all like, "Adrian! Fred Durst is getting lap dances at some hoochie-mama joint downtown!" and I was all like, "No way," but then it totally turned out that Fred Durst really was getting lap dances downtown? Me neither. But I'm telling you: pink and mousy. Touch it!
Send!: adrian@thestranger.com
