Somebody told me that they rode in an elevator with Bob Hope the other day, and I thought that was damn fascinating, what with Bob Hope being really fucking dead and everything. But then I realized that they were talking about Bob Newhart, and that just wasn't nearly as interesting (even though Bob Newhart might be mostly dead too), so I got distracted, lost the thread of the conversation and wandered off. The end.
And then, suddenly, across town: Everybody saw Trey Parker except me when he was here, and you can all just kiss my ass.
In more ass kissing: Jessica Simpson, who is a former fag hag at the moment, has also allegedly just filmed a boob-riddled Super Bowl commercial hawking a national pizza franchise. I never voted for that damn stadium, by the way, but I'm also scheduled to appear in a Super Bowl commercial, hawking something else entirely (Washington Credit Union, maybe), and nobody involved in MY Super Bowl commercial found it necessary to riddle any part of it with big insipid boobs (certainly not the director John Polnik, nor the producer Bret Nielsen—kiss, kiss), which proves finally and definitively that the pizza business is far boobier than banking. Case closed.
In even bigger cases: Colin Farrell puts much of his rugged Irish faith in a lucky pair of underpants. Since most of the sighted universe considers any and all of Colin Farrell's underwear very, very lucky indeed, nobody has any particular idea what the hell he's talking about. Maybe a magical leprechaun prince lives in them.
Or not. You know. Whatever.
In other news: I have a lucky pair of underwear too. I wore them while I was being initiatorily "fucked in" to three out of four of my inner-city street gangs. Word.
Elsewhile, in sandier places: Michael Jackson is now an Arab drag queen. He was spotted in some crazy Middle Eastern shopping mall wearing one of those peculiar face-covering blankety getups that Middle Eastern women are forced to wear. He was positively identified by three conspicuously white children that trailed him everywhere, allegedly his own. Which is, of course, the least credulous part of the entire story. Thank you.
Lastly: Zombie Bob Hope must be stopped. At all costs. For the love of God!