This week begins with a friend called "Cez," and a shocking encounter with boobs. Brace yourself:
"Dear Adrian, My friend Cez ran into Jessica Simpson at the Alki Bakery in Georgetown. Supposedly she was in town for a radio promotion. Her bodyguard looked like he was going to bite Cez's head off. As Cez left the bakery, he made eye contact with Jessica. Have a lovely day!" —PQ
Dear PQ, Your friend Cez's sighting is compelling, and provides the most scientifically plausible explanation for last week's sudden and alarming drop in Georgetown's collective IQ. But I don't want to discuss Jessica fucking Simpson or her greater scientific implications. I want to discuss Tom fucking Cruise and his greater Scientological implications. I'm sure you fucking understand.
VULTURES! JUDASES! MUTINEERS!
That's what people are—all of you! Fickle, capricious scavengers, glutted on the putrid meat of those you claimed to love most of all! What did Tom fucking Cruise ever do to hurt anybody? NOTHING! What crime did he commit that could possibly warrant such gleefully vicious attacks? NONE! Did he smile too dimply? Make too many zillions of dollars in a relatively benign and nonpollutionary ways? Let everyone on the planet WORSHIP his superstar ass for the last seven hundred and fifty thousand years—or at least since he exposed the hose in All the Right Moves? Yes. But then he JUMPED UP AND DOWN ON OPRAH'S COUCH, and the world is prepared to burn him at the stake and drop the steaming chunks into the sea.
And oh, Paramount! FOR fucking SHAME—$2.5 billion, that's how much Tom Cruise made for you people. $2.5 BILLION! But he bows before the golden calf of L. Ron Hubbard and thinks Brooke Shields should stop popping Prozac, so FUCK $2.5 BILLION, right? You are, at best, profoundly retarded—at worst, heinous religious bigots. If Tom was a couch-jumping, Katie-pumping MORMON or ANABAPTIST JEW or whatever, you'd have kept your big mouth shut and counted your money. BIGOTS! The ACLU should drag your ass through a shredder.
People, people: Let us take pause. Let us forget Scientology and Katie Holmes and hark back to Top Gun (which I never saw), Days of Thunder (which I never saw), The Matrix maybe (or did The Matrix star that other closet case?), and, of course, Legend (which sucked like a Shanghai hooker). Let us pause to consider that precious 1.6-second flash of penis in All the Right Moves that we've all rewound and paused, rewound and paused, over and over and over again.
Tom Cruise has been good to you, America. Lay OFF! —Adrian