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If
it hasn't happened already, Richard Gere is totally going
to get his ass kicked for what he said at the 9th annual Screen
Actors Guild (SAG) Awards on Sunday. His disparaging remarks
are almost too painful for me to repeat, but because of my journalistic
integrity, and the fact that I have always hated Richard Gere,
I will share.
He said, OUT LOUD, and I QUOTE, “We [actors] play other
people because we loathe ourselves.”
Why not just show up at a playground and scream, “Hey
kids! Not only is Santa Claus a big fat, fake, but your father
is gay!”
How could he give away such a huge secret on live, national
television? I for one was shocked, appalled, and I’ll
say it -- more than a little heartbroken. It certainly had
never occurred to me that actors were anything other than
completely secure, non-attention seeking, inner-peace feeling,
no-validation-needing, happy, and in all other ways contented
people. I mean, it takes someone very secure to be part of
such big balls of crap as the recent “Kangaroo Jack,",
“XXX” or “Shanghai Knights." Actors loathe
themselves? Say it isn’t so, Richard, you ruthless, heartless,
gutless bastard! I am seriously considering kicking his big
gerbil-loving ass myself.
Gere’s startling revelation totally killed the air of
love, kindness, and sincerity that usually permeates these
functions. It’s awfully hard to hear speech after speech
about movie and television cast “families” after
discovering that actors are just a bunch of big phonies. I
suppose all that stuff about honing their “craft”
and their bodies being their “instruments” is just
a bunch of crap, too, right? And speaking of crap, what moron
convinced Michael Douglas to dye his hair that creepy shade
of orange + blond = peach? Wasn’t it bad enough that
his face has been doing that scary fall-in-on-itself thing
for the last couple of years without screwing up his hair,
too? Who has peach colored hair anyway? I mean besides my
grandmother. A couple of words of advice for Mr. Douglas:
get your hands on a bottle of Grecian Formula, pronto. Or
a really big hat. Anything is better than wearing your hair
like my grandmother. Hell, it doesn’t even look good
on her and she’s got the coloring for it.
Bad hair, bad clothes, bad breath – I’m assuming
these things were rampant at the SAG awards, although I can
only attest to the bad hair and bad clothes since I wasn’t
actually there. You see, the bastards that promised me a ticket
never gave me one, and what’s worse, they pretended like
they had never heard of me and wouldn’t return any of
my calls. That’s the last time I sleep with someone who
is related to one of the guys that cleans the bathrooms at
the Shrine Auditorium. From now on, I’m only sleeping
with the actual guy who cleans the bathrooms at the Shrine
Auditorium. My list of people’s asses I have to kick
is getting long, indeed.
And speaking of sleazy women, how about the boobs on Melissa
Gilbert?! She’s the current president of SAG. But maybe
I’m being too hard on her. After all, if she had worn
anything less slutty, it would have been difficult for the
entire viewing audience to see her brand new set of hooters.
I have to tell you, it was mighty disconcerting to see America’s
favorite child star standing there in front of God and everybody
with boobs as big as my fricken head. If she doesn’t
already, she ought to get a new project going called “Little
Whorehouse on the Prairie.” Think of it! Week after week
she could sit on Pa’s lap while she twirls her hair around
her finger and talks about how she loves the way he plows
her field. “Half-pint”, my ass – those babies
look like at least a gallon to me.
Between Richard Gere’s complete massacre of all my most
cherished beliefs about Hollywood and the horror that is Melissa
Gilbert’s prostituted childhood, I was left wishing I
had watched the show I really wanted to see Sunday night,
which was, of course, “Return to the Batcave” (“Holy
homosexual subtext, batman! Do you think anyone has figured
out why we wear tights and leather masks, yet? WHAM!”).
I can only hope that by the time the Oscars are on, someone
has given Richard Gere a sound beating. A girl can hope, anyway.
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Photo:
Richard Gere should be raped with that statuette says Pasquinelli
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