Harry Razorhands

Little Dougie dragged me down to the multi-plex this weekend to see a movie. I don't go out to the movies much these days. They just don't make them like they used to, by which I mean, starring me! When you hear people complaining that movies aren't as good as they used to be, that's what they are referring to; that the movies no longer star me! But now, they're not even making them the way they do still make them. A prime example was the picture Dougie took me to. I just didn't get Harry Potter and the Demon Barber of Fleet Street at all. I was expecting a nice movie about a randy hair-stylist, like a remake of Warren Beatty's Shampoo. It turned out to be something quite different.

I realize that Tim Burton had a freak success with a children's movie a couple years back, with his Harry Potter and the Chocolate Factory, but still, just handing him the Harry Potter series to do with as he would seemed an odd choice, even for Dreamworks. During the opening credits, it seemed like a good idea. It was basically the same opening credit sequence as in the Wonky Willy movie, only this time in the Cherry & Raspberry part of the factory. But then the odd choices began, and kept coming.

Why on earth recast darling little Daniel Radcliffe as Harry Potter?. Okay, Little Danny has been growing up too fast for the series, and is now just too old to play Harry anymore, plus he's been doing live sex porn shows - with HORSES yet, on stage, which is bad for a kid's star's image, so maybe he had to go. But why replace him with Johnny Depp? Yes, Johnny is a good actor and all, but I do believe he's even older than Little Danny, by many months. And he really needs to get some sun.

Then, they replace Harry's magic wand with magic razors. Yikes! Better get that spell right the first time. And then, they hit all the characters with a Singing Curse, magically forcing them to sing all the time, instead of speaking. I believe The Singing Curse ranks up there with The Imperious Curse, The Curciatus Curse, and The Death Curse, as one of The Unforgivable Curses; in this case, The Excruciatus Curse.

However, if you're going to make everyone sing, shouldn't you hire actors who can sing? Just a thought. Call me crazy, but singing generally sounds better when the person singing actually can sing. It's a revolutionary concept I know. I've always been an innovator. Back in the old days, when we made musicals with non-singers in the leads, Marni Millhous Nixon used to come in and dub their singing. Her Yul Brynner was uncanny! It got to the point that when Angela Lansbury was cast in The Harvey Girls, MGM dubbed her singing out of force of habit, even though she's a great singer. Where was Marni Nixon now, when Tim Burton needed her? Johnny Depp was passable enough, if it were a high school musical at a school for the deaf, but if I want to listen to David Bowie sing (and for the record, I don't. Stay home, Davy.), I'll listen to David Bowie. He's still available on vinyl, isn't he? Oh? Only on vinyl? Okay. Marni would have been a vast improvement on Johnny.

And Helena Bonham Carter? Are they deaf? She could make you wish you were. Helena's singing went to Helena Handbasket. How did she get the part anyway, you ask? Let's put it this way; last week, she gave birth to the director's baby, which means she conceived right around the time she was miscast in the movie. Apparently, she got her role The Old-Fashioned Way. I'm glad to see not all of Hollywood's venerable traditions have gone out of style. And the woman is Beverly Sills next to Alan Rickman's "Singing". (By which I mean dead.)

But let's talk about the story. I'd heard from people who read (Those freaks!) that in the later books, the Harry Potter stories get a little dark, but this movie is a black hole! And not the good kind, either. (The "Good Kind" of Black Hole is the one that Adawale Akinnuoye-Agbaje sits on. Mmmm. And Wally darling, you can use my face for your chair anytime you like!) For some reason, they moved the setting back in time 160 years, to the 1840s, except for the first shot, when Harry and some runway model who calls herself Antonia arrive in London in 1894. (Well, they sail in under Tower Bridge in the opening scene, which wasn't built until 1894, 50 years after the rest of the movie. I guess they were still traveling backwards in time then.) Harry has come for revenge against Severus Snape for fag-bashing Fumblewhore to death, even though that story hasn't been filmed yet. Snape and Wormtail are hiding out from Harry in 1840, Snape working as a Potions Judge, while Wormtail works as a Beetle, an odd combination of animals, even for him. And he's gone back 120 years too far to hide out as a Beatle anyway. (I assume he's pretending to be Ringo, judging by his appearance, and his "Singing". He drums well on Little Antonia.)

Harry teams up with Bellatrix Lovett, a former Death-Eatartrix. It becomes clear that the term Death Eater originally came from folks eating her scrummy Soylent Green Pies, which are death in a crust. Yum! More important, she advocates giving entire bottles of gin to small children, proving that she has reformed from her evil ways, and is now a saint! She gets Little Toby drunk right up front, right after he escapes from Borat, who appears in this movie without underwear, in a costume which proves to all that Borat, like the musical score, is cut. If only he were attractive, it would be a great look. I think the real reason Bellatrix gets Toby sloshed is because he's by far the best singer in the cast, and makes her sound bad every time he starts warbling. (Actually, she makes herself sound bad every time she starts warbling, by warbling.)

Anyway, Harry eventually gets his revenge on Judge Snape, ironically turning his old potions master into a potion himself; not, I imagine, a grooming potion.

Of course, Harry's success with his Snape Potion gets him all carried away. He turns Scabbers, aka Wormtail, aka Peter Pettigrew, aka Beatle Ringo, into ratatouille, thus allowing him to finally settle on a species. He roasts Bellatrix, and even serves up Ron Weasley and that insufferable Know-It-All Grainger. I'll pass on having any of her, thanks. I always found her hard to swallow.

Meanwhile, Little Antonia, the girl who sailed into London's past with Harry, forms a passionate lesbian attachment for Joanna, a dishrag she never meets. As everyone knows, lesbians are like pigeons; they mate for life. What do you call "Living Together for 20 Years"? "A lesbian first date." So although Joanna and Antonia never meet, they fall deeply in love, and would swear eternal fealty with each other forever if only they ever got to speak or sing two words to each other. Harry almost tries to shave Joanna, despite her being a female, a natural mistake easily made with many lesbians.

Well, eventually everyone gets raspberry jam and cherry soda all over themselves. Harry has problems fixing his recliner easy chair, and Mrs. Lovett's Soylent Green Pies are a raging success. The faculty of Hogwarts is appalled. I would have been appalled myself, but I was enjoying a drink with Vodkamort, The Drunk Lord, and some Fermentors. I now have to wait for Harry Potter and the Half-Wit Queen, next fall.

But at least Little Orphan Harry Potter has finally found his long-lost sister, who is definitely a witch!

Soylent Green pie anyone?

Cheers darlings.

Deep in the Heart of Phil Romano's Dallas Mansion

SELLER: Phil Romano
LOCATION: Strait Lane, Dallas, TX
PRICE: $17,500,000
SIZE: 14,748 square feet, 8 bedrooms, 7 full and 4 half bathrooms
DESCRIPTION: This spectacular contemporary estate is situated on exclusive Strait Lane on a 4.697-acre gated estate with breathtaking views of a private lake with fountains and waterfalls flowing down to a creek, a jogging trail, tennis court, resort-like pool, and scenic grounds. Additional features: Guest Quarters, Handicap Amenities, Lake Front Lot, Library/Study, Media Room.

YOUR MAMAS NOTES: Alright children, Your Mama is going to bring y'all one more house of scratch out your eyes upsetting interior decor before we begin the New Year. Now puppies, this one is a doozy, so hurry and gitchyer nerve medication or your big bottle of booze or whatever else will prop you up as we wade through this decorating disaster deep in the heart of Texas.

They say everything is bigger in Texas, and trust Your Mama children, it is. We have been there, done that and seen just how big it can really be. And real estate is no exception to this old adage about the Lone Star State. This Texas-sized contemporary mansion occupies nearly five acres on Strait Lane in a swanky section of Dallas and belongs to Phil Romano, a well known restaurateur who mints money creating and developing mid-priced concept and themed restaurant chains including Fuddruckers, eatZi's (now nearly defunct), and Romano's Macaroni Grill.

According to public records, Mister Romano purchased the 4.7 acre property in February of 2000 for $4,535,300. Records provided to Your Mama by Texas's own Billy Blabbermouth indicate the current residence was built in 2001 and measures a Texas sized 14,748 square feet. Listing information for the property reveals a few other big numbers associated with the house: 8 bedrooms, 7 full and 4 half bathrooms (which adds up to enough damn terlits to require a part time gurl just to scrub all the bowls), 5 fireplaces, a 4 car garage, and a tremendous temperature controlled wine cellar large enough to satisfy any well to do winos oenophilic needs.

Accessed down a long and purdy tree lined driveway that terminates in a large circular motor court, the copper roofed Romano residence overlooks a small man made lake complete with the sort of fountain that only very rich people install in their back yard lakes. The estate features a tennis court at the front of the property, a large swimming pool complex with cabana, and a 1,204 square foot detached building that property records indicate are staff quarters. For all those amenities, property records reveal that the new owners can expect a staggering $180,000+ bill from the tax man each year.

Now children, Your Mama has looked hard at the photos of the interiors of this house. In fact, we have looked really damn HARD. We have tried and we have endeavored, but alas and with all do respect to the Romanos, we simply have nothing nice to say about what we see. Not. One. Thing.

It appears to Your Mama that the Romano's rather unwisely and unfortunately hired whichever person or company that is responsible for the interiors of Fuddruckers or one of the other money making chain restaurants Mister Romano created. And therein lies the crux of the interior decorating issues. Quite simply, a $17,500,000 home should never look like a mid-priced themed restaurant in some middle brow mall in Peoria, or Tallahassee or Dallas. Ever.

The "decorator" must have finagled some kid of steep discount on leather furniture and those alabaster bowl chandelier things. Your Mama is so troubled by all the leather seating groups and seeing that same fixture in just about every damn room that we are nearly speechless. Who does that? Who? Okay, so people who don't have the financial wherewithal to hire a high priced decorator might do it if the fixture is on sale at Home Despot, but it's just criminal for someone of Mister Romano's financial stature to allow this to have been down in his multi-million dollar home.

Your Mama does not even know how to begin to make sense of the kitchen with that horrific abstract pattern painted on the wood ceiling. What's left to say about his room except that Your Mama fully expected to see a overweight family of o-beasts in matching sweat suits chowing down on one-pound bacon cheddar burgers, milkshakes and a few baskets of chili cheese fries.

Up in the Master bedroom we are concerned about the wrath of PETA and we are perplexed and puzzled by that yellow lighted strip thing mid-way up the wall. A large and well equipped dressing room and closet is dee-voon of course. But a giant two floor dressing room fitted out with (more) leather furniture, another alabaster bowl chandelier thing looing like a not very elegant haberdashery in Milan, not so much.

Even with the help a big fat sleeping pill, Your Mama could never get a moments rest in a house like this. However Mister Romano and his family sleep well on Strait Lane secure in the knowledge their neighbors possess similar sized bank accounts including billionaire Kenny Troutt (Excel Communications), former loud-mouthed billionaire politico Ross Perot, and Ralph and Cathy Oats, who made boo-coo bucks selling water filters and Ephedra based weight loss supplements and currently live in a house that looks like a scaled down model of the damn White House. Now that's klassy.

Your Mama is not too familiar with the luxury real estate market in Dallas so we haven't any clue if $17,500,000 is a decent price for this house or not. Perhaps all your Texas real estate freaks can weigh in on that. In the meantime, Your Mama wishes Mister Romano and family a Happy New Year and we sincerely hope they make their New Year's resolution not to hire a restaurant designer to do up their next mansion.

Ryan Seacrest's Redo in Nichols Canyon

BUYER: Ryan Seacrest
SELLER: Kevin Costner
LOCATION: Nichols Canyon Road, Los Angeles, CA
PRICE: $11,500,00 (sale)
SIZE: 8,172 square feet, 5 bedrooms, 4 bathrooms

YOUR MAMAS NOTES: Say what you will regarding the much speculated about sexual ambiguity of the frosted, fake tanned and well frocked Mister Ryan Seacrest, but he's richer than the damn Pope and he recently completed a pricey and full scale re-decorative redo of the natty Nichols Canyon casa he purchased in April of 2006 from smug (and formerly sexy) Oscar winning actor Kevin Costner.

Chill out children, Your Mama is well aware that this purchase is O.L.D. in the world of celebrity real estate, but given that Mister Seacrest recently debuted his overhauled Spanish style crib in the shiny pages of Architectural Digest, Your Mama thought that all the children who do not take the time read or spend the money on fussy interior decoration glossies might like a peek into the metrosexual hunny's private lair high in the hills above the Hollywood world in which he has inexplicably become a major player.

For the privilege of living in Kevin Costner's sloppy real estate seconds, the manicured Mister Seacrest reportedly outbid pop diva Gwen Stafani, and property records reveal the toothy radio host dumped $11,500,000 for the gated flag lot parcel that includes a 5 bedroom and 4 bathroom, 8,172 square foot main house with a glammy motor court sitting at the end of a long celebrity style driveway. There is plenty of garage space for Mister Seacrest's pimped out whips, a tennis court with a long view over Los Angeles, staff quarters, a gym (natch), and a gorgeous swimming pool (not pictured) perfectly sunk into a swath of deep green grass as well tended as Your Mama reluctantly imagines Mister Seacrest's nether regions and naughty bits to be.

According to the January 2008 article in Architectural Digest (you must subscribe to read it online puppies), the house, dubbed Casa di Pace, was worked over by well known interior designer Jeff Andrews, whose website quotes Mister Seacrest as saying, "He understood the feeling of peace I wanted to capture in my home. The house now feels timeless due to his ability to clearly capture and execute MY vision." (Emphasis added by Your Mama.) So it would seem to Your Mama that what you are really looking at up there in the photos children, is Mister Seacrest's own interior design "vision" made manifest by a well paid shopper and fluffer.

Now children, quite frankly Your Mama does not care which way Mister Manicure swings and it is certainly none of our beeswax, but the man shops like Katie Holmes, primps like Miss America, works and colors his hair like nobody's bizness, guides his very accomplished decorator and still he wonders why the world thinks he might be friend of Dorothy? Puh-leeze!

And just what does Your Mama think of Mister Seacrest's House of Peace? Well, children, it's certainly decorated, isn't it? While it's all a little fussy for Your Mama and the Dr. Cooter, the interior spaces have a cozy and intimate feeling and a nicely considered and muted palette–except for that not very nice burgundy color in the entrance rotunda which we're not feeling very positive about. Truckloads of mammoth carved wood furniture have been paired with velvet this and leather thats in an effort to create that unique brand of interior decorating "masculinity" that can only be achieved with the deft hands of a professional (and most likely nice gay) decorator and the fat bank account of a sexually ambiguous single man. Yes children, it's lovely, comfortable and "masculine," but it's also about as butch as Mister Seacrest.

Now that Mister Seacrest has allowed the world into his home via Architectural Digest, Your Mama wonders if he's considering selling the place. It has been our experience that celebs and quasi celebs who allow the glossies and tabs into their home for extensive photo shoots often put their houses on the market shortly thereafter. We'll see. But until such time arrives that Mister Seacrest decides to move and and execute his decorating vision somewhere else, Your Mama wishes him heaps of pace in his casa.

UPDATE: 50 Cent Gets Motivated To Sell

Filthy rich rapper 50 Cent has become a motivated seller serious about unloading his 17.6 acre estate with it's grotesquely humongous 51,000 (approx.) square foot mega mansion that once belonged to bird brained boxer Mike Tyson. Y'all surely know by now that Your Mama thinks this place, located in the unlikely wilds of Farmington, CT, looks like a damn Ramada Inn on the exterior and is so big on the inside that it simply does not matter what it looks like, it's just too damn big to be comfortable.

Mister 50 Cent purchased the place in September of 2003 for $4,100,000 and claims to have put in millions more freshening up the interiors. However, Your Mama would like to point out that the shot full of holes singing sensation didn't even bother to buy new dining room chairs to replace the ones left by girly voiced boxer Mike Tyson. So just where did these millions go?

Mister 50 Cent, a man who reportedly earned $100,000,000 from a very savvy investment in Vitamin Water, originally put the property on the market for $18,500,000, an unrealistic and ego driven price tag if we've ever seen one. The house was advertised in all the glossy real estate magazines and was much discussed by all the real estate gossips. But alas...no one seemed eager to cough up that kind of cash to own their own motel sized mansion.

So Mister 50 Cent got creative and had the MTV come and do a special Cribs episode highlighting the house, a television event that quite frankly just highlighted the insane bluster and arrogance required to ask nearly $20,000,000 for an ass uglee house in a part of Connecticut not known for $20,000,000 houses. Now people of Farmington, Your Mama has nutthin' negative to say about your little neck of the woods, we're simply stating that your corner of the world isn't where one thinks of ridiculously rich tycoons shacking up.

Apparently no one stepped up after that piece of dramatic television history and now, thanks to our doom and gloom commenter Average Joe, Your Mama has learned that Mister 50 Cent has drastically reduced the asking price of the property that in addition to 19 bedrooms and 30+ terlits (19 full and 16 half, reportedly) includes six kitchens, a 3,500 square foot disco, a Gucci pool room, and a indoor shooting range, all features Your Mama would never recommend in a private home because they're stoopid.

Anyhoo, the update here is that the price of the home has dipped all the way down to $12,000,000, and it appears the house is now listed with an Atlanta, GA based company called Greenmark Investments who have laid out very specific rules and instructions for how to purchase Mister 50 Cent's Connecticut crib.

See if you can follow: According to Greenmark's website, in order to purchase Mister 50 Cent's property, a potential buyer must show proof of funds (this is not so unusual in this price range), all offers must be submitted in writing and signed by the buyers BEFORE VIEWING the property, 10% of the purchase price is to be escrowed with, now pay attention here kids because this is the good part, with 1% of the purchase price to be escrowed BEFORE VIEWING the property, and 30% of that deposit is non refundable. Yes puppies, you read that correctly, we said non-re-fund-a-bull.

Do the math kids, that means that it costs $40,000 just to VIEW Mister 50 Cents monstrous manse. That ought to separate the wheat from the looky-loos and curious cats.

Greenmark's website goes on to say that a buyer will have two weeks to perform due diligence and at the time of (sale) contract signing, the remainder of the down payment is due with no contingencies.

There ain't no messing around here. So listen puppies, if any of you out there with a few million to spare and an eye for funereal drapery, private lakes, indoor swimming pools and quirky ownership provenances, be sure to get with these folks from Greenmark. But just keep in mind they are not fooling around with any body's emaciated bank account or second thoughts about purchasing.

As they say in the bizness, there's a lid for every pot, and it only takes the right price to flush out the right buyer. Perhaps at $12,00,000, Mister 50 Cent can do that. What do you think?

Coupla More Updates...

...Your Mama is getting back logged with items, so this afternoon we've decided to simplify our bizzy life and toss out a few updates in one fell swoop.

1.
The Newsday Gurls are reporting that the 2.1 acre (or 1.9 acre according to Newsday) Southampton estate of the late Patricia Kennedy Lawford finally sold for $9,800,000. Your Mama discussed the society maven's 10,467 square foot house on fancy First Neck Lane back in late April 2007 when it was on the market for $12,500,000. Your Mama does not have an iota who owns the limited liability company who plunked down nearly 10 million clams for the 10 bedroom and 12 bathroom house that Your Mama was told is a fixer, and if the Newsday gurls know who bought it, they certainly aren't telling Your Mama.

2.
Former Guns and Roses gee-tarist Slash has finally unloaded a Hollywood Hills house that he bought during the reported dissolution of his marriage to a ladee named Perla. Mister Slash purchased the Wattles Drive house in December of 2005 for $6,250,000 and quickly put the 5 bedroom and 6 bathroom house back on the market for $6,995,000. The property sat and sat and sat until Mister Slash filed a million dollar lawsuit against his real estate agent whom he claims misrepresented particulars about the house including size and the number of cars that can be parked on the property or some such nonsense.

Anyhoo, the price was steadily dropped to $5,995,000 and according to Mister Big Time, the house was finally (FINALLY!) purchased for an undisclosed sum of money by Randy Wolf, a relief pitcher for the San Diego Padres. Whatever price the ball player paid, it's quite safe to assume Mister Slash lost hundreds of thousands of dollars on his real estate gamble on Wattles Drive.

Mister Big Time announced that Mister and Missus Slash also unloaded their long time Sherman Oaks home on Valley Vista Boulevard. Your Mama will have more for the children on that transaction later.

3.
Thank whatever Jeezis you pray to that Eddie Murphy's ex-wife and baby momma Nicole Murphy has finally unloaded the Sacramento area estate she once shared with the filthy rich funny man who has more babies with more mommas than Your Mama can bother to count anymore. If you'll recall, the ex-Mrs. Murphy recently ran into a little trouble with the lender on the property, and while foreclosure proceedings did not commence, the bank was mad as a bee in a jar to get the $78,000 that was in arrears.

That little bother of matter must have been cleared up because thanks to B.S. Beaverman (via LuxuryRealEstate.com), Your Mama has learned that the mother of five sold the 11,158 square foot pile of vile to a Nevada real estate investor. The records Your Mama accessed reveal that the buyer is a man with the last name of Willis who paid $6,100,000 for 2.5 acre property that includes a 5,200 square foot guest house.

The house was purchased by the then married Murphys in 1998 for $3,825,000. Located in the exclusive gated community of Los Lagos in the unincorporated area called Granite Bay, the house features 10 bedrooms (including Shrek and French-village themed children's rooms which Your Mama is feels certain are just horrendous), 14 bathrooms, a 12 seat movie theater, 12 car garage, video arcade parlor, gym, swimming pool and a tennis court. LuxuryRealEstate.com reports that the sale included most of the furnishings including at least 20 televisions and $200,000 grand piano.

It was the always resourceful and on top of things Mister Big Time that first posted photos of the house, and children, they are worth seeing. But hunnies, grab a vomit bag before you click over because they are really something to behold.

UPDATE: Ricky Martin's Flip

A kind and benevolent Floridian recently sent Your Mama a small cache of photographs of the Golden Beach, FL house that Puerto Rican pop phenom Ricky Martin has on the market for an astonishing $22,500,000.

If they put on their thinking caps, the children will recall that Your Mama first discussed the 9,882 square foot Ocean Boulevard property in early December when the ocean front property first hit the market. Property records reveal that the chisel chested cantante scooped up the 5 bedroom and 7 bathroom Mediterranean style house in April of 2007 for $16,250,000, and according to a source who claims to have been up in his casa, the estate is undergoing "mild renovations." These tweaks and fixes clearly include having a nice gay decorator get up in there to stage the place with clean lined moe-derne furniture that includes a creamy colored velvet sofa, a trio of shiny silk pillows, a cute little Saarinan side table and some West Elm-ish chairs in the kitchen with its lovely brick barrel vaulted ceiling.

Obviously there is no "life" in this staged decor, but as far as staging goes, it's far and above what Your Mama sees much of the time. At least there isn't a damn chenille lap blanket tossed across an ottoman, or even worse, a tawdry little tableau on the coffee table of an open book and reading glasses that make a house look post-apocalyptic and deeply sad to Your Mama. Clearly this is not the upsetting handiwork of Staging Girl in a Toyota–no offense gurl, and congrats on your new pink Toyota, but this is all a bit more restrained than your work.

Now puppies, if any of you screaming teenage gurls or horny homosexuals think you are going to parade up and down the soft sands of Golden Beach thinking you might catch a glimpse of Mister Martin's bikini clad bubble booty frolicking by the ocean side swimming pool, yer wrong. And yer stoopid too. Not only would that make you creepy, no one, and Your Mama means no-bodee-at-all, actually thinks Mister Martin shacks up in this house. It appears that the savvy real estate investor simply plans to flip the property and pocket a few million bucks for his troubles.

As for his whereabouts, well children, Your Mama has not heard from Mister Martin in a stone age and we can only assume he's camped out in one of his many other residences which include a Miami Beach mansion on N. Bay Road, a sophisticated pied a terre at the super chic 40 Bond in Manhattan, and a big house in Dorado in his native Puerto Rico.

Peter Guber's Hawaiian Tara Plantation

SELLER: Peter and Tara Guber
LOCATION: Papa'a Road, Anahola, Kauai, HI
PRICE: $46,500,000
SIZE: 171 acres, 15,000 square feet, 6 bedrooms, 8.5 bathrooms (main house)
DESCRIPTION: ...Enter your gated compound and lazily drive down a country road to your spacious 15,000 square foot classic Hawaiian style main home with two 4,000 square foot guest bungalows all of which have been tastefully furnished by the famous California designer Waldo Fernandez. The main home has 6 bedrooms and 8.5 bathroom with his and her private living rooms. Exceptional wood finishes, a professional kitchen, and generous ocean view lanais allow for easy island living. A swimming pool, beach cabana, yoga studio, a 3 bedroom caretakers home, horse stables, numerous fenced corrals, super large workshop and barns add to this perfect estate...

YOUR MAMAS NOTES: When Christmas comes, heaps and scores of rich and famous folks head for the islands, and according to one Hawaii bound source we'll all The Wicked Wahine, many pack their teeny bikinis and bee line for the island of Kauai where they shack up in fabulous estates and resorts around Kilauea on the rugged northeastern coast. Before she jetted off to her own ocean front rental, The Wicked Wahine whispered to Your Mama that this year the island locals can expect to wait hand and foot on such Hollywood luminaries as Ben and Christine Stiller, prolific novelist and television writer Michael Crichton, former Bond stud Pierce and wifey Kelly Brosnan, the Beastie Boys, and Sex and The City's "milk it for all she can" Sarah Jessica Parker, her Broadway baby huzband Matthew Broderick and their boy child.

And of course, the entire island of Kauai knows to expect fabulously rich producer Peter Guber and his yoga nut wifey Tara, who have spent the last several years trying to unload their massive Papa'a Bay Road estate called Tara Plantation for a blistering $46,500,000.

Mister and Missus Guber bought the 171 acre spread in 1998 for a reported $7,200,000 and proceeded to build their own version of a Hawaiian heaven that overlooks Papa'a Bay. The vast estate includes everything a media mogul might want or need for a few weeks winter getaway, including a monstrous 15,000 square foot plantation style main house with wide verandas and boatloads of bamboo furniture and flower printed fabrics. Although the main house provides 6 bedrooms and 8.5 bathrooms (including dual master baths and, strangely, his and her private living rooms in the master suite), two 4,000 square foot guest houses ensure the Gubers are not peeved by pesky holiday house guests who might fornicate and/or snore loudly in the guest bedrooms of the main house.

Anyone who is familiar with or has bothered to read anything about the Gubers know they were doing the downward facing dog and the warrior pose long before Yoga became ridiculously trendy with the Hollywood set. Missus Guber is such a devotee that she has developed her own somewhat sensual practice called Contact Yoga, where couples contort and pretzel each other into upsetting and uncomfortable looking shapes and poses. So naturally, Tara Plantation features a Yoga House where the Gubers and their guests can get centered and get in touch with their chakras before dressing up in their grass skirts and downing a few pitchers of mai-tais.

The Guber's getaway also features riding stables for the horsey house guests, a tennis court for the sporteef minded moochers, a long stretch of gorgeous sandy beach for those few in LaLa land who tan the old fashioned way, and naturally, a swimming pool is provided for all those fraidy-cat weekend whiners who won't swim in the bathtub warm waters of Papa'a Bay.

The Gubers have been trying to unload their impressive piece of Polynesian paradise for years, and Your Mama is hardly the first to discuss their lush and dee-luxe property. Not only was the high priced hideaway once (but no longer) near the top the list of the world's most expensive homes, much ink has been laid down over the long and bitter battle waged between the meditating magnates and local surfers and activists who were all kinds of pissed when the Gubers blocked an access road to the beach that ran across their property.

Oh lawhd have mercy children, the Hawaiian locals do NOT take kindly to some rich Hollywood haole cutting off their access to the waves. Oh no. As The Wicked Wahine explains it, "The local surfing rights never get fucked with," and in true American style, lawsuits were filed, much bitching and moaning ensued, and it all ended in Federal Court. Recent reports indicate that the Gubers won the war when the judge ruled the Gubers do indeed have clear title to the land, including the disputed roadway. Which of course means they're free and legal to prevent surfboard toting beach goers from trekking across their back lawn to get to the beach. Luckily for the locals, there is another access point to that particular beach, however it reportedly involves a potentially dangerous climb over slippery rocks.

Anyhoo, now that the lawsuits have been put to bed, perhaps a fabulously rich tycoon with a thing for swaying palm trees and extreme privacy will now feel free to scoop the place up for it's $46,500,000 asking price. As an added bonus to security conscious millionaires, Your Mama hears through the gossip grapevine that that the whole place is wired up like Fort Knox and that a super security system allows Mister Guber to know when a terlit flushes in Kauai while ensconced in the couples sprawling home base in Los Angeles, which sits privately and perfectly up behind the exclusive Hotel Bel Air.

So that the children get a full spectrum idea of the Guber's vast real estate wealth, in 2004 the Gubers divested themselves of another mammoth weekend ranch located just 10 minutes outside Aspen, the searingly expensive winter celebrity haven where gals like Mariah and Goldie strut the streets in full length fur coats and the airport is forever clogged with the shiny Gulfstream 550s of tycoons and honchos of all stripes. The karmic couple took in a reported $46,000,000 when they sold their 650 acre Mandalay Ranch, which included a 15,000 square foot main house with 7 bedrooms and 7.5 bathrooms, a screening room and an indoor gym and basketball court.

Your Mama is breathless thinking of the vast amount of money required to maintain a home of this scale and magnitude in Hawaii. Certainly it costs more each year to keep this place afloat than most of the well earning children make in a year. So y'all just think about that while Your Mama hooks ourself up to the oxygen tank, takes some nerve medication, and breathes.

Double Whammy (2): Amanda Peet Buys House

BUYER: Amanda Peet and David Benioff
LOCATION: N. Wetherly Drive, Los Angles, CA
PRICE: $4,625,000
SIZE: 4,340 square feet, 4 bedrooms, 4.5 bathrooms
DESCRIPTION: Dramatic double gated circular driveway Mediterranean on lush estate-sized lot. The former James Cagney residence has been restored to its original splendor. Period details combined with updated fixtures and finishes make this a true trophy property. Resort-style pool and spa. Detached bonus space as office, garage, gym.

YOUR MAMAS NOTES: Thanks to a friendly and well connected tipster we'll call Junebug, Your Mama has learned that even before Miz Amanda Peet and her screenwriter huzband David Benioff sold their Angelo View Drive house high above Holmby Hills, they purchased the former James Cagney estate above Sunset Boulevard on N. Wetherly drive that happens to sit die-reckly across the street from the house that child actor turned race car drive turned Hollywood "thug" Frankie Muniz has on the market for nearly four million clams.

The fall of 2006 was surely a bizzy and stressful time for Columbia educated Miz Peet and Mister Benioff who learned they were preggers, unwed (but affianced), and living up in a 2 bedroom house that would not easily accommodate a nanny, not to mention the in-laws in town to visit the unexpected bundle of joy. So lickety-split-like they got hitched at the end of September and then bought a 4 bedroom 4.5 bathroom family friendly house at the end of November for which property records reveal they paid an impressive $4,625,046.

Before any of you lefty liberals jump down Your Mama's throat about our perceived moralizing about the couple getting baby before getting married, back off. We got not issue with that sort of thing. People do what they do and frankly, we don't give a rat's ass if they had 12 damn children and remained unmarried just as long as they took the necessary steps to protect the children's health and well-being.

Anyhoo, the Mediterranean style house sits privately and securely behind gates on N. Wetherly Drive and once belonged to vaunted and Academy Award winning actor James Cagney. In addition to the living and dining room, kitchen with breakfast area and pantry, den, family room, and library/study, listing information for the property indicates that a detached building at the back of the property houses a garage and space for an office and/or gym.

Overhead views of the house indicate that solar panels have been affixed to the roof, which impresses Your Mama greatly. With all the sunshine and money in Los Angeles we are perpetually flummoxed by how few people actually install these sorts of energy friendly apparatuses. We well understand that someone who can pay upwards of $4,500,000 for a home can certainly afford high heating and air conditioning bills without worry. However, it's really not about affordability, but rather what makes sense over the long haul. Yes children, Your Mama wants to know, why aren't the rich and famous in Los Angeles leading the charge towards kitting ones house with alternative forms of energy generation? They all bought Prius hybrid cars to park next to their SUVs, so why not solar power?

Please keep in mind that the uninspired interiors in the photos do not belong to the Peet/Benioffs, but rather the previous owner, who records indicate was writer and poker fanatic Andy Bellin (Poker Nation). So we'll not bother to heave over that obscene coffee table in the living room assuming that it was hauled off to the dumpster long before Miz Peet and Mister Benioff moved in.

Although we haven't got any use for those disturbing faux "Mediterranean" style tract houses built all over Orange County, all the children surely know by know that Your Mama is partial to a well done old-school Mediterranean manse and this one seem to fit the bill with its tiled roof, second floor balconies and decorative iron work. Not unlike the Peet/Benioffs previous contemporary home, this place is not quite right, but with a few tweaks, twists and clever landscaping, Your Mama imagines this property could be a real stunner. We also like to think Miz Peet hired herself a nice gay decorator to go in there and slice and dice the interiors as well as successfully merge the vintage architectural details with the contemporary interiors we saw in their Angelo View Drive home.

The long narrow backyard is bordered by tall trees for privacy and terminates in a deelishus swimming pool/spa combination that sits far enough from the main house to inspire images of scantily clad pool boys delivering drinks and nibbles to nekkid sunbathers. It is also perfectly placed away from the house for installing one of those child safety fences that folks with young kiddies are so fond. We just hope and pray that Miz Peet will not allow one of those horrendous and deeply disturbing removable pool fences that just make Your Mama dee-pressed and angry.

Now then, Your Mama wishes Miz Peet and Mister Benioff a happy home and a Happy New Year in their not so new home.

Double Whammy (1): Amanda Peet Sells House

SELLER: Amanda Peet and David Benioff
LOCATION: Angelo View Drive, Beverly Hills, CA
PRICE: $2,300,000 (sale)
SIZE: 2,432 square feet, 2 bedrooms, 2.5 bathrooms
DESCRIPTION: Enter through the front doors to find a sunken living room with a stone fire place, walls of glass and head-on downtown city views. This prime cul-de-sac location offers the perfect one story modern with a pool overlooking oak trees. Chef's kitchen with all top of the line appliances, a full bar area that services the living room and cozy den. Large master suite with great walk in closet.

YOUR MAMAS NOTES: Since the real estate bizness often slows down to a trickle, and even grinds to a halt for many over the December holidays, Your Mama plans to pepper our discussions over the next week or two with some older celebrity real estate deals, including this Double Whammy for ack-triss Amanda Peet and her screenwriter huzband David Benioff that went down back in February of 2007.

Now listen folks, Your Mama does not want all you super successful brokers writing, calling and commenting that it's a fallacy that that bizness slows down at the end of December because you sealed a $10,000,000 deal over egg nog on Christmas damn Eve. We know all about holiday deals. However, most folks are not eager to sign on the real estate dotted line while their attorney is in Snowmass and their banker is in Switzerland shushing down a foreign slope.

So the average brokers, those who do not typically write offers or negotiate deals the last few weeks of December, simply drink themselves silly over the holidays and wait for the New Year to begin when people once again become serious about buying, selling and making deals. Besides, let's be honest, who wants to look at a house with an elaborate creche on the front lawn and all that moronic Christmas tchachke covering every flat surface?

Anyhoo, let's get back to the Angelo View Drive house way up in the Bev Hills Post Office that Miz Peet and Mister Benioff recently traded in for a bigger, better and more family friendly house in the Hollywood Hills.

Property records reveal that Mister Benioff purchased the 2,432 square foot, 2 bedroom and 2.5 bathroom house in May of 1999 for $850,000. Your Mama wondered where young Mister Benioff might have had the financial wherewithal to purchase a home in this price range when he was just in his late twenties and did not yet have any credits in the film and/or television industry. Well, a little research on the IMDB tells us that Mister Benioff (birth name Friedman) has a very rich father who happens to be pals with our dear leader President Bush. Now, Your Mama does not know shit about whether Mister Benioff's father had anything to do with this purchase, we're just saying it don't hurt to have a daddy with a fat bank account, does it? Since buying this house, Mister Benioff has gone on to a respectable and well paying career writing movies including 25th Hour, Troy, and the soon to be released The Kite Runner, a gripping and soo-blimely written book Your Mama only hopes Mister Benioff did justice.

Your Mama has to confess to a little something about this Peet gurl. We know she's a pretty and bonified celebrity and she owns a resume a mile long with scads of film and television credits. But seriously kids, Your Mama could not pick her out of a crowd if our next gin and tonic depended on it. We certainly don't mean any disrespect to Miz Peet, we really don't. But hunny, we just cain't put a face to your name without googling you first.

We digress. The single story contemporary house with it's sunken living room and kidney shaped swimming pool please Your Mama quite a bit. Yes children, we recognize that the interiors would have benefited greatly from the deft and savvy hand of a nice gay decorator, and like many of you, Your Mama thinks a mammoth and nicely worn Oriental rug with a complicated pattern and a red and black color base would look smart in the living room. We're also furrow browed over that pair of faux-looking Wassily chairs in the living room. None the less, there's nothing particularly offensive about what we're looking at...it just needs some editing and punching up.

Onto the exterior where Your Mama is fine with the somewhat brutal 1980s-ish rectilinear modern rear elevations. We're calm if not thrilled with the with the dark window frames and we can tolerate the smooth grey concrete surrounding the pool as long as it's kept in impeccable condition. We are however, somewhat unnerved by the front facade which not only looks like a crappy house in Palm Springs, but the inexcusably banal landscaping surely has the neighbors in a snit. We're also puzzled and somewhat upset by those louver things that have been affixed to the front of the house. Are these for texture? Do they provide a kind of privacy screening for windows behind them? Whatever the case, we're certain a good architect (and probably a nice gay decorator worth his Prada shooz) could come up with a better solution if given two minutes and ten dollars.

But don't let our sass and snark fool you. Your Mama actually likes this house, we just thinks it needs some tightening of the screws to bring out it's full potential as a living space.

The former Peet/Benioff house may only be in the Bev Hills post office children, but it's at least in good real estate company sitting just a few doors down from one of the many mansions owned by media magnate Rupert Murdoch, around the corner from wacky Jim Goldstein's shockingly futuristic Lautner designed tour de force, and is also spitting distance from the Davies Drive house perky nippled and ladee loving Ricky Martin sold in May of 2006 for $15,000,000. Yes children, as an aside, Your Mama has recently heard from several well connected sources who have been all up in Ricky's bizness, and they swear on their mamas that metrosexual Mister Martin is indeed a boob man. We're sure some of you have something to say about that.

But we digress yet again. Interestingly, the Angelo View Drive house appears to have been flipped by the folks who purchased the house from the Benioff/Peets in March of 2007 for $2,300,000. Records on file with the county show another sale in May of 2007 for $2,660,026. Not sure if that's because of buyer's remorse or if some real estate devil simply made a quick six figure return on their investment. Hmm. Anyone? What Your Mama really wants to know is what kind of fool pays $360,000 more for a house that sold previously just two month earlier? Honestly.

Next up, Your Mama performs a double whammy with information and photos of the Hollywood Hills house where Miz Peet and Mister Benioff have recently set up house with their new baby.

Love, Death, and "Blank".

Relax darlings, I’m not dead. I was in hiding, but I’m back now.


My last posting, which has remained on top for such a long time (Which is just where you want the World’s Sexiest Men Alive - on top!), provoked controversy beyond my expectations. Oddly though, no one has complained about having those lovely pictures of gorgeous men posted for so long. Nor did rabid Matt Damon fans besiege me with protests. They were busy watching the DVD release of The Bourne Aquarium, over and over.


No, it was insane Larry King fans and ex-wives who absolutely could not abide my insistence that Sir Sean Connery was, is, and ever shall be the Sexiest Old Guy Alive, until such time as he is dead. Having spent Christmas pouring over the obituaries for 2007 (As long as my own name is absent, which it was, there’s no more Christmassy way to spend this dreary pagan festival, once the vodka has been unwrapped.), I can state with semi-certainty that Sir Sean is still alive and sexy.

However, Morehead Heights, my magnificent movie star mansion, was picketed by a mob of rabid Larry King groupies, making a terrific clatter marching about, day after day, loudly clanking their walkers, which those blue-haired biddies can wield like lethal weapons. I had to go into hiding in my underground fallout-wine-cellar-shelter, which is equipped with enough alcohol to survive a nuclear holocaust, a third Bush Administration, or a third season of Jericho, whichever is worst. There I remained, accompanied only by the Headless Indian Brave each night, until all the Larry King fanatical groupies died out, which took the better part of three weeks. Fortunately, no one develops sexual longings for Larry King who has more than a month to live. They’re all gone now, and I have commissioned environmental artist Christo to turn their abandoned walkers, now strewn about my driveway, into a beautiful sculpture, to be called Mobilis Immobile.

Since it’s really too late for a Christmas posting, I thought I’d do my year-end death wrap-up. Many people died this year, but I’d like to discuss a case of Star-Crossed True Lovers turned tragic.

Yes Brett Somers and Charles Nelson Reilly were perhaps THE great lovers of 70s daytime TV. Forget Luke and Laura (Oh. You already have? What a time-saver.), Brett and Charles were the lovers who broke your heart on The Mismatch Game every day. Their ruthless passion for each other was doomed never to be consummated. Two obstacles to their love could never be overcome:

1. Brett was tragically shackled in marriage to Jack Klugman, despite his having abandoned her for his One Great True Love, Tony Randall. They could never divorce because they had Catholic friends, though it was a sham of a marriage.

2. Brett’s clitoris just wasn’t big enough to give Charles’s butt the kind of rough pounding he craved. Brett’s loss was Paul Lynde’s gain.

But when Charles finally passed away this year, after a career as one of Hollywood’s most virile leading men (Who could forget his heterosexual pretense in the original Broadway production of Hello Dolly, which the critics called the funniest thing in that delightful musical farce?), his death was more than Brett could take, and she died soon after, of a broken heart. As the wife of more gay men than you could shake your sticks at (Though they’d love it if you would.), I know just how painful it can be to love a man who can not return your passion merely because you only have a vestigial penis. (Just like Clark Gable, according to mouth-witnesses) We can only hope that they are now united in TV Heaven, where they finally match they way Charles always needed them too

A few other folks passed away as well, so let’s take some quick glances at them. Naturally, there is always the NO LOSS LIST, this year including such human blights as:

Anna Nicole Smith
Boris Yeltsin
Jerry Falwell
E. Howard Hunt
Kurt Waldheim
Ike Turner

Henry Hyde.

Actually, with Hyde, Fallwell, and Waldheim, it's more of a Good Riddance List.

But to hell with them, which, ironically, is just where they’re headed. Let’s remember some good folks. If you’re dead and I’ve left you off the list, well, you’ll never know, will you? For those of you dying between Christmas and New Years Eve, sorry. You didn't make the cut. Get your asses out the door faster next time. I haven't got all day you know. In no particular order, in 2007, we lost:

Magnus Magnusson, Mastermind of Mastermind. This know-all now knows nothing.
Yvonne De Carlo, Nearly as beautiful as me. Coincidentally, we were both married to Frankenstein’s monster.
Carlo Ponti, This movie producer had a very hot wife. I like men as much as the next guy (Which is saying something, considering the next guy is Little Douglas), but I’d do Sophia in a vodka minute.
Darlene Conley, Bold, beautiful, and hilarious.
Peter Ronson, This little-known Icelander was hot as hell back in Journey to the Center of the Earth in 1959. I wonder what he looked like 48 years later.
Art Buchwald, A giant, albeit, a short giant.
Bob Carroll Jr. He made Lucy funny, no easy task.
Sidney Sheldon. He made Jeannie funny before writing a lot of trash.
Lee Bergere. Forever the Carrington butler.
Molly Ivins She could have filled the void left by Buchwald, but instead she trailed along after him.
Barbara McNair. She played a nun with Elvis! And once she sang along with Little Douglas on one of his funny penis songs.
Frankie Laine, He’s caught the mule train to the next world.
Sir Ian Richardson. A fabulous actor! Too bad he squandered his great talent on all that crappy Shakespeare junk.
Peter Ellenshaw, The great matte painting artist, who made the London Mary Poppers flew over.
Buster Keaton Jr. Well, his dad was a genius.
Walker Edmiston, Wonderful puppeteer and actor, who once had dinner with Little Dougie and Doodles Weaver. Aren't you glad you weren't a fly on the steaks at that supper?
Ray Evans. He gave us stuff to sing about.
Sheridan Morley, I thought his dad was gay!
Janet Blair, She was Vincent Price’s Peter Pan, among other roles.
Bruce Bennett, One of two Tarzan’s who died this year. I must step up the auditions.
Thomas Eagleton. He was no help to George McGovern at all.
John Inman. Wonderful comic actor, a bit of a pouf, the proud possessor of an autographed copy of my book, and what gay man could ask for a more appropriate name?
Richard Jeni, Fine comic.
Betty Hutton. My ears are still ringing.
Bowie Kuhn. Something to do with sports. I don’t follow them.
Stuart Rosenberg. Never directed me.
Freddie Francis. Neither did he, but he directed a lot of Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee’s scary movies, and he won an Oscar for cinematography.
Calvert DeForest. As Larry "Bud" Melman, he proved you don’t need talent to have talent.
Calvin Lockhart, Calvin, on the other hand, did have talent, and sweet Heaven, he was gorgeous!
Michael Dibdin. Good author, or so I’m told by people who read books, and how can you trust them?
Stan Daniels, Brilliant comedy writer, and the author of The Butler Song! Now for eternity, he'll be screwing Delores Del Rio. Sounds like Heaven to me.
Johnny Hart. His humor was prehistoric, and his Id was wizardly.
Barry Nelson, The first James Bond. Fortunately, they tried again, with Sir Sean.
Roscoe Lee Browne, Large talent, magnificent voice, short stature.
Kurt Vonnegut Jr. Wrote a good book or two, the rest were GREAT!
Don Ho, Famous for singing about champagne. Sounds like a genius to me!
Kitty Carlisle, She sang she was Alone when in a crowd of Marx Brothers, What was her line again? Line!
David Halberstam. Ever read one of his gigantic books? Me neither. Some people called him a social critic, but who wants to socialize with a critic?
Bobby Pickett. He’s mashed his last monster.
Jack Valenti. He almost made the No Loss List. He gave us the movie rating system. So what exactly is the difference between X and NC-17?
Dabbs Greer, Darling Dabbs. He named Superman, among five million other performances.
Tommy Newsom, When the Doctor was out, Tommy was in. He was a sexophonist. Sounds like he made dirty phone calls.
Tom Poston. Do they make better comic actors? Nope!
Gordon Scott. Another dead Tarzan. Stop the slaughter!
Wally Schirra, He was out of this world!
Curtis Harrington. What’s the Matter With Helen? Whoever Slew Auntie Roo? He was the man to ask. The merest whisper of a homo, a pal of James Whale, a talent for cinema.
Fulton Burley. He sang Clancy Lowers the Boom over 40,000 times, and was hilarious every time.

Gretchen Wyler, Lovely actress.
Mala Powers, Also a lovely actress.
Don Herbert. Not a lovely actress, but as Mr. Wizard, he taught kids long before Dumbledore did.
Ed Friendly, He made Rowan & Martin even funnier.
Leo Burmester, a fine actor. He once hugged Little Douglas as Dougie sobbed. He was Les Miserables at the time.
Joel Siegel, Big mustache. Liked movies. Friend of Little Kent Levine. Never gave me a bad review! Now that’s my idea of a film critic.
Moe Di Sesso, After he left Bodega Bay, they were cleaning up the bird droppings for months, and what he did with Willard’s rats wasn’t very pretty either.
Beverly Sills, Call her Bubbles darlings, everybody did. Has stopped warbling.
Kent North. Hunky gay porn star who took his own life. Never mind what he’s stopped doing, although I have it on DVD.
Kerwin Mathews. Sinbad, Kerwin good. A beautiful homo famous for fighting the overly anorexic.
Charles Lane, Charlie was the third oldest living member of SAG, after Betty White and me. Now he's not.
Lady Bird Johnson. She wanted to "Beautify America," and finally has.
Kieron Moore, Some people got hot when they saw Jeanette Scott fight a triffid that spat poison and killed, but I got hot watching Kieron saving Jeanette from those same triffids. He fought Sir Sean too, in Darby O’Gill and the Little People.
Jerry Hadley. A fat lady must have vocalized, because Jerry’s opera is over. Two down. It’s a start.
Tammy Faye Bakker. Just barely escaped the No Loss List. Mascara stocks plunged when she died.
László Kovács, Took a good picture or two.
William Tuttle. He gave Tony Randall 7 faces, which must have confused the hell out of Jack Klugman.
Michelangelo Antonioni. Supposedly a great film-maker, but I could never understand a single word anyone spoke in his pictures.
Ingmar Bergman, Same gag applies to Ingrid here, though he was beautiful in Casablanca.
Lee Hazlewood. He sang with Nancy Sinatra, which wasn’t easy. His boots have walked - to Boot Hill.
Hal Fishman. He reported the news on KTLA channel 5 in Los Angeles since the Revolutionary War. Now that he’s dead, there's no more news.
Merv Griffin. I never married him. I think.
Phil Rizzuto, He was famous for something.
Richard Jewell, He was famous for not being a crazed bomber. Neither am I. Neither are you. Oh? You are? I stagger corrected.
Madeleine L'Engle. Salvador Dali had to iron all his limp clocks again after she wrinkled time.
Jane Wyman. A great first lady.
Danny Roddick, a very pretty gay porn star, but, let’s say, not entirely happy.
Alice Ghostley. Such a funny lady, and now Alice is ghostley.
Marcel Marceau, French blabberhands.
Charles B. Griffith, He wrote Little Shop of Horrors. Good writer. Worked cheap.
Martin Manulis, Producer. Made stuff.
Lois Maxwell. She died without ever getting porked by James Bond. While Sir Sean was Bond, it was tragic, but when Roger Moore took the role, it was a narrow escape!
Ned Sherrin, Witty funny English actor. They still have a few more left though.
Gary Franklin, On the Franklin scale of 1 to 10, with 10 being best, he was a 10, by which I mean, he was the best Gary Franklin around.
George Grizzard. He just never could beat Sam Waterston on Law & Order, but that’s no reason to die. He wasn’t afraid of Virginia Woolfe.
Deborah Kerr, Class, beauty, talent. I hate her guts!
Joey Bishop. The last Rat Packer to die. Now to get rid of these damn roaches.
Robert Goulet, If ever he could leave us, it turned out to be in Autumn.
Peter Viertel, He hunted elephants with John Huston. Fortunately for the elephants, he was better as a writer.
Laraine Day, Lovely actress.
Norman Mailer. I’m told he was a great writer, but don’t ask Gore Vidal about him.
Delbert Mann, A director, but he never cast me, so fuck him.
Ira Levin. He cheated on his Stepford Wife to give Rosemary a Baby who was a Boy from Brazil. In Deathtrap, he made Christopher Reeve make out with Michael Caine. That’s entertainment! Little Dougie has read all his novels. Dougie hasn't read any of Mailer. That tells you a lot about him.
Michael Blodgett, Used to appear on TV shirtless. A Saint.
Ronnie Burns. George and Gracie’s son. Loved him on their TV show, 55 years ago. What’s he been doing since?
Dick Wilson, This perv was obsessed with groping anal wipes. Ew. What a thing to be famous for.
Verity Lambert The mother of Doctor Who, and a BBC legend. Her name means "Truth". What a burden.
Joe Restivo. Good comic.
Mel Tolkin, Great comedy writer. Had nothing to do with The Lord of the Rings, more's the pity. It could have used some more laughs.
Evel Knievel, You know, those seat belts are there for a reason.
Dan Fogelberg, Good warbler. Could scribble out new warblings too.
Jack Linkletter, Outlived by his daddy Art. Rode most of the rides at Disneyland before you did.
Frank Capra Jr. His dad never directed me, so fuck him too.
Luciano Pavarotti. That’s three dead opera singers. A hat trick.
Tom Snyder, Now Dan Ackroyd needs a new act. He made being fatuous entertaining, which is more than Larry King ever has.
Denny Doherty, Oh momma, he was a poppa!
Miyoshi Umeki, They gave her an Oscar for pretending she was in love with Red Buttons. Never was an Oscar more deserved, or more unpleasantly won.

Just keep telling yourselves, you’re not dead, and even better, neither am I!

Cheers darlings.

Boxing Day Addendum:

I know I issued a Death Cut-Off on Christmas, but I just learned that legendary dancer-choreographer Michael Kidd has died, and as he actually died a couple days ago, and he was an amazing talent, I've decided to relax my rule and let him slip in. Incidentally, I'd have relaxed and let him slip in anytime he liked, as he was a doll 50 years ago. Yes, he was a guy, and yet he was a doll, which may be why he choreographed the original Broadway production of Guys and Dolls. And get this! Even though he was a ballet dancer and a Broadway and Hollywood choreographer, he was straight! He even had Kidd's kids! What an innovator! No wonder I never married him. Another of his best remembered works was choreographing 7 Brides for 7 Brothers, or as I always thought of it, 14 Married In-Laws. That's a lot of dancers for a short man to handle. He was 92 at his passing, and I undestand he'd retired from dancing for some reason a few months back. They all get lazy after a while.

So dying celebs, don't be a last-minute entry next year. Particularly you candidates for the No Loss List. Get on the list early and often, and Ann Coulter, I'm talking to you!

Cheers darlings.