Celebrity Heart-to-Heart: Installment the First
Evidently it’s pop culture week here at QSS, which was not on purpose, although perhaps I’m subconsciously trying to divert your attention away from last week, when I basically paraded around naked and screaming my emotions. Good times. Anyway. I’d like to use this forum to speak frankly and directly to several members of the entertainment community. I don’t know what this proves, except that maybe while I’m capable of reading books and being brokenhearted, I’m also not one to shy away from Us Weekly or Entertainment Tonight, but I enjoyed writing this so much that it might become a regular event. Hate is always funnier than love, baby.
Let’s get down to brass tacks.
Julia Roberts: Listen, I have to thank you for going a little loony and showing the rest of America that you’re a hobag with your husband-stealing and vindictive T-shirt-wearing, but seriously, if I see that preview for Mona Lisa Smile where you shriek, “Let’s go DANCING!” one more time, I will crawl through my television and cut you so bad your giant terrifying maw will have to grow even larger to allow for the magnitude of your shrieks of pain. Also, stay away from my girl Maggie Gyllenhaal. You can have Dunst and Stiles, but Gyllenhaal is pure and good and talented and you can’t have her. Go unhinge your jaw and drink the blood of some other starlet.
Maggie Gyllenhaal: I understand that sometimes everyone has to do a movie to pay the bills, and maybe you thought it would be fun to do a mainstream girly movie, like maybe you’d all just spend everyday on the set giggling and having pillow fights and getting big sisterly advice from Julia, but listen to me: RUN. You are a light! John Cusack was a light once! You know what happened to John Cusack after America’s Sweethearts? Strike one. Serendipity? Strike two. Identity? He’s dead to me now. But I still love Lloyd Dobbler. No one can take that away from me.
John Cusack: See above. And quit calling my house.
Tom Cruise: Nilla please. Swinging that Japanese sword around isn’t going to convince anyone that you’re hetero, or worthy of any awards or attention, or even remotely interesting. If you shrank two more inches, I would swat you like a fly.
Ryan Phillippe: I salute you. Thanks for taking one for the team and repressing your homosexuality long enough to knock up that pointy-chinned wife of yours again, thus keeping her out of my face for a few months. I owe you. Maybe a Kiehl’s gift bag or something. We’ll talk.
Anyone involved with the making of The Cat in the Hat: I have no doubt that you are all headed straight to hell, and that your hell will be a hell of Hieronymus Bosch proportions. Happy skewering!
Jack Nicholson: Stop. No: just stop. You’ve given us so much, and it’s been great, but just like I don’t really need U2 or REM to release any more albums, I don’t need you to act in any more movies. Ever. No more. Shhh. No.
Brendan Fraser: I’ve arranged a mercy killing for you. Just let go.
Bernie Mac: Dude, call me. I’m willing to overlook your show. I think we should get high and judge the Miss America pageant or something.
Jon Stewart: Seriously, why am I not writing this post from your lap? Baby, you know the love I have for you is strong and good and true, and I don’t even care that you’re shorter than me, because there would be very little standing up involved. I AM TALKING ABOUT SEX HERE, JON. Also, true love.
James Spader: After Stewart falls asleep, meet me in the guest room, and I’ll let you do the dirtiest thing you can think of to me. Twice. And then I’ll let you videotape it.
Dakota Fanning: Frankly, you make me uneasier than Spader does, but without any of the sexual undertones. Thankfully. Please, go away.
C. Thomas Howell: Still staying gold? How’s that working out for you? My best to Mrs. Howell, or, you know, Lovey.
Cusack: I’m serious, man. I have caller ID.