Beckett Boo, esq. Entertainment Cat Blogger Extraordinaire!

Twitter'ed

2010-04-06T12:46:00.000-07:00

I like Twitter better. I don't have the pressure to write complete sentences.

I'll be back with a post soon, but for now FOLLOW ME me at:
http://www.twitter.com/beckettboo

Δαμοκλης and The Wicker Hammock

2009-03-02T12:11:00.000-08:00

Today I received a postcard from my step-brother. Penn.
Penn Badgley.

He consigned it first class mail in a manila envelope to my NY offices and Shoshanna shipped it post haste to my remote island off Crete. I was directing 'Mamma Mia!' under my pseudonym Phyllida Lloyd, and had a spare hour while Meryl took her time endowing a jazz square. A polite sweaty Greek serf in a satin turban and limestine sandals hand delivered the letter. I'll name him Δαμοκλης.

I perambulated to my trailer, and latched the bolt. I unfastened the clasp and withdrew the missive. It was still wet with ink and sweat. I furrowed my brow, sipped some Brandy and read aloud. The note was brief, and out of respect to the scribe I will shelter its contents.

Badgely and I go way back. November 1, 1986. I was fresh off my success in "SpaceCamp" when Momma wired me the news. I called my agents at UTA, and had Badgely signed immediately. With my looks, Momma's freckles and Badge's natural smoldering rodent-like bone structure he was a natural family investment. Right away, he booked a Nintendo voice-over job for Mario Kart 64. Really. He did. Check Wiki. Not kidding. Call his publicist. Its true. Ask Trent Vanegas. Really.

Penn and I had it rough. He was adopted, sort of, and Poppa had to intervene during many violent altercations. Once he nudged me in the gut, and I chewed off his ear. But he won. He only has a fake ear. I a nudged gut which in turn has given me irritable bowel syndrome or "IBS". But, many a joyful memory remain. A thrilling event, we were chased by a pack of wild arctic red wolves straight on through to Jacksonville. No one went to Jacksonville. It was the slums. That's where they went through the trash to recycle the plastics we threw away. Where they made poop into peanut butter. Where they bought things at 7-Elevens or Dollar Stores on credit!

Karmaharija Goot was the leader of the slumlords. He had a a grey beard, 84 teeth and a tattoo of Jordin Sparks. He also owned two concubines and a local trout pond. He had his cronies follow us home after the YMCA bus failed to pick us up after school. Poppa had mesothelioma, and Momma slept during the days. But because we were both celebrities we got free YMCA.

The men followed us in a brown El Camino with a hay bale, a pitchfork and a pirated copy of "Duplicity". Badgley and I quickened our steps. The El Camino pulled over and a man in the driver seat indicated that our parents were in some sort of incident. He told us to get inside the car so he could take us see to Momma and Poppa at the hospital. Badgley and I didn't care because we were both adopted, and knew that we would split a handsome insurance policy. But we obliged the lonely man 'cause back in those days we had to walk places, and my feet hurt from step class. Penn and I hopped in the back of the truck and the man us sped away cackling to the tune of "If I Had A Hammer." Then a net fell over our heads. Later I found out it was a wicker hammock. Just a side note.

I must have fallen asleep, but when I woke up I was in a ranch staring into the eyes St. Jolie. I said, "Saint Angelina please save my brother, Penn and I, from this creepy man that looks a lot like J.K. Rowling." She resonated, "Find out how much God has given you and from it take what you need; the remainder is needed by others." I wept a sapphire tear when she paused at the semi-colon. I did. It's in the Smithsonian.

Suddenly, I realized it was NOT St. Angelina Jolie but the creepy man dressed like J.K. Rowling! I sprinted, but he snatched (gross!) and clutched me by my jean skirt. Badgley crouched (gross!) next to a conveniently located blowtorch near a flammable pile of dry newspapers saturated in gasoline, and moved the blowtorch to a safer place. I lit a matchstick resting in the left corner of my lip, lighted it off Badgely's cheekbones and threw it in slow motion. We fled in fast motion and got double time out of our precarious situation out the back gate. We scaled walls, back-flipped over barbed wire. We somersaulted in unison into the old man's truck, and praised our kinesthetic responses. Penn quickly hot wired the El Camino. I took photos to sell later to TMZ.

As we took off, Penn told me that they were going to blind me with candle wax. I couldn't believe it. I felt pensive. So, as we drove through the desert and I stared aimlessly thinking of Latika. But, unfortunately, we did leave a good friend there back at the ranch. I think I remember his name. I think it was Walter. Yeah, Walter Collins. I know he got away. Got a letter from him from Cambodia. Told me his mother swapped him for a kid named 'Maddox'. Walter went communist and ate locusts. But he was happy. Fell in love with a cobbler's aunt. Owned a few kilometers of rice paddies. We heard he was alive and that was enough.

Penn and I had some laughs on the road. We sang Dusty Springfield and Kool Moe Dee. We ate Subway and always asked for Dijon even though the staff knows it as 'deli mustard'. He always had interesting criticism about my books on tape. He didn't make me stop at Starbucks. We were good road buddies.

I reclined in my faux chinchilla divan, and considered Penn's letter post-read. The stars lit in Gemini, and the stain glass shone from the brazen moonlight highlighting my high Irish cheekbones. A beam of moon illuminated a scribbled word from Bagdley's poor penmanship. It read: "P.S.- I can't believe Gossip Girl is..." The rest of the letter will be read on my guest staring role on the season finale of Gossip Girl in 2010. Hint: Mushy Patchouli.

Anyway this polite sweaty Greek serf in the limestone sandals needs me to sign something. Why can't Manuel or Shoshanna handle these trivial, physical tasks? I'm a glass menagerie, don't they know? I have osteoporosis and rickets. I'm also anemic and have lupus. But I can't let Δαμοκλης wait any longer. I've already had him proof read this twice. What is a customary tip for a Greek serf? I'll just give him porridge, five shillings six pence farthing and a gift certificate to Big Lots.

Also, to my fans. Stop sending me "Curious Case of Benjamin Button" joke mail with my face cropped over movie stills. I'm not amused and its tacky.

Amen.

bb

cc:shoshanna
cc:christine collins

----------
Beckett Boo, Esq.
Cat Blogger Extraordinaire
www.beckettboo.blogspot.com

Beckett Boo Esq.'s 25 Random Things About Me

2009-02-28T13:30:00.000-08:00

via Facebook

25 Random Things About Beckett Boo Esq.

Ostensibly, the Rules:
Once you've been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you. At the end, choose 25 people to be tagged. You have to tag the person who tagged you. If I tagged you, it's because I want to know more about you.

To do this, go to notes under tabs on your profile page, paste these instructions in the body of the note, type your 25 random things, tag 25 people (in the right hand corner of the app) then click publish.

25 Random Things About Beckett Boo, Esq.

1. I invented candles.

2. I have no STD's despite Larry King's accusations.

3. I throw away my plastic bottles like a normal person.

4. I pee sitting down.

5. I went to summer camp with Candace Bushnell.

6. Bubbles creep me out. So does, suntan lotion.

7. I have Academy Awards. As you know.

8. I’m part Cherokee.

9. I deflowered Joy Fanning.

10. I have no favorite cereal.

11. I file away junk mail and yell at my wife as to why coupons were not utilized.

12. I look down on the poor, and envy the blind.

13. I paid for two of the following, but won’t say which; Sex, Murder or Plutonium.

14. I am the only person with a DVD copy of Back to the Future IV.

15. Perez Hilton is my enemy du jour, and if I see him in a club at night I’ll piss on him so he’ll glow in the dark.

16. I hate Oliver Platt’s dramatic work.

17. I have a castle, chateau, estate, hall, manor, palace, hut, residence, seat, villa in all 193 Sovereign States.

18. I was a pirate in the summer of 1439.

19. I smoked a joint with Michael Phelps. I rolled, he lit.

20. My uncle’s cousin’s nephew was one of the “two thieves” who was crucified with Jesus.

21. I see a harbinger.

22. I’ve never eaten after 4 p.m.

23. I’ve never seen a laundry room.

24. I accidentally mentioned at a holiday party to Dick Cheney and Colin Powell that I “thought” Saddam Hussein had weapons of mass destruction.

25. I have camel toe.

bb
cc: shoshanna
bcc: robin wright-penn

2009 Oscar Pics

2009-02-27T12:54:00.000-08:00

Olympic Sangria

2008-06-28T11:46:00.000-07:00

Today I am competing in the Beijing Olympic Finals in the Men’s Judo and Gymnastics categories. In my resplendent career I have earned Fifty-Seven Gold and Silver medals in various categories (even the discontinued Basque pelota). But, I have never won a bronze. I repeat, I have never won a bronze. The bronze medal looks like a giant penny, and do you know what I do with pennies. I commission copper chamber pots. I don’t even capitalize “bronze” in sentences. Unless it’s the first word of a new sentence (for all my 5 and under readers). My favorite Olympic sports are Pentathlon, Synchronized swimming, Shalom, Discus, Women’s Softball, Men’s Wrestling, Pommel Horse, Skeet and of course the Gymnastic Floor Exercise.

The Gymnastic Floor Exercise program is the most demanding and masculine of all Olympic sports. It consists of a series of tumbling passes which are performed to demonstrate flexibility, strength, and balance. My routines include floor jumps, hump spilts, scales, and press handstands. I usually close my routines with my classic demi-grand rond de jambe, others don’t.

Since I was a commoner I have cultivated a love for the Olympics. Perhaps it was my bi-racial community coming together, the fashions and bulk, the palm chalk, javelins, numbered back tags, sponsors, or perhaps it was the Winter of 1898. I had a brief romance with Nadia Comanechi's grandmother, Gabby. We lasted all summer until I playfully shot her with a potato gun full of sauerkraut. She was humourless and sensitive. I feared her needs. I had my own. I wanted the Gold. So, I left her for Errol Flynn.

When I was a child, Poppa surprised me on my birthday with a Redwood Sled handcrafted by a young Frank Lloyd Wright. Poppa and I would hike to the top of the local alpestrine. We would eat Peanut Butter and Banana sandwiches on white bread and sing ‘Frere Jacques’ as we treked through the snow. Even Mom and I used the sled to drag Poppa's luggage out to the sidewalk when they divorced.

I always took the sled werever I went. My favorite memory was in Norway. Poppa and I raced an massive avalanche trailing behind us. It was fantastic time I will never forget. Although I have forgotten Poppa. That’s when we last saw him. Grandmother said he was frozen by kindness.

I loved Poppa, but I loved that sled more. It was like a puppy to me. My sled never left me like Poppa did. I should name my sled. But not for Poppa. I don't remember his name.

Paul Hamm and I are having drinks this afternoon before the balance beam. I’ll need a pitcher of Sangria before we get to the Pommel Horse. I do a lot of tucking for that event. Soshanna is at Capezio right now buying me some spare dance belts. I need two. I do have quite a long tail.

Amen.

Beckett Boo, Esq.
Cat Blogger Extraordinaire!
www.beckettboo.com
www.beckettboo.blogspot.com
www.myspace.com/beckettboo

The Scab in the Hat

2007-11-06T10:34:00.000-08:00

Today I was named "Scab of the Year" by the Writer's Guild of America. I considered it a compliment, but wondered how they knew I got scabies from that Castro District Motel 'Cot and Stomp'. But no one texted, e-mailed or considered to tell me we were going on STRIKE. Even my assistant Shoshanna who has access to my Sabbath courier pigeon did nothing. So, unknowingly, I went ahead with my scheduled meetings via my Armani Blackberry Pearl.

Imagine this. Me elated. I had just signed a multi-million dollar deal with Paramount Classics for my scripted romantic comedy, "Alkoholika". I was sooo ectastic I did one of those jumping side click kicks, and was pleasantly pleased with my soft landing.

But upon arrival at the Paramount Studio gates I was mobbed by striking union writers. They shouted defamatory remarks, hurled tomatoes at my abdomen, and, to really piss me off shot a poisoned arrow through the rib cage of my beloved Pomeranian, Shue-Shue.

Aaron Sorkin pulled on my ascot and screamed: " 'My name is Jessica Hodges, and I'm in the third grade, and this is my question: What's your favorite part about being President?' Bartlet replies. 'I'm doing it right now.' I wrote that!"

I was quick to blame. "You killed Shue-Shue for that wickedly witty, fast-paced sentimental dialogue?!" Sorkin replied, "No, Boo, you did. It's your blog. You wrote it." [Pause.] "So noted," I huffed appropriately adjusting my ascot back into its Cocolupa knot. Then Bruce Vilanch chimed in, "Panache!" for no reason.

Meanwhile, my beloved Shue-Shue lay twisted and writhing in a pool of blood. Soaking the concrete like a spilled Slurpee, and do you know what I did? I let them watch. Yes, It was tough for me, but harder for them. I held the intellectual property rights, and they could not write about it! In addition, it was my dog and my poisoned arrow.

Tomorrow I have meetings with Jeff Zucker, Sherry Lansing, Michael Lucas, Harvey Weinstein and Lorne Michaels. I'll let you know how everything goes.

Yes, my name is Beckett Boo, Esq. and I'm a fantastic opportunistic.

Amen.

Beckett Boo, Esq.
Cat Entertainment Blogger Extraordinaire!
www.myspace.com/beckettboo
www.beckettboo.blogspot.com
www.beckettboo.com

SIDENOTE: BECKETT BOO, ESQ. SUPPORTS THE WRITERS GUILD OF AMERICA STRIKE. THIS BLOG IS NOT FOR SALE.

Britney Spears and the Celebrity Child Cellar

2007-10-16T18:27:00.000-07:00

Today I o'erheard private gossip in my redleaf rose garden betwixt two serfs that the phenomenal actress of one of my favorite films "Crossroads", Britney Spears, has ventured into mainstream pop music with her debut album, "Blackout".

I first met Britney on December 2nd, 1991. I was a young 165. She was twelve seconds old. I was there watching her dramatic entrance into the world via the birthing canal of Lynne Spears. How Lynne fit a baby, a hot pink party wig and a Mercedes Benz up there is beyond my comprehension. But there is no doubt. I was there. In fact, the Mercedes Benz hit me upon exit. I sued, and we signed the papers saying I would own Britney's first born. Ron Spears. The one no one speaks of - except me. Even my assistants, Shoshanna and Manuel, do not have access to my celebrity child cellar. Ronald is doing well. He recently hacked the Ann Coulter Website. I love Ronald - and all my celeb first borns. We are starting a softball team in the winter. So no one sees us.

Despite the settlement animosity Lynne made me Britney's Godfather (so I get 30% of all profits) and I secretly reign as the Spears' holiday bash Santa Claus. Jaime-Lynn confessed to wanting her sisters career for Xmas. I said, "I'm a jew, but come back and see me when you f**k some of that baby fat off." Jaime-Lynn ran away crying while the elfish midget photographer and I snickered. We always quote lines from the cult classic "Showgirls to videotape the children's reactions. You should have seen when I exclaimed to her brother Bryan, "I use to love doggy chow!" But, he understood and replied, "I use to love doggy chow too!" Then we acted out the hospital scene after Nomi Malone pushes Crystal Conners down the staircase. Bryan Spears is a great kid. I'd exchange Ronald for Bryan anyday.

But, Britney will always be the star of the Spears family. From her sassy teen spirit on the "The Mickey Mouse Club", to her comical turn as a closeted lesbian Christian on "Will & Grace" and her stirring revelations in "Fahrenheit 9/11" Britney has been a true leader of Artistic independence. I wish her nothing but goodwill on her debut album. I encourage everyone to purchase it. If not for Britney and her family, but for my 30% profit.

Amen.

Beckett Boo, Esq.
Cat Entertainement Blogger Extraordinaire!
www.beckettboo.com

Who Were They When?

2007-10-15T16:02:00.000-07:00

Joyce DeWitt
"Three's Company"

Joyce Anne DeWitt is a crazy American actress perhaps most famous for her role as Janet Wood on the television situation comedy Three's Company. She does autograph shows and last appeared on the hit Reality TV show "America's Next Producer". No need to tell you what she's up to because she tells you herself at her 70's chic, designer website www.joycedewitt.com. She could use a new hair style, but I love her. More than I love Chrissy! She's an avid pant hose wearer, and dated LeVar Burton.

Lee Majors
"The Fall Guy and 6 Million Dollar Man"

Lee Majors, birth name Harvey Lee Yueary, is an American actor, primarily known for his roles in movies, sitcoms and television who also starred in four long-running ABC TV series over four decades, retiring in 1986. Around the time you were born. He holds the Guiness Book of World's Record Titles for worst male birth name and best screen/porn name.

Jodie Foster
"Moi, Fluer Bleue"

Alicia Christian Foster. better known as Jodie Foster, is a two-time Academy Award-winning American actress, director, French recording artist and producer. She has also won two Golden Globes, 3 BAFTA awards and a Screen Actors Guild Award, making her one of the few select actors to have won all four major motion picture acting awards. Ooops, she's still around. Note to self: Call Jodie.

Amen.

Beckett Boo, Esq.
Cat Entertainment Blogger Extraordinaire!
www.beckettboo.blogspot.com
www.myspace.com/beckettboo

www.beckettboo.com

MUSIC REVIEW: RADIOHEAD "IN RAINBOWS"

2007-10-13T13:12:00.000-07:00

The lyrics stain around the notes in repetition like a Gertrude Stein poem, dangerously subtle and unassuming. With a sound quality that would make Alexander Graham Bell’s old rusty gramophone blush Radiohead’s new album "In Rainbows" reminds the individual that our generation has gotten too old for psychedelic mushrooms. Produced by Nigel Godrich the introspective beats and poppycock lyrics sober your nerves while your car stereo suffers from its weak shriveled sound system like a cold wet penis. The music is so avant-garde I wear a hockey mask, and attempt eating risotto soy porridge with a plastic spork. It's cathartic. "Arpeggi" and "House of Cards" are among the classics of the bunch. The college boys will say they love it, but secretly don’t understand it. The Elite will play it at ballet class for their three year olds, and Suzanne Vega will probably do an acoustic cover of "Nude".

I love "In Rainbows", and give it a whopping four Mint Juleps out of five. The last one, I drank.

Ironically, I drank it at a gay speakeasy called, In Rainbows. Manhattan 22nd and 8th Avenue. October 12th Midnight. I was in the pumpkin camisole. You wore hazel khakis. Call.

The Radiohead guys are so rich they are giving away this album for free. I was never a Radiohead fan until my college days at Wharton when I first heard "OK Computer". I lost my virginity to the stinging love anthem, "Packt Like Sardines In A Crushd Tin Box". I’ll spare the details, and specific orifice.

Thom Yorke had the privilege of a rare sit down interview with me at the Four Seasons Beverly Hills:

Beckett Boo esq.: So what’s wrong with the eye?
Thom: Droopy lid.
Beckett Boo Esq.: So, I hear you have a free new album coming out?
Thom: Yea, it’s called “In Rainbows”. It’s a pay what can you can situation.
Beckett Boo Esq.: Is it tax-write-off-able?
Thom: I don't know U.S. tax law. I’m British.
Beckett Boo, esq.: That’s explains the mumbling. Continue - tax law?
Thom: Uh – uh don’t know, but its probably a tax write-off for wealthy Americans with income over $200,000.

[He turns to guitarist Colin Greenwood and they toast with recycled plastic bottles of Volvic water.]

Beckett Boo esq.: You like to get political don’t you?
Thom: I’m just calling them as I see them, bloke.
Beckett Boo Esq.: Is it true that “Creep” was written in the men’s toilet at your alma mater Exeter University?
Thom: I thoroughly deny that in my autobiography.
Beckett Boo Esq.: Wikipedia says its true. But we’ll talk more about that “off the record”.
Thom: No. We won’t.
Beckett Boo Esq.: Why does it take three times alone in your car to understand a Radiohead album?
Thom: That might be your experience, but I can’t speak from an objective point of view.
Beckett Boo Esq.: The eye thing is creepin’ me. No pun intended.
Thom: No problem. You're having an emotional response to something that isn't normal for you.
Beckett Boo Esq.: So do you have anymore questions for me?
Thom: I didn't ask you any questions.
Beckett Boo, Esq.: Touche.

[End of interview.]

Amen.

Beckett Boo, Esq.
Beckett Boo, Esq. Cat Entertainment Blogger Extraordinaire!
www.beckettboo.com

RADIOHEAD "IN RAINBOWS"
Four Mint Juleps Out Of Five

Beckett Boo's Apple Brownie Surprise

2007-10-11T22:36:00.000-07:00

Preheat Oven to 350 degrees.

Mix 1 Cup of Sugar/Splenda, 1 egg cream and one stick of THC, Δ9-THC, Δ9-tetrahydrocannabinol laced butter.

Mix Together thouroughly. Disguise my hate for Charlize Theron overwrought performance in "Monster" when she calls.

Add:

1 cup of Flour 1/2 tsp Soda
1/2 tsp Salt 1/2 tsp Baking Powder
1 tsp cinnamon

Mix Together thouroughly. Pilates with "Manuel".

Add:

1 cup (2 Apples Peeled and Chopped)

Mix With a Wooden Spoon.

Put in an 8 inch Square Pan - ungreased.

40 minutes at 350 degrees.

[Double recipe for a 9X13 pan.]

Amen.

Beckett Boo, esq.
Cat Blogger Extraordinaire!
www.myspace.com/beckettboo
www.beckettboo.com

G*DAMMIT, Miley F**CKING Cyrus!

2007-10-04T11:56:00.000-07:00

I was present at all of Streisand’s Farewell Tours, Sang a duet of “Say, Say, Say” with Michael Jackson in Budapest, sat Luxury VIP at Justin’s Futuresex/Lovesounds Tour, rode motor bike across the country with Eddie Vedder and Sean Penn, had a recurring role on The West Wing, won three Oscars, trained all the gymnasts at Cirque De Soleil, wrote the bestselling autobiography “I Laugh and I Love That’s How I Stay So Fit!”, made a sex tape with Britney Spears and Kevin Federline (he was on bottom) and I STILL can’t get tickets for f**cking HANNAH MONTANA!

My adopted Anguillan son, Absolam, would be so thankful if some kind, generous, supportive individual would donate a ticket to my sickly, adopted, wretched child. One ticket will do. Absolam can go with the Ritchie’s and play with Rocco and David Banda. I’ll get seaweed facials with Lola, and Zahara. Ooops – mixing up the bastards and adoptees, again.

But the question remains. Out of the billions and trillions of VIP events that I have attended and presided over why the f**ck can I NOT GET A F**KING TICKET TO THE F**KING HANNAH F**CKING MONTANA CONCERT!

[Brief pause. Throws Baby Phat Sunglasses against glass cubed wall. Glasses shatter - upon Glass.]

Incidentally, my assistant, Shoshanna has just whispered to me, that I am the current owner the Staples Center wherein the concert is to be performed. I, apparently, have a private box reserved box.

So, now I am forced to cancel the show.

If I have to go, Absolam will not.

SIDENOTE:

Our Publicity Department Thanks The Good People at Defamer.Com
For Mentioning The Debut of BECKETTBOO.COM:

http://defamer.com/hollywood/short-ends/sometimes-things-get-a-little-weird-on-martha-308980.php

Amen.

Beckett Boo, esquire
Cat Blogger Extraordinaire!
www.myspace.com/beckettboo
www.beckettboo.com

Slacks, Pants and a Papsmear

2007-09-10T15:18:00.000-07:00

Today is my first,
For Your Information Blog,
or FYI #1.

Here is a short list of words
that make my soul cringe:

Moist

Squat

Crouch/Crotch

Slacks

Pant

Pants

Panties

Pantsuit

Sedan

Satchel

Puss

Nugget

Fester

Goethe

Phlegm

Lunch

Harry Potter words (i.e. Quidditch, Horcrux, Reparo)

Fulcrum

Vulva

Travolta

Thinketh

Escrow

Papsmear

and, finally,

Napkin.

Please do not correspond with me using any of those ridiculous word. If so, you will be blacklisted..forever.

Right, Portia De Rossi?

Amen.

Beckett Boo, Esq.
Cat Blogger Extraordinaire!
www.beckettboo.blogspot.com
www.myspace.com/beckettboo

Der Unfall ist auf der Kreuzung Passiert! (English Version)

2007-08-13T10:10:00.000-07:00

Today I arrived post haste via my black stallion carriage to Burning Spear's concert at the Hollywood Bowl. Burning Spear is a Grammy Award winning Jamaican roots reggae singer also known for his Rastafari movement messages and, of course, being Britney's grandfather. So it was good to see her, Small Fry and Tater Tot.

My assistant, Shoshanna, begged for an extra ticket. She, finally, confessed to being a Jewish Rastafarian. I was wondering why she hadn't washed her hair since I hired her. But, I got her a ticket anyway. Section V2. Far. An early Christmas bonus.

The night was a haze. A lot more white people than I would have liked, but, alas. I think I got what is commonly referrred to as a 'contact high'. I was so happy, free and less moody that I actually tried to speak to "the locals". I introduced myself to a German concert goer named, Digrib. She introduced me to her pals Atrebor, Hcaz, Divad, Deraj, Nais, Ttirrem, Sirhc and Mark. All wonderful people and considerate Germans. Except for Mark.

Mark is a considerate fellow, but no German.

I tested him by asking, "Wie geht es Ihnen?"
(How are you?)

He replied, "Zair goot."
(I'm good)

I questioned, "Letzten Sonntag blieb ich zu Hause."
(Last Sunday I stayed home.)

He responded, "In der Nacht wird es kalt"
(It gets cold at night.)

I retorted, "Ich bin gut in Chemie."
(I am good at Chemistry.)

He implied, "Der Unfall ist auf der Kreuzung passiert."
(The accident happened at the crossroads.)

I finalized, "Ich möchte zwei Ananas! Entschuldigung Sie bitte."
(I would like two pineapples. Excuse me.)

Then Digirb and I left Mark and searched for two pineapples. Somehow, people thought we were being racist. I was. Digirb wasn't. She was a lovely sweet pixie German girl wearing Dutch Adidas. She had red ponytails, and sold aspirin as ectasy. Quite a profit. I liked her ambition. Good person too! I'm sure if she were Oskar Schindler she would have bought many Jews.

If Digirb found the pineapples I requested I would certainly fire Shoshanna. But, Shoshanna, had me by the balls. All three. Photos of me. Audio converstaion. Private diaries. The password to my blog. She could put me in the poor house. I'm being blackmailed. Help. If you've read this far.

So, we returned to our garden boxes when Burning Spear invited me up to sing a duet of "Jah Say". I obliged much to the demand of the zealous crowd. When we got to the harmonies I bit my toungue to quell my vibrato. It may have made me sound "pitchy". But, I'll check You Tube tomorrow and see for myself. I felt like I was sitting by the pool on a Carnival Cruise line, but docked and obliterated. Everyone told me the next day I was singing with my back to the audience, and my pants were backwards and my fly was open. Perhaps, there won't be a You Tube post afterall. Note to self: Call lawyer.

I felt okay to drive, and I did. Right into a concrete barrier, and over a 50 foot bridge. It sounds cartoonish, yes, but it happened. Luckily, I'm alright ' cause I can write what happens to me. Unfortunately, Shoshanna did not make it. She died horribly smushed by a fender in the skull and a heavy bag of used moist towelettes.

[I'm alive, asshole! - $ho$hanna]

So, I have a heavy schedule flowing ahead. That's sounded menstrative. But, I'll be out of town for a time, and Audio Blogs will be arriving in late August! After I airbrush them.

Amen. Goodwill toward all of Mankind.

P.S. - All my blogs are copywrited by U.S. and International Law. I'll sue you, and insure that your families future geneology is extinct. Cheers.

Beckett Boo, esq.
Cat Entertainment Blogger Extraordinaire!
www.beckettboo.blogspot.com
www.myspace.com/beckettboo

Hepburn and the Mint Julep Chalice

2007-08-09T20:59:00.000-07:00

A Mint Julep is a summer porch cocktail traditionally made of four ingredients:

Fresh Mint, Kentucky bourbon, cane sugar and water. In the use of sugar and mint, it is not be confused with the mojito. I prefer crushed Viagra. But, I do not condone it because I'm just a fancy gay cat.

Kate Hepburn and I use to challenge each other by testing Spencer Tracy to figure out from whose garden the fresh mint came from. My forty acres and my mule, Cracker Jack, or Hepburn's luscious thousand acre compund 'Grayskull'. Spencer always guessed which one was Kate's. He knew not to cross Kate Hepburn. She had a special blowtorch that she promised to ignite his eyebrows with if he was wrong. I liked his eyebrows, so I always spat in his Mint Julep before he made his final decision.

Hepburn was a meticulous gardener. Pruning and snipping. Carefully choreographing the placement of each rose and snapdragon. The Mint had a special section. Next to the the gazebo, westward of the river's edge and 200 miles south of where she lived. There grew Katharine Hepburn's Mint leaves. She told me this was the perfect soil to grow Mint. I asked her, "Hep, why don't you grab a shovel and bring the dirt back to Grayskull with you?" "Darling", she intoned in her classic quiet wail, "we must go to the Earth. Work with the Sun. Let them guide the way." I could smell the Nag Champa breathing from her armpits, but I stood fascinated as she picked particular sprigs.

"Aaaaahhhhh-hhhhaaaa! Ttheeesseeee aaaarrreeee thhhee ooonneeesssss" She announced for forty-eight seconds. So, we got back in Kate's 1939 Hummer H2 Early Edition, and gas guzzled through the landscape smoking cloves driving to Grayskull compund. I was 'nipping Moonshine waiting for the fucking Mint Julep. I may have even popped a tab of acid. But, I'm not sure, or that day Kate looked very alienish. Either way we had a very fun ride back to wherever the hell we were.

When we arrived home. It took Kate twelve seconds to make four Mint Juleps. For Spencer, Kate, Me and a young Phil Collins. It was well worth the drive. The Mint was exquisite. The grandest Mint Julep I had, nor ever will have. Spencer guessed it was Mint from my garden after a tossle of the hair on young Phil. Katharine tilted her head to the side, and flared out the blowtorch. Spencer stood up and pulled her into his side and kissed her on the lips. Still and passionate, like those 40's movies. Katharine melted into his embrace. We all laughed and sang along to an early acoustic experiment called "Sussudio". Either way, Phil was a budding talent with that charismatic button nose and fantastic golden feathered hair. A talent I was willing to quelch with a little help from Hepburn's blowtorch.

There's nothing funny to say about Ms. Hepburn. She was one of my finest Mentors. She was as classy and unladylike as a gal should be.

Amen.

Sidenote:

"The origins of the Mint Julep are clouded and may never be definitively known. What is known for certain is that the Mint Julep originated in the south US, probably sometime during the 18th Century. The word 'Julep' is derived from the Persian 'Julab' meaning rose water. Traditionally, Mint Juleps were often served in silver or pewter cups, and held only by the bottom and top edges of the cup. This allows frost to form on the outside of the cup." Thank God for Wikipedia cut and paste. I prefer a platinum chalice.

Beckett Boo Esq. Mint Julep Chalice Cocktail:

Type: Mixed Cocktail
Served: Over crushed, or shaved ice.
Standard garnish: Mint leaves
Standard drinkware: Tall glass, or "Julep Chalice".

Ingredients:
3 oz. Bourbon whiskey
4 to 6 sprigs fresh Mint leaves
Granulated Sugar, to taste.
(American readers, please use Splenda.)

Preparation: Put fresh Mint, sugar, and a small amount of crushed or shaved ice into the bottom of a Julep chalice or tall glass. Muddle the Mint and sugar, then let stand for a bit to allow the broken leaves to release their flavor. Add bourbon whiskey, top off with crushed or shaved ice, and stir well to mix and chill the libation.

In addition, always capitalize the "M" in Mint and the "J" in Julep.

Everywhere. Yet once more, amen.

Beckett Boo, esq. Cat Blogger Extraordinaire!
www.beckettboo.blogspot.com
www.myspace.com/beckettboo

Clash of the Hilton

2007-08-08T18:07:00.000-07:00

Today I ran into Perez Hilton at The Coffee Bean, literally, as he was jammed in the door. I wanted to help, but I figured it would give me more time to get out of the country with David Beckham before he "outs" him too. I smiled at him, and laughed - then wrote this. I'm still giggly.

The last time I saw Perez it was Mardi Gras '82 and we met at a Frontiers Magazine Party. He was a rent-a-twink, and I wouldn't pay 50 cents. He even tried to talk me down to a quarter, but I told I'd get all the diseases he had in the alley for free. So, we chit- chatted about "hooking" and I told him that based on the amount of time he was putting in the profit margin just wasn't worth it. My advice: Blogs. He scoffed, and I scoffed back. Then we looked up the word "scoff", and found that we meant "sneer". I told him "Fine. Here's a bit of advice then. Buy stock in Enron."

The next time I saw him was the bathroom at the WeHo Target being paid by a tranny. I pretended he was straight just to twist the knife a little deeper, and asked, "Who's your wife?" He pretended I wasn't there even though I asked him through my bullhorn. So, I let that one go.

Another time, I was doing a local access show as Perez was just starting his blogging "career". We were trapped in a thin hallway, and we knew there was no way I was getting through without a crobar and a vat of vasoline. So, I started some small talk:

- Well, Perez, here we are again. Looks like the camera adds ten pounds.
- I hate myself, he replied, I hate my body, my looks, the sad way I make living ruining successful people's lives.
- Boo, I whispered.
- Are you mocking me, Beckett? He huffed.
- No, that's my name Perez. Boo.
(I whispered it because that's code to my assistant, Shoshanna, reminding me to put a restraining order placed against him.)

"Well, I took your advice Beckett," he drooled, "I'm a big blogger now. I'm gonna make millions and buy the boots out from under you!"

"Perez, darling, the boots are priceless. They were a gift from the Onassis family. This is the fur of Jackie's yak, and if you want to make your legacy as a glutton, and cancer on culture, my friend, be my guest. But they'll find a cure for you, and I'm sure you'll find it on Craig's List under M4M Antelope Valley."

Perez, aka Mario Lavandiera, fell silent. He knew he was out of his league. "Well, I gotta get to jet, Beckett!" Perez said sinking into his signature slouch. "Watch yourself, and I'll get you Beckett Boo, esq. I'm powerful." He tried to step forward to no avail.

"Well, looks like I'll have to go the other way." I responded blithely. Perez insisted on sliding past, and I had already filled my "rude-meter" for the day, so I allowed passage. Our bellies barely touched. For once, I found remorse from him. It may have been the Panda Express he seemed to be digesting. I felt a heart. I mean a hard-on. I knew what it was. I saw it on the 'Manhunter' website years ago. Politely I insisted that my wife, Pegasus, would be offended. So, it was a no-go. I'm not marrried, but I had just seen "Clash of the Titans" that day, and a young Harry Hamlin was on my mind.

So, I had Shoshanna prepare me a bath - with Lavender, Ajax and Brillo Pads. I couldn't get the Perez Hilton moisture out of my pores. Shoshanna is good with a colonic, but no good at facials. So, I had my body rubbed down by Sven and Gorvac who do that radiation treatment thing Meryl Streep gets in "Silkwood."

The moral of the story is: Don't use your Arts Degree to sell your friends and fellow Artists short by "outing them" and damaging the mystique of the characters and stories they are telling. If you do you'll make a lot of money, but you'll always have rabbit teeth.

Sidenote: Watermelon is a very vaginal object. Tasty, but, remind me to tell Shoshanna never to buy watermelon again.

Amen.

Beckett Boo, esq.
Cat Entertainment Blogger Extraordinaire!
www.beckettboo.blogspot.com
www.myspace.com/beckettboo

How I made $7.75 In 22 Minutes

2007-08-07T15:34:00.000-07:00

Last night I attended the opening for Robin Thicke's new men's cologne "Thickenesse". Not a catchy title, but I don't think there are gonna be buyers anyway. I sold my stock once I noticed he was white.

All the usual suspects were in attendence: Brooke Hogan, Cheyenne, Kim Stewart, Talon, Trishelle from The Real World, Jenna McCarthy and Chamillionaire. His new copper "grilles" are atrocious. I'm a Platinum guy. Chammilionaire suggests that Copper is set to make bundles in the stock market, but doesn't seem right that a man named Chammilionaire should wear pennies for teeth. At least that's what I thought until his bodyguards pulled out Coral Blue Diamond Grilles which Chammi told me "off the record" was only for use on certain female anatomallia.

Repulsed, I retreated to the VIP room, because, yes, Chamillionaire told me all this while snacking on whitefish piccata dumplings. So, there I was curtained off from all the Z-List celebrities, and Stalkkerazzi. I was finally at peace. Me, Robin, Alan Thicke, Robin's publicist Amanda Silverman, Adam Sandler, Gabriel Macht, Don Cheadle, and Suzannne Sommers. Maybe I was drunk, but I did get along pleasantly with Suzanne. I may have offended her when I said, "VIP room? This is more like the tram tour at Universal Studios." But she laughed and half of her face jiggled and we laughed again. Then again.

I spent 22 minutes total at the party pretending to listen to a duet with Robin and Chakka Khan. It was like peeing on yourself at fat camp. I was embarrased for everyone - except for me. I'm gorgeous. Luckily I was listening to an Oprah Bookclub podcast on my strategically placed Ipod Shuffle. "Light In August" F.Y.I.

So, I left because I loathe being the "biggest celeb" at the party. I need deflection.

I sold Robin Thicke's album that was so graciously inserted into my gift bag on Ebay. I made a 5 buck profit - plus shipping and handling. I'm never really gonna mail it anyway. So...$7.75. I don't know who the Purchaser of the album was, but I hope they know Robin's white.

Beckett Boo, esq.
Cat Blogger Extraordiniare!
www.beckettboo.blogspot.com
www.myspace.com/beckettboo

The Truth About Penny Lohan

2007-08-05T10:01:00.000-07:00

Today I despise Dina Lohan.

Dina and I go way back to summer camp. 1985.

I was a counselor at an unspecified government facility and Dina Lohan was my counselee. Dina told me things I could never say, by law, if they hadn't taken away my f***king Psychology license. But, I can shout them now!

She made a move on me. She used my love of Sweet & Low and told me there was an even sweeter tasting artificial sweetener except this one you snort up your nose. She was right. I lost 8 lbs. that night, and if you don't know what "lbs." is you shouldn't be reading this blog. She seduced me, and we did "it" despite the fact that I was "bi" then, and that day the coin had flipped to "heads". I dealt with it in the most appropriate fashion I could. Medevial Armor.

We dated for a few days. Dina bitched and complained all 3 days of it! I couldn't take it. She was speaking so fast that I thought it was Portugese. I am fluent in Portugese, so I misunderstood a lot of what she was saying, but I did hear her say, "I'm pregnant."

I said "Kill it. I'm too young to be wasting my time on babies. For goodness sake, Dina, we did it because of the Meth, and that's not a way to force a man into having a child!"

She threw a sucker punch at me, but my bodyguard Tonraq deflected with a elbow jab to her larynx. So, we broke up, and she met some convict, and had some more babies.

But I'm forced to know deep down, "Lindsay's" mine. I'm not saying anything publicly because I really don't care. She just taking up too much of my Press. I'm not going Larry Birkhead or anything. I don't want this on my resume. Nor my biography that's why I am settling this old score on this private blog. Plus I have 38 other children...

But the rest of this blog is for "Lindsay":

Dear "Lindsay":

It's me. Your true father, Beckett. First, lease change your first name. Your mother has a history of naming children poorly. I had no say. I am sorry. It's tough being the popular girl with such a lousy first name. These are my choices, daughter: Leighanna, Vianca, Lajita, Akeldama, Jezebel or Penny. If you had a unique name you wouldn't have to overcompensate. I'm not scolding you. Trust me, Penny, I've had my nostrils sewn together a couple times now. But, when you have this much blackmail over Hollywood I get great doctors.

[Stay with me this far "LIndsay". Almost done. No sleepy, yet.]

So, to recap, ditch the name. Keep in touch with Dina, but protect yourself from her "Peter Pan Syndrome". Don't call me, or that Michael guy. He's a patsy, and I don't really care. Go to acting school, or call my friend Hugh Hefner (323) 555-3187 at the Playboy Mansion - he'll hook you. But have a good life. Take better care of yourself. Don't blame anyone, but yourself and your publicist. Call Ken Sunshine. If he'll see you.

Also, your Mother was never a "Rockette" for Radio City Music Hall. Unless you call being a "Rockette" being the top call girl at Bling Bling's in Astoria, Queens. Your Mother has exaggerated that story for yeeeeeeeeears. Just like I brag about have four Bentley's on my episode of "Cribs". I only own two. The other's were borrowed from Ice T. There I said it. Let's all join a 12 Step-program.

You can just rest on your laurels, or you can be a woman and pull "an Angelina". Pay for Ken Sunshine. Whatever the cost. Look what he did for Leo, and Leo was a huge x-head.

There's a way to stay drunk and still make it look dignified.
Fix it, Penny.

Regards,

Beckett Boo, Esq.
Cat Blogger Extraordiniare!
www.beckettboo.blogspot.com
www.myspace.com/beckettboo

Universal Arabesques

2007-03-16T22:41:00.000-07:00

Today I thought about the Universe.

I was relaxing in my marble jacuzzi ears underwater listening to the silence watching the glistening great beyond above. I wondered, would I be adored beyond the firmament? Do aliens worship me, as my fans do? Would I still be an entity after my immenint demise, and if so, what kind of spirit would I be and what would I look like? Is botox available in heaven, and how much does it cost? Are there coupons - and do they stlll double them at certain supermarkets?

No, I was not 'shrooming I was just relaxing with my rooibos tea and my chef, Manuel, who was saturated in olive oil and rasberry preserve. What would become of me when I came to my...End. My 'cul de sac', as Hemingway once wrote. Would Manuel be there? Would Zsa Zsa Gabor be there? Would my blanket, Tonky, be there? I was heavy in thought as the jets of the jacuzzi roared against my nether regions. What does it all matter? Would people continue to read my blogs? Would Steve Guttenberg ever work again? Would they ever make a sequel to my favorite film, "Showgirls"?

My final response: Yes. I matter. Yes. You matter. Even Elizabeth Hasselbeck matters - because Life matters. Because Love matters, and dammit I Love me. I do. Unquestionably. Actually, overwhelmingly. I have my webcam on myself as I write this blog right now. Damn, I'm f**king gorgeous.

So, I phoned my friend Dionne Warwick. Dionne awnsered the phone as she usually does, "I know it's you". I asked her, "Dionne how do you always know it's me?" She claimed psychic ability. I knew it was caller ID, but I placated her anyway.

-Dionne, you are such a brilliant psychic. How do you know such things?

-Beckett Boo, she replied, it's just about - listening. Stop. Breathe and listen.

For some reason I thought she was psychically telling me I was on fire. So instead, I stopped, dropped and rolled. As, I rolled I did a Petit Battement into a Plie and rounded off into an Arabesque. Manuel was impressed because I did it all with my bluetooth ear piece.

- Beckett, Dionne blurted, have you ever experienced Enlightenment?

I hesitated. Was she referring to my Nusrat Fateh Ali Kahn compilations, or the the 'Tao of Pooh' audiobook I received from Jared Leto? Nevertheless, I said, "I don't know, Dionne. How do I find this...Enlightenment?"

- Stand in front of a mirror and stare at yourself for 30 minutes, she spoke softly. Look into the design of your eyes. The richness of its green tint. The pupils and the pure whiteness of the outer circle.

I followed her instructions although my eyes were blazin' red from the Dom Perignon. Yet, I saw a vague green tint. I meditated on my beauty. I winked at myself when I felt charmed. Then I french kissed the mirror. If only I could meet me, and me was a 14 year old greek boy name, Zyylos. But, I saw Dionne's point. How could I question the universe when the universe was in my eyes?

Five hours later I fell into a spiritual coma. My pulse dropped. My extensions were coming loose. Manuel's fingers turned pruney, as I forgot to release him from the jacuzzi. But, I was at peace. Calm and stationary as a stillborn baby.

I spoke 'Pig Latin' backwards, and felt my head swarm with images of elephants having lyposuction. Was this enlightement? I rushed to my Wikepedia and found this, "Enlightenment (or brightening) broadly means the acquisition of new wisdom or understanding enabling clarity of perception." I had several words for Manuel to look up for me in the dictionary. I stalled as he turned the pages. My eyes averted ignoring his wrinkled index, thumb and pinkie.

Wisdom?
Clairity?
Perception?
Acquisition?

It seemed to me that I shouldn't have skipped all my Calculus classes. I knew none of these words. Manuel had a lot of 'looking up to do'. Poor Manuel. At least he was nude, shaved and Argentinian. I certainly knew those words. By heart.

So, I'm still searching for Enlightenment. My best friend, Kelly Ripa, told me it would take a lifetime to find. Luckily, I have 7 left. So, I figured that it really doesn't matter and I can go back to doing what I do best - drinking. It was after my 8th cocktail that I fell into my infinity pool and drowned. During my resucitation I found Enlightenment, and it was chapped, shriveled and Argentinian.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm...anuel.

Promises, Promises

2007-03-13T11:25:00.000-07:00

Today I was, finally, released from rehab. Thanks to all the well wishers who, adoringly, have written and sent discreet packages of "legal" substances to get me through these rugged six (6) months.

In rehabilitation, with my anonymous friends L. Lohan, C. Love, M. Jacobs, H. Joel Osment, E. Van Halen, R. Williams, K. Urban, T. Haggard, M. Barton's sister Hania (oops-named her), I. Washington, and Ms. B. Spears we were forced to watch all 10 seasons of "The View". I've had enough of Joy Behar's Comedy Corner to last me 9 lifetimes. In fact, it caused my friend Britney to jump the gates and shave her head in the San Fernando Valley. That was around the time we got to Season 4 - The Lisa Ling Days.

These days the air smells significantly sweeter, but life is tedious and remarkably boring. I miss my opium infused Mint Julips and my crack dealer, Rajj. But, I have noticed positive changes in my day to day life since my release. For instance, I've read the first 30 pages of about 200 books. I use an escalator instead of an elevator. I tie my own ascot. I like running around nude in the sprinklers. I eat pork chops. My penis grew 14 inches, and I suddenly feel things...like "feelings".

I did miss a lot being away from the news media for so long. I can't wait to eat lunch with the Beckhams and get my face back in the tabloids. I don't care what they say about me I just miss being in the press. Although, if PerezHilton "outs" me I swear I will shoot him with a Super-Soaker full of Cat Urine. Mine glows under a blacklight, so I'll make sure it happens at Club Stereo or Hyde. I'm starting to run out of enemies because now people have all this sudden sympathy for me, so I have made PerezHilton target and Plus-Size enemy #1.

The first thing I did upon my release was call Shoshanna. Shoshanna, as many of you already know, was my assistant that I fired after she forced my grandmother, Heidi Klum, to enter me into rehab. I understand now why Shoshanna did what Shoshanna did - and if you reading this blog aloud it must be fun to have said Shoshanna as many times as I have written thus far. Shoshanna was hired as my "Yes" woman. My Howard K. Stern, if you will, and when she said "No" to my request for a featherbed cot and a bottle of oxycontin I was forced, by terms of her employment contract, to let...her...go. She quickly found employment with my ex-"wife", Michelle Rodriguez. But when I phoned Shoshanna immediately left Michelle at some bar named after Frida Kahlo, and wisked me away from my isolation.

Shoshanna has since received a raise. Largely in part for her participation in my soul's renewal, but also because when I returned to my estate there was the featherbed cot, a Mint Julep, and a freshly filled bottle of oxycontin. Shoshanna, apparently, had had enough of Ms. Rodriguez, as I did during her Sapphic beginnings. Like I've always said, "Too much vagina is - repulsive."

So, I'm home.

Content.

Resolute - and resting comfortably on a listless cloud of vapid emptiness.

Shoshanna shall receive medical benefits, and I will re-instate her green card.

I now have my comfortable life back, and my "Yes" woman.

It's good to be home...wherever the hell I am.

Always Yours - well not always,

Beckett Boo, esq.
Cat Blogger Extraordinaire!
www.myspace.com/beckettboo
www.beckettboo.blogspot.com

Monarch

2006-11-04T00:10:00.000-08:00

Today I ate squash and persimmons with a tablespoon of cinnamon cilantro horseradish. It was delectable.

Today I, also, reflected on my Life Coach, Monarch.

She was a child of the 60's and now with the times (and lack of funds for surgery) has aged horribly. I reflected on her skin tone and body weight, and in the privacy of my bathroom stall pinched my tummy to see if I possessed extraneous mass. I didn't. She has been a beacon of light and hope in my life and I have chosen to honor her with her own paragraph.

"Cheaters" is on. I must go.

Amen.

Beckett Boo, esquire
Cat Blogger Extraordinaire!
www.beckettboo.blogspot.com
www.myspace.com/beckettboo

Legacy and Inheritance

2006-10-17T12:33:00.000-07:00

Today I bought an Algerian refugee child whom I have since named, Barnn. Barnn is a small child about 3'6", mildly mal-nourished, yet, some in various gossip circles of mine would refer to him as "portly". He will be a robust man, eventually, but for now he is my second child.

I adopted him from his father, Cheidi. "That's Heidi with a "C"!" I exclaimed. He didn't get the joke, but Shoshanna, my assistant, did. I felt she gave a forced laugh, but it gave Cheidi pause to taste modern American humour. Algerian humour seems to involve mongoose being chased by wild boar with their feet bound in wooden clogs. Although that seems mildly humorous I am not humored by anything to do with clogs. Back to the point, Cheidi and the Algerian Government were so grateful that I will be taking Barnn to the states. There he will train to be a celebrity. Maddox Jolie-Pitt has already signed a contract to portray him in a Lifetime Portrait Series loosely adapted about Barnns' future. Chris Nolan is set to direct.

My other son, Absalom, whom you may remember from my blog "Fishing for Barracuda", has been an absolute peach over the recent adoption. From his coat, tie Military Academy I get a sense of sincere excitement from his edited postcards. Shoshanna edits them for me in her office darkroom. Black Marker. Absalom wants to be President someday. That is until I tell him all his papers are fake. I'll suggest starting from inside the Central Intelligence Agency, a la The Departed, so he can create a past. But for now, he's doing well until they read this blog.

Barnn can't walk yet, but he's getting really good at logarithms and levitation. I think he'll be walking by November. Patti Smith stopped by to drop off some gifts for my refugee tyke. The fake dead crow was very kind of her, but I think it might ring up harmful Algerian memories for Barnn. So, I sent it to Madonna (48) for her new refugee baby. I'm sure there are no crows in Malawi, so old Madge (48) wouldn't be too upset. At least, on record, that's the information my assistant Shoshanna has given me about crows in Malawi. Alan Thicke stopped by, but I drew the curtains and put out my "breastfeeding' doorknob placard so he would stop stalking me. Russell Crowe sent over a handmade wooden toy cell phone. Jude Law sent over some nipple shaped sucking thing for the baby which I just abhorred and threw away. John Cougar Mellencamp got some cute baby outfits for us at Baby Gap. But because Barnn no longer a refugee I sent them to the Salvation Army. Zac Efron stopped by, but I don't know why. Warren Beatty and Annette sent Cockscomb. America Ferrera's Assistant, Tangeryne (sp?), brought over a case of Aloe. James Hetfield Fed Ex'd us some fresh blackberries. Mark Ruffalo cut and pasted Barnn a message in Algerian that Shoshanna translated as "dust evolution"? Toby Jones brought me a bottle of Drambuie. The list goes on and on. I thank everyone for their support and liquor.

Barnn is the latest style in celebrity accessories. A must have for any Icon. A political reminder to the public, and a personal necessity for legacy and inheritances. Absalom is well at Academy, and Barnn will enroll soon as well. Both will be reminders of my philantrophy and quest for world peace and Unition. Yes, I just made up a word.

The point is - if you can (choking on tears) try in some small way to help the orphaned and destitute. Do so, and fast. Before I'm to senile to watch.

Amen.

Beckett Boo, esquire
Cat Blogger Extraordiniare!
www.beckettboo.blogspot.com
www.myspace.com/beckettboo

The Vietnamese Ex-Wives Club

2006-10-13T11:21:00.000-07:00

Today I woke up in Las Vegas married to three Asian hookers in the Mandalay Bay Seigfried and Roy Suite. When the goverment finds out I'll be up Mekong creek. I'll be what they call 'Polygamist'. I don't like to be associated with alliances or groups. I've never been a fan of GLAAD or, MAAD, or NAMBLA. Although I do get excessive junk mail from all three. I'm a one man guy, and I must have, obviously, been under duress or drugged. I would have never married a woman, especially three! But, what happens in Vegas, stays in - right, Chauncey?

Pyong, Hartusa and Malwaii are so happy to be faux United States Citizens for the day. They are having massages and waxes around thier unmentionables while my lawyer, Marcello "The Glock" Gotti works on the "anulments". But, as I look around the room. Pantyhose crumbled in the kitchen sink. My velvet robe charrred in the fireplace. Patrick Swayze selling lemonade on the portico. Cigar buds and half empty bottles of Chateau Haut Brion Pessac-Lognan 1982 strewn about. I wonder. Where were the men?

[Optional Sidenote: What distinguishes Haut Brion is the fact that it produced the oldest Bordeaux in the world. Founded in 1550, Jean de Pontac built everything from the ground up for the sole purpose of winemaking. Soon after, he opened a tavern in London to serve his wine exclusively. It was an undeniable success. This red 1982 vintage is still youthful and quite spectacular, holding its own against the best wines in the world. It has matured well with time but isn't expected to improve in years to come. So drink it soon!]

It was mess and it was disgusting. I, immediately, 911'd my assistant Shoshanna to, immediately, call my manservant, Manuel, to helicopter over to tidy up the mess before the management or Police arrrived. I needed a goat's milk bath, and I had to hit my Double Diamond Deluxe Slot Machine one last time.

Pyong has been wonderful about the situation. I think she knew I wasn't "into" the marriage thing when I gasped, upon waking, at the sight and feel of the six breasts pressing against my Epidermis. She asked for $5,000 for her "sick" child, and assured me she would be gone. I assured her that her, and her "sick" child would be gone - by 2:00, post meridian - and I'd send a check to Taiwan.

I'm still a little cloudy, or there's a giant dust cloud surrounding the hotel, but either way I need to eat my lemon yogurt, and try to remember the past. Who the f**k is going to draw me my milk bath? Manuel's busy, Shoshanna's dealing with the P.R. in the Lobby, Hartusa and Malwaii are dead, Pyong is still running. (I can watch on my G.P.S.) Guess I'll just wait for Shoshanna to return. I need another assistant. Damn Shoshanna!

I'm going to finish my Sudoku.

Amen.

Beckett Boo, esquire
Cat Blogger Extraordinaire!
www.myspace.com/beckettboo

Liberal Oil Slicks

2006-09-27T10:46:00.002-07:00

Susan Sarandon and I met for high tea in Cape Town this Monday. I was early, she was late. That's how it is with these pot smoking liberals. "Whenever' or "whatever" suits them. The strength of the wind guides their wills - and when the wind is 'nigh they are immobile. I don't believe I have ever orally said, "Whatever." It's such an unpoetic word. Although, I may have said it, orally, at some point in my early days as a hustler in downtown Belfast.

Susan brought her lovely daughter Eva Amurri wth her. She blamed her tardiness on Eva stubbing her toe in the hotel. Stubbed Toe? I was shot three times on my way to meet Truman Capote, and I still made it with five minutes to spare. Oscar winners always blame their daughters - even if they don't have any. Renee Zellweger once was late to the set of Cold Mountain and blamed her tardiness on her Raggedy Ann Doll. In her defense, I did steal away from the set during a brief break in shooting and snuck into her Star Wagon. I was shocked to find no Raggedy Ann Doll, but there was some red stringy hair in the toilet. I had it analyzed by my friend, Murray, who does consulting for the CSI Franchise, and he confirmed that it was from the head of a Raggedy Ann Doll. But where did that Raggedy Ann Doll go?

Susan ordered Sashimi. I had Bread Pudding, and a cut of Lentil Meatloaf. I always eat Pudding first. Eva had BBQ Corn nuts and Tortilla Soup. The waiter's name was Joseph. I paid the bill. Susan left the tip. I waved the valet. We posed for the South African media flash bulbs. The Valet's name was Stephann. My birthday is July 15th. Susan and I hugged. Eva and I waved. I ate four breathmints throughout the night.

My Lamborgini roared to the curb and as the car door swung upwards. I turned to Susan, and in my loudest baritone voice I whispered, "Why didn't we say anything at Lunch." She couldn't hear what I was saying because I need a new muffler, so she smiled and waved just like you imagine Susan Sarandon would. She waddled her Susan Sarandon hips to her "rented" energy conscience Toyota Prius, and snapped Eva into a safety conscience 'adult' baby car seat. Yes, I swear, an 'adult' safety seat, and it did not match the upholstery in the car.

They putt-putted off at 35 mph and I zoomed out the driveway at 210 mph in 20 seconds. I felt bad because I left a giant oil slick behind me, and Susan and Eva crashed because of it. I was speeding through North Africa by the time I got the call. Susan had been hospitalized, but Eva was safe. (Thanks, in part, to the 'adult' safety seat and her giant forehead)

By the time I reached Cairo Susan had received a basket of Parsimmons Roses and Daffodils. My initials drying from my alabaster plume pen underneath a small brief haiku. It read:

friends forget regrets
oil can streets tempestous
dawn at velcro camp

bb, esq.

Cairo was fantastic. I bought a tuxedo factory for me, and a snail farm for Dakota Fanning. It was wonderful to see the Pyramids of Egypt again knowing that my species designed them before they shrunk us and our voices were stolen by the Egyptian God Morphoos. We like to keep it hush-hush in the history books, but once Cats ruled the Earth. Cattus Catervatin was our Latin ruling name. Now we just let the humans do the work while we sit back and play. Its quite a life. I call it 'passive-agressive caucasian slavery'.

Off to Holland to judge the Chiffon Festival...

Amen.

Beckett Boo, esq.
Cat Blogger Extraordinaire!

www.myspace.com/beckettbooesquire
www.myspace.com/beckettboo
www.beckettboo.blogspot.com

My Quinceanera

2006-09-24T12:22:00.000-07:00

Take it from me. You don't ever want to make me cross.

You should see what I do when I'm mad at myself then multiply it by 200 and that is what will be left of your face.

My anger stems from my recent altercation with my Aunt. Mind you, it's very difficult to argue with a woman with a peach mustache named Sonny. Aunt Sonny recently took me out of her will because she thinks I've disowned my "nationality". I told her I didn't need to inherit her $20 bucks and tampon receptacle. I have my own - 20 bucks. What makes it so upsetting is that she was so supportive while I was taking Spanish lessons at the local YMCA. She introduced me to her girlfriends Rosarita and Tiajuana who showed me how normal tri-sexuals can be. Rosarita and Tiajuana are a really interesting couple. They have webbed hands and feet. Lovely people.

The argument began when Aunt Sonny expressed how she felt uncomfortable going to my Quinceanera because I wasn't Mexican or Catholic. I said, "There is no fucking precedence for this!! I'm a cat with a blog, and I spent months knitting my Quinceanera dress!"

Then her lawyer slid through a crack in the wall, and showed me the updated will. I asked about the poor tailoring of his suit and he grimaced. He opened his briefcase and handed her a pen. I didn't flinch because I didn't care. I was worried about not having her seat filled at my Quinceanera. I guess I'l have to hire seat fillers - especially since my Quincenera will air LIVE on Fox at 8 p.m. Eastern 5 p.m. Western. Tuesday Night September 27th. So, Aunt Sonny signed the paperwork and I was absolved from her will - for being Mexican for a day. Thus, with the stroke of her pen we were over with a 15 year friendship.

Weeks later, I wept while touring an Onion Factory in Tokyo, but the thought of my Aunt Sonny never crossed my mind. I was just reminded of it while watching the video of my Quincerera Rehearsal. As they panned across the empty seats I thought of how exciting it would be to see all thoses friendly faces supporting me on my day as a Catholic Girl, and suddenly I grew sad knowing that one seat in the audience would contain a seat filler. I choked on my breath mint, and a real tear grew in the left corner of my pupil. I moistened it into a loose tissue, threw it into the tide and made a single wish - and you know what I wished for?

That my Quinceanera would be better than Gloria Estefan's.

Amen.

Beckett Boo, esquire!
Cat Blogger Extraordinaire!
www.beckettboo.blogspot.com

WD-40 Pompeii

2006-09-06T18:15:00.000-07:00

Today I did 8000 push-ups with Justin Timberlake and Nas. It was a contest. I won by 7850. Kelis was cleaning their "grilles" in WD-40 and sipping on a wheatgrass. I exfoliated and shed twenty ounces in thoses 3 minutes. It was fun - to sweat. We dined at Sushi Samba and got mobbed by the 'people'. Justin apparently dropped some wasabi near his gonads and all the girls and gays went ga-ga over who was going to sell the soiled napkin on Ebay.

I detest Ebay. Two of my Golden Globes are now 'missing' because of that trade site. The Globe for my Guest Starring role in the TV Movie "Within the Doubt" starring Danny Glover and Timothy Busfield and my Globe for, of course, for my comic turn in Seinfield Episode 17.18.

But, I can only blame myself, for after a night of diabolical revelry I auctioneed the Globes away myself. Also, I was double-dared by Michael J. Fox, and you cant say no to anyone who (saving the MJFox jokes for a more appropraite time) worked with Justine Bateman. I got some pocket change ($$$$$$) from the Ebay auction, but was fined by the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. It's my Golden Globe anyway. The ESPN Awards didn't mind that I sold my Golden Parachute Award. My "fine" included 40 hours of community service cleaning heroin needles of Screen Actors Guild Actors; like Natasha Lyonne and The Culkins. It was nice catching up and learning the "street lingo" for things. Other than that I did what I had to, got out and landed a Lancome Commercial Campaign.

Then I went to the premiere of Katie Couric boooring newscast. She looked great, although her lavish highlights did "bring me down". I enjoyed the 'Free Speech' forum, the Cherrios commercial I Tivo'd past and my Suchenn Mojoito. We partied after Katie premiere briefly, but I had to be in Rome by noon so I left early.

Now I'm in Rome on my piazza o'erlooking Pompeii. Roman and Gorash will be here soon. I'm just sitting here waiting for my facial moisturizer to soak in. I think I'll work on a postcard next. Maybe a haiku.

Fooosh! There's a knock at the door. Dammnit, I put the 'Do Not Disturb' sign on.
I'll peak through the peephole to tell you who it is. Hold on.

[ Endless Pause.]

Cas(h)stration

2006-08-31T12:14:00.000-07:00

Today I was abhorred after reading about John Karr, the self-alleged killer of Jon Benet. It put me in a fury that a man would not only do such a terrible act, but make up something so brutal. I quickly, snapped my fingers at summoned a Mojito.

I do believe in castration for useless people like that. If felines have to do it, at least use it as a consequence to all the child molesters in the world - starting with Jacko.

Nevertheless, I was pleased to see the tv show 24 take the Emmy, and Tony Shaloub for Monk - even though I've never seen it. I was titch dissapointed that Lisa Kudrow didn't walk away with an Emmy for her dramatic turn as Valerie Cherish on The Comeback. Mainly because Julia-Louis Dreyfuss and I do NOT get along.

One drunken day 'round the time of the '96 People's Choice Awards, JLD and I sat under a Central Park Bench, giggling and counting foreigners. It was a muggy morning, and I guess we woke up there. But nobody knew. There were no autograph hounds nor paparazzi. I guess we looked like vagabonds. Like Dylan or Kerouac. We were not romantically involved. It was just a coke thing. She was so grouchy that morning. Saying that there were ticks all over her private regions. I scoffed, " I'm clean as a whistle. Toddle-doo. I have brunch with the Prince of Cashmir and I have to clean up." So Manuel brought my segwy and I was off. But, just as I reached my grip on the handle bars Julia had the gall to ask for cash.

-"Cash?" I pondered. "What's that?" I said.

-"Cash? You know? Money in paper form. To borrow, you know." She pleaded, like a immigrant peasant.

- "I only carry cards, and my den mother, Cloris Leachman, told me 'Neither borrow nor a lender be'. You'll have to use your celebrity!

Then I wisped away on the Segway to brunch.

Julia has never forgiven me for some reason.

Its either that or because I zoomed over her as I drove away.

John Goodman told me I broke her ankle in eight places. I asked him for her address to send a bouquet. He advised I visit the hospital. I refused. I don't visit hospitals. Doctors visit me. The architecture bores me.

So, Emmy Night. Stephen Cojucaru (Cojo) has his little crush on me, but I can't be around him because he make my soul feel ugly, so I slipped into the HBO Party narrowly avoiding his cheek implants. So, I run up to Adrian Grenier and I hide out with him in the bathroom stall. He offers me a snort of "Splenda". I decline, but we share a stall while he does his thing, and I do mine. To him.

Otherwise I'd say it was a swell evening. I'm happy for you Julia-Louis, and I hope you can forgive me, someday - especially now that your employed again.

Off to Bermuda for a week. Aufweidersien.

Amen.

Beckett Boo, esquire
Cat Blogger Extraordinaire!
www.blogspot.beckettboo.com

Shannon's Mistake

2006-08-16T12:50:00.000-07:00

Shannon Do(ugh)erty is such a bitch. I ran into her at Whole Foods and at Trader's Joe's on the same day. She pushed aside my child, Absalom, into the jellies and they spilled all over my beige Prada Yen-Loafers. I was besieged by "photogs" while Shannon zoomed out of the store with her shopping cart full of banana chips, rasberry Stoli and organic tampons - without paying, I might add - well, I just did add.

So, I kicked off the Prada Loafers and prowled out to the parking lot to confront the Ho' basket for not apologizing nor paying. The manager, Tim Cox, escorted me. A lovely gentlemen. Lanky, fit. So, Tim stops Shannon before she gets on the public bus while I flag down a cop with my Gucci ascot. Some cops laughed dismissing us as if we were a reality show, one cop licked a booger off his window, another reminded me of a cross between Ray Liotta and Kevin Spacey, and finally, Officer Dakota stopped for us. Tim's nuts were bleeding because Shannon was wearing stillettos, but Officer Dakota intervened and arrested Shannon on the spot. I sold my camera phone picture to Star magazine for an undisclosed amount of money. But it won't cover the price of my Prada Loafers. Elton John gave them to me after I won my Oscar for Terms of Endearment.

Meanwhile, I left my man-child, Absalom in the Whole Foods during the entire ruckus. So, I return to Absalom and fucking Jeff Bridges is convincing my son that there is global warming, and how we need to build more trees. "Build?" It's "grow" Jeff, and stay away from Absalom. Jeff has always terrified children. A child should believe that world is mystical and magical for so long. Then when he turns 18 you should tell him all the truth about the world: There is no Santa Claus. We stole America and annihilated the Natives. Tom Selleck is gay. Jesus was a good man and provoked a lot of good inspiration in people, but, sadly, his image has been abused by various ententies which in turn shed more blood than enlightenment. I have six toes. Drugs are bad, except marijuana and mushrooms (moderation, folks!). Leeks are an underestimated vegetable. Lindsay Lohan is a terrible actress. Don't waste your time reading War & Peace 'cause its a waste of time. Never use Courier Text unless its for a film/tv script, or your making a visual point in a poem - but even then, I'd question. Cigarettes do not make someone look cool, unless he's hot and Cuban. Living in a two bedroom home with more than fifteen people is illegal in California. Pork does not have to be cooked well done. Only get calenders with inspirational quotes - tear out the E.E. Cummings though, and burn thoroughly. Gym Teachers are perverts. Harpoon a whale only if he doesn't succumb to your whistle. Never pay for the first date. Blow candles out before leaving the house, but light them, steadfastly, as you re-enter. Your stuffed animals don't move when you close your eyes. Men don't ask Men questions unless they are pointing to something. Dr. Phil is a load of crap and ego. Spiders want to kill you. Show remorse, but never swallow your pride. Paper cuts - so always think of it as a potential weapon. Some people are really allergic and some just say they are. Knowledge is strength, and strength is balance, and balance is will, and will is inspiration, and inspiration is godliness and godliness is me.

Amen. The Loafers are in the shoppe.

Beckett Boo esq.
Cat Blogger Extraordinaire!

Cease-Fire

2006-08-14T21:31:00.000-07:00

Today I realized why my waitress at Beoufannte blushed a pale green when I remarked on her Lebanese back-hair.
a) She must have felt embarassed by my candid, truthful remark or b) We're also at War.

It's been so long since I read the paper. Usually, Manuel, during breakfast texts me the morning Hollywood gossip. I seem to have o'erlooked the crisis in the Middle East. So, I ran to the nearest bodega and asked the attendant (in Aramic) for the NY Post. In in it, I pursued for 20 seconds in the taxi that WWar3 was just begging. I got car sick, and missed my plane from London to NYC. If I had gone to to the Versace 50th Anniversary I would have been on one of thoses planes; possibly, even worse dying with White Zin and closeted Stewardii. So, I called the estate of Aaron Spelling and coersed Candy to let me borrow the Spelling plane. She was faxing something to herself that read, "Last straw, Tori takes seesaw." Incidently, ten pills of vicodan fell from her plush robe. I wasn't going to mention it until I wrote it.

War is going on , and one of the many things I realized is that we should all come Together. We are all stars. We all come from nothing and go to nowhere. There is some God! Who cares what you name it? Give Jerusalem to the United Nations. Plus, have you see pictures of those Israeli Soldiers. Gorgeous. Stunning. My friend says Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, the Iranian President is "hot". I don't. (Hold on...) I think he looks - looks, okay I just googled him and he's hot. But I, firmly do not, subscribe to his beliefs and rants. I believe he just doesn't understand Capitalism. President Bush should take him to Disney Orlando and McDonald's, maybe even Target. He will see our panache and, perhaps, want to mold his economy after us, and our faux happiness. We have our own God it's just called "Consumerism". Once they get over the "angry" thing they'll understand. They'll want to - plus Mahmoud and I are dating and things are going well.

I look forward to enlightening you as best I can. You inspire as well.

Amen.

Beckettboo, esquire
Call Blogger Extraordinare!
www.myspace.com/beckettboo

Sheepskin Condoms and Origami Swans

2006-07-03T00:31:00.000-07:00

Today Archbishop Bertrand arrived at my house post-haste.

He arrived with a 1706 Nicoholas Brandy (bleeeh!) and asked if I'd share a sliver of my Maple Glazed Rout Duck after I asked my manservant, Manuel, to clear my plate. "Well, what will I do about leftovers tomorrow, Bishop?" I hissed at him. Then, I secretly cut myself in the bathroom.

I set the letter opener back in my mahogany desk, still wet with blood, and returned to the dinner table. I knew why the Archbishop was here. He wanted to see my Diamond collection, all the Catholics do.

We finished the Creme Brulee Sorbet Tartare and moved to the Antechamber behind my foyer. I set down my Brandy over a single coal, and from the bookcase pulled out my copy of "The Velveteen Rabbit". The walls dissipated into a wizardry of nano-electronics. Meaning, everything was small. Suddenly, a glass case rose from the shark infested glass tile below us and, thence, arrived my Diamond collection.

The Archbishop sauntered around the case, carefully observing my jewels. He remarked on their authenticity and value. Then pointed to a tiny fragment of a fingerprint on the glass. I, instantly, texted Manuel, my manservant, and told him him to save the rest of the Windex from the Meth Lab in our basement. Manuel stumbled up the steps with a tiny bit of glass cleaner left on a band-aid, and began wiped the print off.

"I should have those prints investigated!", I joked.

The Archbishop made a sour face then turned away. I put two fingers betwixt my lips and stuck my toungue through them, as it were vaginal. He didn't see, but the satisfaction it fed me was peculiar. The Archbishop then made an offer to buy my Diamond Collection for Three Billion Dollars.

I scoffed, guffawed and was flabergasted, "I could write a book about Christ and Mary Magdalene having a child together, and I'd make more money - and keep my Diamonds - and what will you have? Blind faith, Mel Gibson, sheepskin condoms. No way." The Archbishop gave me "the hand" and sped away on his Segway throwing origami swans at my gardeners.

I retreated to my "thinking spot" behind the Zebras, and re-considered my desire for the priesthood. I thought of how funny it would be for me to hear people's confessions, and how I would joke back, "No way, with a hacksaw and vaseline!?" I would say it loudly, enough so the people waiting would hear. I'd live feed the confessions to www.sinnersconfesstobeckettboo.com I would make a pretty penny. If I owned the domain name.

Maybe that's how Archbishop Bertrand could afford the Segway, and my Diamonds...or maybe he's just a vampire with syphillis.

Anyway after he left I finished the Brandy, and blogged about how I finished the brandy even though I didn't.

I, then, clicked on the shut down key on the computer and watched as the computer slowly turned down. I watched the screen darken to pitch black, and stared at it for a long, long time.

Amen.
Beckett Boo, esquire.
Cat Blogger Extraordinaire!
www.beckettboo.blogspot.com

Kryptonic Entaglements

2006-07-01T00:54:00.000-07:00

It's no secret:

Brandon Routh and I used to be lovers.
I'll say it flat out. He was a bottom. I won't say more.

I am not seeking financial reward for this disclosure, but Truth. The truth to surface that the world is more "complicated" than tis' seems. Just like the old saying goes, "You can't count the chicken without the sheep. "

I'm delighted by Brandon's success, and his ability to seem so "normal". But, I must confess, I had a hairball the size of the Phillipines after that affair. That is why his chest is so waxen and smooth.

He was my Superman.
I his Lois Lane.
But, alas, our Love was kryptonite.

I pray, everyday,
for his demise.
The slow,
persistent,
creaking of his demise.

Amen.
Beckett Boo, esq.
Cat Blogger Extraordinaire!
www.beckettboo.blogspot.com
(see also www.brandonrouth.com)

Friends Without Money

2006-06-27T13:05:00.000-07:00

Jen Aniston texts me this morning for mochas at Uurth Cafe at 9 am. I arrived at 8:58, and waited a full two minutes outside hissing off autograph hounds who mistook me for Katie Moss. I said, "Phot-hog's, look I have an 'adam's apple' and I shave my armpits. Google image my pics, and leave me alone. If not, I'm going to shove Aniston's new puggle up your ass."

Just then, Jennifer arrived with her ugly puggle, Stanley, or as I call it , Sir Unemployed Actress' Puppy. We sat outside in the blinding lights of the paparazzi bulbs. I had my soy, two splenda Matcha latte while Jennifer drank decaf Lipton. I shivered in the heat of the spotlight. Lipton? Neither, of us consumed mochas after all, and we had a silly laugh over it as I pryed. "Jenny. Money's tight, huh? You need a cash lift? I'll spot you a cappucino." She slowly shrunk in her chair. "With a shot of vanilla?" I urged. She shook her head, and I shook my head to Manuel, my new assistant, who then stood in line. Jennifer, then, reached inside her rattan tote bag, and handed me a script. I was circumspect in taking the script - she was drinking Lipton, afterall.

The script must have been inked in quill, or worse an inkjet, because by the middle of reading it the ink had rolled off the paper, and onto my D&G speedos. Did I mention that I was reading the script poolside, and Manuel threw me in? Him and R. Phillipe. They just know my tickle regions.

Anyway, I loved the comedic tone of the script, and texted Jen Aniston immediately. She was so excited, called, and trumpeted, "I can't wait to work with you, and be on camera again."

I abruptly hung up.

I just wanted the script, and a look at her divorce settlement papers.

Oh, Jen, how brazen of you to assume I'd hire you. I think Jay Leno is funnier. Jen, call Zwick, I think he has a TNT project for you.

Meanwhile, I haven't written to all my lovely fans for so long, and I want to send out an apology. I have still been terribly upset since the loss of Brokeback Mountain to "Trash". Jake, Heath and I have grown beards in defiance to the Academy's blatant discrimininsce. I haven't talked to Don Cheadle since. He is incredibly over-rated. He's like the Lindsay Lohan of the Denzel Washington's. That's not racist, by the way. I'm just an opinionated, humble, genius cat.

I'm back everyone.

Be well, and drink lots of water. Amen.

Becekett Boo, esq.
Cat Blogger Extraordinaire

The Butcher, The Baker, and the INS

2006-06-27T13:02:00.000-07:00

Today I, accidently, put my red tube top in with my whites. Everything turned pink. My wicked housekeeper, Marisol, came crying to me and apologized profusely. She had no idea that I threw the taut chest piece in the was. It was a last minute instinct after a brief water balloon war with Maddox and Zahara. But I let the blame rest heavy on Marisol's shoulders, and I slept wonderfully - guilt free.

I docked Marisol's pay for two weeks, and after returning from my sojourn to Khazikstan I fired her. Life without Marisol will never be the same. She knew how to organize my shoehorns, ascots and butterfly pins. She knew when to leave a room, when to do her highly entertaining ping pong routine, and when to take out the roasted red peppers so they are perfect.

I will miss her. Always.

Amen.

Two Thousand Six

2006-01-29T13:13:00.000-08:00

I just awoke from my New Year's Eve celebrations. I spent most of my days resting my head on my soft goose down pillow, mildly comatose, for three weeks. Thank God my housekeeper Marisol had the foresight to feed me intavenously, and my publisict Lizzie G. keeping it all under "wraps". Then it was one week of physical rehabilitation. So far I can use 1/2 of my body. That's 3/4 more than any of you use - and, yes, I can still "get it up".

So much has already happed happened in my absence. George Clooney won a Globe. Joaquin flipped his SUV. Reese wore Kirsten's dress.

Tonight are the SAG awards and Tuesday morning the Academy Award Nominees will be announced at 5:38 am Pacific Coast Time.

I'm still praying for a supporting nomination for my part in "Munich". That damn, Matt Dillion, may clinch the 5th spot, and knock me out fo the running. But we'll see. I've hired a firm to deal with Matt. A firm, Firm. If you catch my draft, and a lead crowbar to your windpipe.

But on the lighter side of things, being in coma aided me through most of my New Year's Resolutions. Here are a few I shall post for your perusual.

1. Stop watching "Dancing With The Stars".

2. Stop my habitual obsession with anal bleaching. Sayanora, J. Sisters.

3. Re-read the entire 1989 collection of People Magazine.

4. Makeout with JC Chasez, again. This time sans confidentiality agreement.

5. Find my biological sisters; Tissa, Penelope and Gretel.

6. Find a gym with private Two Person steam rooms.

7. Organize my Oolong and Rooibos Teas.

8. Get clip-on Gold Caps for my teeth. For those nights out with Nas and Kelis.

9. Make up with Alfre Woodard. Alfre, if your listening, what's past is past.

10. Join the N.R.A. (National Rifle Association). I love Pheasant.

11. Finish the libretto to my musical "Aunt Jemima".

Those are the "public domain" version of my resolutions. My personal comprehensive, extensive resolution list can be viewed at www.kiss_my_bleached_ass_papparazzi.com there you will find out all my secrets for public fodder and display. So you can profit off my private dalliances by doing exposes for bathroom and dental office magazines. I hope you roast in hell. Leave Brad and Angelina alone! Opportunists!

Anyway, to all my fans and friends, my fingers are numb from releasing the Truth. I must change my Depends, curl up to my DVD set of Remington Steele and recuperate before Oscar Noms tuesday. I love you all because you all love me.

Amen. It's good to be back!

Beckett Boo, esquire.
Cat Blogger Extraordinaire!
http://www.beckettboo.blogspot.com/

Torcularis Septentrionalis

2005-12-11T12:20:00.000-08:00

I'm going out to Weho tonight!

I'm trying to avoid Meredith Baxter-Birney's annual "End of '05 Bash" at her lavish pastel color spread in Rancho Cucamonga. It's too far a drive, and I'm not in the mood to run into Swoozie Kurtz nor eat her noodle coogle. We've all been friends since the 1995 made for television movie Betrayed: A Story of Three Women. I played a scorned cop, a la Ray Liotta withthout the bad acne and pockmarks. HDTV and I are best friends. My skin is flawless. Thank you to Dr. Brinstein at the Cosmetic and Neurological Center for Debutantes. I highly recommend him. In fact, if you use my name as a referral I'll receive a free eye lift - and I can donate the savings to some poor orphan charity. That's why I think I was, also, the only one with the Emmy nomination and Swoozie and Mer-Mer got nothing. I can flare a cheekbone better than Thomas Mapother Cruise.

Speaking of Tom Cruise, I haven't been to "Boy's Town" in a long while. I'm just going to let loose and dance. It will be interesting to hear how the hot new "gay gospel" gyrates my hips on the discoteque dance floor. My wife, Marilyn, has forbidden me to fornicate with men during the holy month of Ramadaan. Especially, during war time. It's a vow I'll keep, but that's doesn't stop the fingering. Which makes me remember the time...

[Flash to Bright White. Flashback.]

It was 1944. I was a strapping young dance captain for the Navy. I was paid to teach all the boys to fox-trot before we took them to all the USO dances. We fox-trotted all right, and all night. I may actually be the reason behind the "No Homosexuals in the Military" thing. But , what can I say, it was distracting them, and the limping made the marches look sideways. One day, I was in the middle of a Lambada session with a very young William Holden, and Gary Cooper walks in. Instantly, my gaydar went off, and I called him over to explain the initiation fee. He said, "I'll do anything for my country." I said, "Amen."

We jazzed, tapped, salsa'd, waltzed and square danced the night away. Soon, the sun was rising in the west and scorpio was travelling into virgo crossing. We woke from our "seperate cots" exhausted from a night of drunken revelery. He turned to me and asked "Do you think a gay man can make it as an actor?" I said, "Actors can only be gay men. For gay men are the ones who really know how to act. It all comes from your prostrata - your prostate."

Chatanooga Choo-Choo swelled over the Stromberg Carlson 1101-H and we laughed like fat chums in catholic school. Soon we riffed on some harmonies and (ten minutes later) I was taking his headshots. The composites looked splendid. He had such charisma, a natural smile and small ankles. I knew he was going to be - a Star. So, I somersaulted over to the window and reached my silver arm into the firmament. I pulled down Torcularis Septentrionalis and bequeathed it upon him. I said, "Have this Star. Be a Star. Go and bid do the Lord's work." He smiled at me with some soot in the corner of his mouth. I leaned in and wiped it with my paw. He said, "I love you." I replied, "Never love. Only be loved. It's safer that way." He said, "No, I do. I love you." I said, "When you say it, don't spray it. I want the news not the weather, asshole." I wiped his accidental spit wad off my face, and asked him to leave - I already had what I wanted. He said "I'll call you after I shoot Pillow Talk. I don't think it'll do well at the box office. I'l have some spare time." I never saw him again. I heard he got the Clap from some floozy boom operator. Wrapping it all up, I'd say he was one of the "loves" my life. My Sean Penn, my Kevin Federline. The closest thing I've ever come to true, absolute love.

Anyway, I'm sneaking off to DiCaprio's place later tonight. Leo, Giselle and I have a hot date with Yahtzee! and somehow I'm going to have to bring up the awkward moment telling Leo to quit the acting business, or take an acting class. I think he's losing it. Did you see him in The Aviator? Oscar nominated for a two-dimensional performance. He had so much potential. Then squandered it on Ego, and ruthless Hollywood mafiosa type killings, and such. I can't go into details of the investigation, but with my incriminating evidence and wire taps - Leo DiCaprio is going down - on me, or tonight's game of Yahtzee! The Feds are just one call away.

Well, off to WeHo. Please pray that I don't run into any drunk queer fans with no hair, but a beard. If so, my Martini's are going waterfall down several faces, and burn out the retinas in their eyeballs. I feel sorry for them. They just want my autograph, but the more I sign the lower they sell on Ebay.

Cheers, friends. Amen.

Beckett Boo, esq.
Cat Blogger Extraordinaire!

Oscar Herpes

2005-12-08T13:04:00.000-08:00

Today Oscar season begins.

I am so mirthful. The National Board of Review releases it's list of winner's for the Best Films of 2005, thus, beginning what we in the Americas have come to know as the "Oscar Race" or "For Your Consideration" season. Personally, I am endorsing Steven Spielberg's Munich. Not just because I'm in it, but because it's brilliant! I play Eric Bana's lover. They cut some of that out because I was "stealing to much focus", but I definitely steal some scenes and "some heart's" from what I've read from the reviews. Plus I own three discotheque's in downtown Munich. It would be dynamite for business, no pun intended.

I'm not sure about this new "Donkey" Kong movie. I'm not an ape man -plus Naomi Watts gave me Herpes. Branded for life. I call it "The Ring". Don't laugh - one in four people have it. Which means I would have got it anyway, right? So, all the cool people have it, or at least I thought so until my testicle fell off.

But this cold winter's hotly anticipated Broke(Bare)back Mountain is going to be a surprise hit! Mostly, because it seems that everyone wants to see these two fuck! Men and woman! Even my Dakota Fanning wants to see it - but I don't think she should. She needs more time to develop, or she'll become one of those "Jodie Foster's". I think Brokeback Mountain it's going to make a splash in the red states! This fucker's on fire, baby. It's My Own Private Idaho meets RamJet Amateur's: Big Boys 3. I was at at a screening in Toronto last week, and I swear to god, you needed rain boots to get out of that theatre - and it wasn't tears soaking the concrete, ladies and gentlemen. Heath and Jake do it all. Full frontal. Backwards, forwards. Top to bottom. You'll LOVE it! It's like watching Bambi without the Mother dying at the end. You leave the theatre weeping, singing all the songs and want a time share in Billings. Which reminds me...

Before I sold my Montana cattle range to Harrison and Calista Ford (ooops, did I disclose that they are married?). Anyway, Harrison was checking out the property and doing his "jew" thing and trying to talk me down. I said, "Take it or leave it. If you don't buy it I'll just keep it. You'll still have "Random Hearts" on your resume." Incidentally, he threw a sucker punch at me. I ducked (having mastered Ninja skills by age 2) and side-kicked him his his abdomen. Then the funniest thing happened. He started bleeding from his mouth. I told him I knew a great dentist, and walked away. Calista vociferated at me, but her voice was so tiny all I heard was "watermelon". He said, "I need a phone! I have to call an ambulance!" Calista then began singing "Somewhere" from West Side Story (out of pitch, I might add) and Harrison wet his knickers. I felt cool 'cause I had a match hangin' from my lips like Sylvester Stallone in Cobra. Just then a gas tanker drove by. I pulled out my 9mm Beretta 92F and shot three holes in the side of the gas tank. It passed the Hollywood has-beens and sprayed two gallons of V-Power Shell gas all over their well- manicured coifs. I scratched the match against a statute of Lewis and Clark and flicked it at the powerless couple who than lit up - like Snoop Dogg at a High Times Magazine Xmas Party. I got a marvelous tan from that fire. Suffice to say, my attorney Johnny Cochran (r.i.p.) "worked" things out - props to Irv Gotti and the Murder Inc. crew. Needless to say, Harrrison is working on Indiana Jones 4, and Calista is still getting weekly skin-grafting. Looking better each day. We still send seasonal cards to each other, and I walk the red carpet at his charity events. There's no hard feelings between us anymore. But back to Oscar Season!

There's talk that I'm the Jaime Foxx of this season, but we'll see. I can't tell whether that is admiring my talent or some racist smug remark. There's racism, sexism and nepotism everywhere in this business. Do you know how many producers I had to sleep with to get my first guest spot on Who's the Boss? It was also the moment of my most embarrasing regret: camping alone with Danny Pintauro. Let's just say we only had one sleeping bag, oversized black Sharpies pens and three copies of Bop Magazine. This business is so ass backwards, literally, you have to have your ass backwards to get anywhere.

I have my Oscar, Golden Globe, Independent Spirit, Grammy, Nobel Peace Prize, Olivier, Clio, Blockbuster. Ultimately, one doesn't need such excess - but theres' nothing like doing "a line" on an Oscar. The important things is that great storytelling is being told, and the work continues. But let's all pray I get a nomination.

Well, I must stop droning out gossip and inspiration via my Sony VAIO 550-TV PC in Cyprus basking in the hot Greek sun while my "companion" James Franco and I get pedicures.

Stay Warm Amerika. Golden Globes Nominations are next Tuesday! God bless.

Amen.

Beckett Boo, esquire.

Cat Blogger Extraordinaire!

Aereola Triangles

2005-12-06T18:53:00.000-08:00

I hate starting trends, but this bi-sexual thing is out of control.

I made it hip waaaaay before the cotton gin was even invented. I remember it clearly. I was out to pasture whipping the 'hinds of the oxen collecting snapdragons and plowing the field. Under the brazen beams of the sun I perspired some inspiration. If I put a Bi in front of the Sexual and fastened it together with a hyphen I knew it would make Bi-Sexual. I thought it would aid the community. Help bring us together. Help define the confines that inhibit us. But no, not in Salem, Massachusettes in 18th century. It was "Devil This! Burn That! Sever his balls with this!" So, I moved.

Running for my life, I later forgot the brilliant word I had coined. That is until I moved into a condo in the East Village with Allen Ginsberg. He said, "Oh, bi-sexual! We've been saying that for years!" I hissed under my breath, and calmed my seventh chakra. As long as it was out. That's all I cared about because all I want is for the people to know. To know what I know.

Now that I have my own blog, and people write to me it comforts me to see that so many of you are "bi-sexuals". It comforts me to know you feel comfortable with your sexuality. Kudos to you! However, I've given it up. It's too trite. It's too obtuse. It's too trendy.

So, I'm coming out as a Tri-Sexual! No, it doesn't mean I have sex with animals (you dirty perverted minds). It's such a "mysterious" sexuality. Straight involves too much emotional conditioning and blood. Gay is too much of a hot button topic. I'm not one of those radicals - like Ted Danson and Mary Steenburgen. I like hiding in the limelight just as much as I do standing center stage awash in it. But, Tri-Sexual opens the possibility for something...else. It keeps the options - wide open.

While snapping towels in the locker room with Antonio Banderas we laughed at how little our "members" looked after a cold shower. He kept pointing and laughing. I was pointing, laughing and secretly taking pictures with my camera phone. I joked, "Gosh, Anton, you better never have a nude scene with a prick that small." He laughed in that way he does as Zorro then replied, "Well, let me show you how big it can get..." Just then Katie Couric and Angela Bassett walked in - thinking, of course, that this was the Ladies locker room. (damn cockblockers!) Immediately, they were aroused by our provocative towel fight and soon joined in the fray.

In a quick flash, I had fashioned Angela's hair extensions into a splendid positioning harness. Couric approached me with her usual zeal and gummy smile. She reclined in the synthetic hair harness and popped out a microphone from where I'd really rather not say. Then we all formed a perfect triangle, slipped off Antonio's class ring with our "special places" and somewhere in between that and a pair of sweaty leg warmers Tri-sexuality was born. (weighing 8 lbs. 2 oz.) You'll have to re-read this paragraph 437 times to really get the gist of it all.

Needless to say, the ring was a perfect fit for Couric's Aereola. I mean we've all seen those 'nips before. We'll never forget Bora Bora, 1962. The martinis, the quaaludes and the midget's arm.

Well, I'm off to Antarctica. North Pole, south pole. I don't know which pole Antarctica holds, but I know, my pilot, Manuel will be holding one of them. I'm off to save those cute baby seals. But not before I skin one and mutilate it into a savvy three quarter inch waist blazer for fall fashion.

Let the haute couture race begin!!

Eat my dust, Gwyneth Paltrow, I'm going to "Bounce" you from this "Duet", and I have the box that's fits your severed head perfectly.

Amen.

Beckett Boo, esq.

Life Styles of the Rich $$$ and Infamous

2005-12-01T21:52:00.000-08:00

Now that the year is winding down. I just wanted to share some of my favorite paparazzi pictures from the recent year. Here, enjoy my fans. You have made me what I am. Cheers to you. Amen.

PARIS AND IN AND I IN MILAN

BILL CLINTON HONORING ME AT THE DIRECTOR'S GUILD OF AMERICA

EMINEM AND I AT THE BRITISH MTV VIDEO AWARDS

JESSICA AND I DATING (POST-DIVORCE)

OSCAR WIN NUMBER 2 (Watch out Meryl)

The Cocoa Butter Avalanche

2005-12-01T18:39:00.000-08:00

Wednesday, November 30, 2005

Today an avalanche hit my cabin in Zurich.

I received the news via wire from my Houseboy, Manuel in Florida.

He heard it from my butler, Javis, at my chateau in Oxford.

Javis heard it from Tasago, my guardsman, at my estate in Nagano.

The news was verified by my PowerShot 360 laptop computer camera surviellance. I logged-on, pressed the appropriate keys and viewed the devastation.

It was heart-wrenching. Gutless, coward Mother Nature. All the while my back was turned, literally, during my cocoa butter massage.

At least Wilheim is okay. Resting in a hospital. There will be no more cleaning for him today. His femur must heal.

Subsequently, my Winter Formal next friday is cancelled. Please do not send gifts, BUT donations can be made is Wilheim's name via the Deustche Swiss Account # 536782-987-25366. He's very hungry, and obviously out of a job. I'll do my best to make sure he gets the best medical care possible. Anyway, I'm off to film an "Untitled" suspense / thriller co-starring Bruce Willis and Rebecca DeMornay in Portland, Maine tomorrow. It's going to be steamy. I think Willis going full frontal again in this one. I hope Rumer comes to the set.

So, that's that. I'll update you after my chopper lands at the heli-port.

Amen.

Beckett Boo, esq.

From Behind The Fendi Sunglasses

2005-12-01T18:36:00.000-08:00

From Behind The Fendi Sunglasses

Twice today I ran into Sarah Michelle Gellar.

We haven't spoken for years. We rode on opposing escalators at the Beverly Center. She had big sunglasses on and pretending to read an In Touch magazine. I was canoodling with a brunette gentleman caller and eating a cinnabon when Sarah and I caught eyes. Actually I caught my eyes in her Fendi glasses, and I remembered how my reflection glimmered against them - and I remembered us. We were both silent. The brunette boy was pulling at me begging for more poppers. I said, "Hush fool! It's Sarah Michelle!" But the escalator had passed at that moment, and were like two ships that passed in the night.

The second time was in the parking lot and I crashed my 2005 Bentley Arnage into her CLK-350 Mercedes-Benz Cabriolet. We politely exchanged insurance information, and laughed over the fact that she shops at Express. I placated telling her that I love Express Men (even though I detest any kind of mall fashions). We hugged awkwardly, and she zoomed off to the pay booth.

We started dating when I was a PA on the set of that 80's Chevy Chase vehicle "Funny Farm". She had a uncredited role in it. Don't blink, or you'll miss it. I think she did it for some SAG vouchers or something. She was a bit desperate then, but weren't we all. But no one was as cunning or manipulative as Sarah Michelle.

Before I was who I am, and before she was whatever you want to call what she became - I knew her as Sarah Gellar. She added the Michelle at summer camp because all the kids would mistake her for a Jew. But she was, and will always be. So will I. Inside. Forever.
Plighted to the Torah.

When she started filming "Swan's Crossing" that was when I had it with her. We had been dating off and on for almost two years. She had just signed with the William Morris Agency, but I was pressing her to work with Rick Yorn back when he was with Industry Entertainment so there was already that tension. I was moving up to producing at that point. So, at times I had to (sometimes) be a bit of a taskmaster, and Sarah was under contract. I told her that I would like to keep our affair private while we are working. She agreed.

But one day, the director was struggling with her performance, and had me talk to her. I waited outside her trailer for five minutes. I knocked thrice. On the third knock she yanks the door open and I fell inside. I said, "I love you Sarah! But I'm your boss!" She replied, "I'm going to have your baby. Now that's off my chest I can get back to working." Then she held me against my will and performed the most disgusting sexual acrobatics that I have ever witnessed - grape jelly still comes out of the strangest places at the strangest of times. Which reminds me to have my Valtrex prescription refilled. I left her trailer - satisfied. Knowing that as a producer I could handle obstacles with as much panache as I handle the pan flute, for instance, quid pro. I assured the director (a young Brett Ratner) that all would be well. Needless to say, the show was cancelled.

I had my fame and fortune, and she made a ton of money off that vampire slaying show. I'm happy to know she has insurance and a pension.

I wish our baby well. Whatever his name was going to be. We will always remember him, and the day she told the doctor to put the kid to rest. Bitch.

Amen.

Beckett Boo, esq.

11:40 and 1:00 Sharp

2005-12-01T18:29:00.000-08:00

Today I had lunch with Ryan Seacrest and Donatella Versace.

Not at the same time, of course, but at separate tables. Ryan and I met at 11:40 for a sesame tofu salad at Koo Koo Roo. We discussed his sensational radio career vs. his lackluster televised hosting venture. Ryan says that the "ladies" prefer vocal resonation as opposed to the new hi-tech on-camera HDTV eyebrow lift look. So, he tore up his plastic surgeon's business card and vows to hang upside down and go on a juice fast for 72 hours. I don't know what that will do for him, but I'm curious to see what the turnout will be. I encouraged him to write a book, but he hastily turned away as the sun glistened against his royal blue contact lenses.

I met Donatella 1:00 sharp at Dolce. I had a wardrobe change in my trailer pre-positioned outside the cafe. This time I wore maroon. I was glad I had because she showed up in black and we complemented each other well. We drank a crisp, aromatic South African Chenin Blanc. We shared tuna tartare appetizers, and laughed over our college years at Eaton in Westcherfield. She reminded me that next year will be our ---th year anniversary as best friends. So we began planning our excursion. Let's just say it will involve a giant beige yacht, 300 bisexuals and 40 kegs of Mountain Dew.

Just then, we laughed because Christine Lahti tripped on a ramekin and tried to recover like it never happened. But we saw it. Then Donatella called over the manager, and got him to give her a copy of the surveillance video. So we could show it to all our closest friends. Leslie Ann Warren is going to shit her pants when she sees the replay.

So, now I'm home. Resting on my laurels. Downloading an early industry copy of the upcoming Mary J. Blige album to my itunes.

Your love and support mean all the world to me.

You are all gems. Simply gems.

Amen.

b.b., esq.

Fishing For Barracuda

2005-12-01T17:25:00.000-08:00

Today I returned from Bolivia.

On Thanksgiving Day (of all days) I adopted a 17 year old Bolivian boy from Anguilla. We returned to the States via tugboat as Absalom's "papers" were destroyed in a plane crash near Trinidad. My assitant Marisol manned the sails, my wife Marilyn made a delicious pot roast and my new son, Absalom, and I fished for Barracuda.

I am honored to have this opportunity to shape a youth into a man. Develop the boy with my keen sense of discipline, wit, parental wisdom and sass. In various social and political circles circles I am known to be a well bred leader, well esteemed and virtuous - a veritable father figure. I am curious to see what kind of man he becomes and what he brings to his nitty-gritty Bolivian lifestyle.

The specific guidelines were underwritten as one full year of "adult-contemparary cosmopolitan year of guidance." I joked to his parents in Spanish, "Well, we won't be going to any Dionne Warwick concerts or anything." The room was silent, but I thought it was funny. Spanish has a different rhythm.
I have much to teach young Absalom.

Of course, you'll be able to see it. It will be airing on CBS this spring on the reality show tentatively titled "Beckett Boo's Bolivian Kid Swap Project". I'm still in disputes over the title, but what can I do? Les Moonves and I have been chums for years. I am being paid handsomely [as you can see ; )] but the great reward is the Gift of Fatherhood.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Amen.

Beckett Boo esq.

Guess the Celebrity

2005-12-01T17:22:00.000-08:00

- Hello, (Celebrity Name Insert), it so grand to see you. I love that purple chenille scarf. It works magic with your dark features.

- Beckett Boo, you hot, cool cat. Oh my G-d, I read your bi weekly blog all the time. I haven't seen you since the premiere of (Major Motion Picture Title Insert). That was, like decades, ago. You look great. Do you wanna do some blow?

- No, but thank you. Last night I was hold up in a snowstorm with MK and Ashley Olsen, if you catch my drift. Let's just say, "I'm good." But yes, that bitchin', 80's rock 'n roll movie you were in back in the mid 80's. I had the movie poster as a young teen.

- Well, I don't know where my brother is, but I'm not gonna wait. But keep an eye out for me.

- No, pleeeeeease, go ahead. I'll keep a keen eye.

[Celebrity snorts cocaine.]

- Well, that was quick (Celebrity Name Insert). I haven't see snorting that fast since I was at Michael Eisner's White Party a Go-Go VIP Room with JC Chasez and Alan Cumming cramed in a bathroom. Boy was Alan pissed drunk. In fact, I think he pissed on JC. I left the room at that point. The door locked, and that's all I'm saying. SO, tell me about you new movie.

- Yes, yes, uhm, yes. The TV Movie. Well, it a TV movie about a TV show, uhm. (She laughs uncomfortably). I play an executive and, well, it's about how a network televison show is made. Sigourney Weaver is in it, Judy Greer, David Duchovny.

- But, (Witty Celebrity's TV Show Famous Character's Name Joke Insert) that's all small potatoes to what you've accomplished beside your two emmy nominations for [TV Series name Insert].

- Yes, I actually have very busy career as a fashion designer. You can visit my web site at http://www.justineb.com/

- Oh, no, no, no (Celebrity Name Insert). We must save the suspense. We can't gve to much
away.

- Anyway, good luck to you. Thank you for the casual celebrity interview. By the way, is the purple chenille scarf one of your design creations?

- No, I bought this at Bloomingdales. I gotta find Jason. It was so good to see you again. I need some water.

- Jason's pitching Darren Star a new show in the gazebo. Oh, girl, so good to see you.

[We embrace warmly.]

- Thanks, thanks. Uhm, okay, bye. See ya. (She stumbles off.)

Then she vanishes into the sea of d-list celebrities. She finds her brother who just found out about his television show cancellation. I walk past and hear them pitching each other ideas for a project together. She dangling a martini in one hand, and he's passing a joint to Eliza Dushku. Her chenille scarf falls behind her. I look up to the sky, and at that exact moment a star beams and meets the glimmer in mine eye. I reach over to the chenille scarf and pull it toward me. I tuck it into my lap.

I call the valet poolside, and tip him to have my lamborghini by the pool door exit immediately. I exit into the dark alley, swoop into the car driven my my housekeeper, Marisol, and began texting this blog into my blackberry with the comfort of my new chenille scarf.

See ID

2005-12-01T15:46:00.000-08:00

REWARD

I lost my black Amex charge card. Pin # 4932. If anyone finds it please contact me via this e-mail address or you can contact my agent, Patrick Whitesell, in care of the Endeavor Agency. The card really has no limit. It's a VIP card, black, with the name Beckett Boo, Esq. emblazoned in blue Gold. I forgot to write "See ID" on the back so anyone who has it could, quite frankly, purchase anything they even wanted. I trust you all, so if any of you are in or around the West Hollywood area I may have lost it inside the TomKat while paying for my bon bons. I asked the house manager and he said if I wanted to search through buckets of - Anyway, if you see it. Let me know.

Amen.

Beckett Boo, esq.
Cat Blogger Extraordinaire!

The Bio-Chemical Glucose Nightmare

2005-12-01T15:40:00.000-08:00

Friday, November 11, 2005

The first thing that happened was I found out corn syrup was an ingredient in my V8 shake. It's in just about everything nowadays - my chapstick, my lemonade, even my baklava. But it erks me plenty when it touches the inner sanctum of my can of V8.

My day always starts the same way. I have grown accustomed to its daily ritual. Marisol, punctutally, awakes me at 6:30 a.m. playing Dvorak: Cello Concerto in B Minor, Op. 104; Symphony No. 9 in E Minor, Op. 95 on her viola. I rise from the bed and walk into the garden, bare, with all my tidbits aglow. There I meet up with my Tai Chi instructor, "Lemon Tree", for 20 minutes more of rigorous exercise. Then Marisol has my egg whites and mung beans rolled into the gazebo. I read the Washington Post, NY Post, The Guardian, Al-Jazirah and Daily Variety while I catch up on follow-up calls. When I am DONE I like to relax with a cold can of V8. TWO servings of vegetables in just one little can™!! But today my world has been shattered. Corn syrup in my V8? This stuff is destined to kill me after all! I realized there was no fool proof plan for life. I had to keep a careful watch on the things that supposedly helped me - like vitamins and mackeral. I still had 6 lives left for godsake, and I wasn't gonna let corn syrup in a can of V8 murther me!

So, I called C. Everett Koop, to learn more information. He suggested we meet at The Friar's Club for dinner. I had to bump Jay-Z off my calender, but I had to know what the doctor knew.

Marisol couldn't find the keys to the lamborgini, so we had to take her Ford Taurus. Of course she popped a tire on the way (the dirty cunt!) forcing me late for my dinner with Dr. Koop. I waited patiently for 15 minutes while Marisol changed the tire. I squeezed back inside her jalopy and we rode on. I was another five minutes late because I had Marisol drop me off three blocks away just in case Woody and the rest of the paparazzi were waiting.

I saw C. and he saw me. We shook hands, hugged, I tugged on his beard and made some witty remark about he looked like a lighthouse keeper - then we sat. After polite, small talk he finally spoke:

"High-fructose corn syrup (HFCS) is produced by processing corn starch to yield glucose, and then processing the glucose to produce a high percentage of fructose. It all sounds rather simple—white cornstarch is turned into crystal clear syrup. However, the process is actually very complicated. Three different enzymes are needed to break down cornstarch, which is composed of chains of glucose molecules of almost infinite length, into the simple sugars glucose and fructose."

I excused myself and jaunted to the restroom meditating on the words. "Glucose?" I thought to myself as I shook my penis thrice at the urinal. "That can't be good for my diabetes." I Q-tipped my ears, tipped the bathroom valet seventy-seven cents and returned to the table. "Koop, I implore you! Can it exacerbate my diabetes!?"

He continued droning, yet informing. "Consumption of glucose kicks off a cascade of biochemical reactions. It increases production of insulin by the pancreas, which enables sugar in the blood to be transported into cells, where it can be used for energy. It increases production of leptin, a hormone that helps regulate appetite and fat storage, and it suppresses production of another hormone made by the stomach, ghrelin, that helps regulate food intake. It has been theorized that when ghrelin levels drop, as they do after eating carbohydrates composed of glucose, hunger declines."

By this time I had payed the check, got the waitresses phone number and sold my Intel stock via blackberry. I implored him. "Please speak to me in layman terms. I don't know what what my ghrelin level is supposed to be. I don't know if my physique holds ghrelin. Layman's terms, Koop!"

At that exact moment Billy Baldwin walked in. I hadn't seen him since the premiere of "To Wong Foo. Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar." I excused myself from Dr. Koop and sashayed over to Billy's booth. He was surrounded by three gorgeous Cambodian triplets.
"Billy it's been years since we spoke. What a delight to see you! I was just passing through the neighborhood when I decided to stop in and get a Cafe con Leche. What kismet it is to run into you! - and I have no other previous engagement. May I join you?"

"Dr. Boodle-anda Jones", he mocked. "Meet my three lady friends. Heather, Chestnut and Tammy. Please join us for some high end champagne."

"My pleasure, Billy." I purred into Tammy's ear. "Looks like we're going to need a case full of strawberries."

The waiter arrived, and Billy ordered Mumm Brut. I cancelled the order and requested that if we were going to have Mumm it had to be Cordon Rouge, demi-sec, Cramant, Grand Cru et Rosé. Billy winked, "Touche!"

We exchanged pleasantries. Billy ate the sourdough bread (and didn't even share with Heather), Tammy forced a handjob on me, and no one was talking to Chestnut. I took a step outside for a fag, and remembered that I had long forgotten C. Everett Koop. I wondered if he was still there, who paid the bill, what he would say about my smoking.

I returned to the banquette in which we discussed glucose and C. Everett was gone. C. Thomas Howell was there, but no Dr. Koop. I felt entirely sickeningly dissapointed in myself, then returned to the table as jolly as a peanut. I felt like my Bi-Polar was acting up. I asked Billy to refill my champagne glass. He obliged. I took one sip, and immediately spit it out. Billy huffed, "You don't like Sparkling Wine?"

I felt my throat tense up. "Sparkling Wine, you talentless Baldwin!? You're going to give me Ketoacidosis! I could be dead by Ramadan. Imbecile!" Suddenly, I felt dizzy. The room began to spin. I KNEW there was too much corn syrup in the sparkling wine. That's why I had spit it out, but it was too late.

The coma was taking over.

Incidentally, I am okay. Saved by a twelve year old boy's liver. I was in the hospital for nearly two weeks. Billy sent Hollyhocks, Shelly Duvall surprised me with Peach Snapps. Michael Musto brought Christine Baranski by for a game of cribbage. Marisol read to me "Cannery Row" in her broken English. Moscow held a vigil. I feel loved and adored - all over again, like I was a twelve year old boy -
who gave a cat his liver.

A Word From The Wise

2005-12-01T15:24:00.000-08:00

Thursday, November 10, 2005

Today I have entered the blogosphere.

I shall lay out my goals and work towards them everyday, and you will witness all my dreams and ambitions come true. I am half cat / half god. I speak for all man - except, of course, Al Reynolds.

After I awoke from a dream that had me levitating over pools of vanilla soy I heard some scuffling outside. I drew the drapes, and saw two african-american youths arguing over a copy of Kazuo Ishiguro's "The Remains Of The Day." I whispered a "namaste" and began journaling about defying stereotypes. It was beautiful, let me tell you, to see two colored youths arguing over a timeless, compelling psychological study and a portrait of a vanished social order.

I, too, am a colored youth. I'm a Russian Blue with a blog - blessed with rare sense of humour, pathos and wit. No one would believe me if it were not for this site than I am as articulate as the Homosapiens. That is why I have agreed to use this platform and digress my brilliant mind on today's topics.

My goals are as followed: (1) To win a Nobel Peace Prize. (2) Re-new my subscription to Harper's Bazzar. (3) Dine with the Olsen Twins (again) (4) Leave behind the spotlight and direct music videos. (5) Finish my autobiography "I Laugh And I Love - That's How I Stay So Fit!" (6) Visit Vietnam (7) Out Tony Danza (oops, done.) (8) Find the green-est contact lenses in the world. (9) Have a 30-way (10) Write one of those "Idiot's guides to..." (11) to become an Ambassador for the United Nations, and have Nic Kidman be my Interpreter...for all time. (12) To eat a Jolly Rancher.

Every step I take will be toward these goals that I have Outlined above. Don't be afraid to call me out if I stray - an empty silence lights the way.

Thank you for reading, thus far. Please DO NOT bombard me with CAPS when writing to me. They give me *astigmatism (see link below for details).

Anway, I appreciate all your friendships in my short start on the Myspace. Please be open to my thoughts and open minded about my philosophies. I really think I have found The Way.

Perhaps, you can take with you the lessons of a wise Cat-Sage and import them into your soul. I am not a God. I am just a Cat-Sage who can help you ask the right questions so you can teach YOURSELF how to be a God.

God Bless Amerika.

Amen.

Beckett Boo, esquire
Cat Blogger Extraordinaire

* www.allaboutvision.com/conditions/astigmatism.htm