Ohmygawd. This guy is a genius. Somebody hire him and make him rich.
(Advance warning: This features obscene lyrics and sexual content. Consider yourself warned.)
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Monday, September 17, 2007
Drunk and Disorderly
Brett Somers, ex-wife of Jack Klugman and perennial Match Game panelist, died Saturday at the grand age of 83.
A first-generation latch-key kid, I spent many an afternoon soaking in the vodka-drenched shenanigans of Somers as she fussed and bickered with Charles Nelson Reilly, her long-time comic foil.
It was my first exposure, I suppose, to a gay man bantering with his beloved fag hag. And I had no idea that's what I was taking in at the time. To paraphrase Elaine Stritch in her solo show, At Liberty, I just knew it was funny, and I dug it.
I also had no idea that for most of the years that I watched, she was soused. Not tipsy. Not drunk. But blotto. Blasted. Every sheet imaginable to the wind. I watch episodes today on the Game Show Network and marvel at how she can barely slur out most of her answers.
Was it because for my family attempting to have a conversation after consuming staggering amounts of alcohol was known as "dinner"? Or was my brain at that time content to just take in another bunch of people who worked overtime to say inappropriate things in an appropriate manner?
It matters not, I suppose. Brett Somers helped pass the time and made me feel happy when I already knew I felt different. She'll always have a blank spot in my heart.
God speed to you, Brett.
A first-generation latch-key kid, I spent many an afternoon soaking in the vodka-drenched shenanigans of Somers as she fussed and bickered with Charles Nelson Reilly, her long-time comic foil.
It was my first exposure, I suppose, to a gay man bantering with his beloved fag hag. And I had no idea that's what I was taking in at the time. To paraphrase Elaine Stritch in her solo show, At Liberty, I just knew it was funny, and I dug it.
I also had no idea that for most of the years that I watched, she was soused. Not tipsy. Not drunk. But blotto. Blasted. Every sheet imaginable to the wind. I watch episodes today on the Game Show Network and marvel at how she can barely slur out most of her answers.
Was it because for my family attempting to have a conversation after consuming staggering amounts of alcohol was known as "dinner"? Or was my brain at that time content to just take in another bunch of people who worked overtime to say inappropriate things in an appropriate manner?
It matters not, I suppose. Brett Somers helped pass the time and made me feel happy when I already knew I felt different. She'll always have a blank spot in my heart.
God speed to you, Brett.
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