Friday, December 29, 2006
Let's face it. Mel hasn't been the same since the last Lethal Weapon. And when you look at Danny Glover is it any wonder why. You wouldn't dare step out of line. Go back to Danny, Mel. You need him. He's black, he's been arrested for protesting and he lives in San Francisco. That being said, Apocalypto is Oscarific.
You know what their problem is don’t you? Big hats but no Jewels. They'd look much happier with a ruby and a sapphire in the front of their turbans. Then they'd really look gay. Oh please. Look at them. Osama is such a queen. Those big brown eyes. The way he swans up and down those hills. He wears his gun belt like a sash. Miss Taliban 1006. What do you think drives a man to live in a cave with a bunch of sweaty young soldiers? I’d sell my imaginary child for just one weekend with the mujahadeen. And then there’s the target, the twin towers, America’s phallic symbol. Actually two, America’s so butch. And what about Mohammed Atta, the ringleader, the first pilot. Look at the torment in that face. That clenched jaw. Those pinched lips. If he’d only loosened that jaw and used his mouth the way Allah intended we wouldn’t be where we are today. He was in the cockpit with the pretty one. Holding hands no doubt as they hit the buildings. He didn’t want those towers to come down. He just wanted to make them touch. I’d page Doctor Freud but he’s a Jew, why ask for trouble.
Just a little something to keep the straight men from straying. Buddy's is a place of all persuasions. All I ask is that you let me persuade you. These were two girls I spotted on the streets of San Jose, Costa Rica. What can I say? They made me pull out my camera. And later when I pulled out my camera, they slipped me 6,OOO pesetas. Bi for now. Buddy Cole.
I just got back from a screening of 'Pan's Labyrnth by Guillermo del Toro. The movie is sort of like a fantasy for people who hate fantasy. They can't just accept it on it's own terms like Harry Potter. It has to have a Civil War with sectarian violence in it. A flying car is never enough for those people. The movie is stunning but oddly enough, for all the deaths, not particularly moving.
But forget about the movie for a second. The best part was I saw Scott Thompson there. He looked exhausted. His hair looked crispy. Obviously going through some sort of career crisis. He was with two other guys. They all looked drugged. The girl in front of them who was obviously a big fan complimented Scott at one point. She said he had a good energy and that his aura was swirly. He said 'Swirl This!' How rude and not even original. Shelly Hack said it in 'Cathy Diamond:Lawyer at Large.' I took his picture with my cellphone and he got all lemony snickety. He actually put his hand up like he's David Hasselhof or something. I thought I could sell it to Defamer. Com or TMZ but neither of them were interested.
HIs friends were far more compelling. One of them, I think he was a Brazilian because he hated the movie,he kept sighing all through the film, you know how they're never impressed by anything, anyways, right when the little girl is being chased by the ghoul with eyes in his hands the Brazillian starts blowing the giant pale one. It was lucky I was there to document it. The picture quality is bad but it was pitch black in that theatre. I had to use my superflash which almost got me kicked out. As for the film itself, it was a little bloody for my tastes.
The movie is about a little spanish girl who loses her father in the Spanish Civil War. THen her mother gets pregnant with a general type high up in Franco's regime and they move to the country where he is fighting rebels. She imagines an alternate world where a hideous faun tells her that she is a princess of the underworld and not human and that in order for her to regain her crown she has to do all these horrible tasks whee she meets grotesque CGI characters. At one point she's told a hundred times by the giant faun not to eat any food during one task and the first thing she does is eat some grapes. Then the creature wakes up and eats two fairies. This is where I thought the violence became gratuitous. Just because you can show fairies being eaten by demons, doesn't mean you should. This alternate world is how the little girl copes. I get it. I have an imaginary friend who's always ordering me to do horrible things too. If it was up to me I would be magnanimous 24/7 but he has other plans. He's more of an enabler by now really but I'm addicted.
So back to the movie. Tthe stepfather who's gorgeous of course becuase he's evil iis fond of shaving, sewing up his own wounds and shooting people at close range. Actually everybody loves that. If people weren't being shot in the head, they were being stabbed through the cheek or menstruating, I mean going into labour which I suppose is a form of menstruation. Call it extreme menstruation. "Spoiler Alert!" It ends with the little girl getting shot by her stepfather and you don't really mind. I mean the faun told her a hundred times not to eat anything. And grapes? Who risks everything for two grapes? It's not like they were olives. Then again who shoots a little girl?
Sidebar: Mexico must be awfully grim. My friend Graziella Fortunato who teaches English Literature online says Shakespeare never even killed a child. She says that no children die in Shakespeare. Sure some of them were pretty young like Romeo and Juliet but they weren't virgins which is key I think.
The ending is both sad and happy. The little girl dies but she gets to be a princess in hell. Sounds like my last relationship . Bonsoir. Buddy.
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
This is a picture of my friend Hadim's gay wedding in Iran. It was very hot. When the mullah pronounced them husband and husband, the trap door opened an they both fell into a gorgeous pool whereupon they took off their clothes down to their speedos amd kissed madly. Suddenly everyone started pushing each other into the pool and before long it was like an orgy. You can't see the pool below them because the American censors cut them. They took my film at the border and then returned them cropped. They don't like anything positive to be shown about the regime. The only bad thing I can say about the wedding is that the whole time I was there, there wasn't a condom in sight. The best part was the caviar. It was like dirt. It's amazing because I know there's a caviar crisis now what with the sturgeon being driven to extinction faster than the sophisticated gay man but somehow those queens got thieir caviar. Now by sophisticated gay men, I don't mean those botoxed ninnies on tv yodelling on about where to put the couch and whether you should highlight or lowlight. I don't care what you do with your hair. Just don't imitate mine which brings me to the real point of this post. Conan O'Brien. That inbred ginger Yankee has stolen my hair. Sure he's always had some lift in his do but recently it's taken off. And it happened right after my appearance on his show. I remembe because I had gone on to plead for the return, safe or otherwise, of my beloved corn cob doll, Cornygirl. Sadly Cornygirl has never returned. There's been no body found so there's always hope. Anyways, I don't know what to do about Conan. We've been friends for years and I've already just ignited a feud with Courtney Cox and Jennifer Aniston, not to mention David Arquette and his sister Alexis. The last thing I want is more bad blood. I'm not going to sue for now but my lawyer is straining at the leash. He smells a lot of money and more importantly, moral vindication for me. Would love your feed back. Buddy.
Finally. A recent picture of me. Did I say recent? I mean decent. I'm still looking for a suitable recent photo. The problem is the good ones are all indecent. It's insane. I'm getting better looking. It's something to do with being half french. Catherine Deneuve for example you can still picture having sex and it's not revolting. And it's not because of the surgeon's skill either. Well a little here and there but nothing outrageous and all in Brazil naturallement. Those doctors learned from the best. Nazi dentists. The Boys from Brazil. I just saw 'Children of Men.' Good movie. Maybe even great. The problem was it detoured so far from the original by P.D. James that I got all squinchy and academic and kept thinking "That's not the way it happened in the book." That's the reason I haven't pubished anything since my autobiography 'Buddy Babylon' from Bantam Doubleday Dell: Trade Paperback Edition. Sometimes I wake up in the night and I think " It was never in hardcover." It hurts. The best thing about the movie is Clive Owen. He should have been James Bond. Daniel Craig is not Bond. He's more like a circuit boy. He looks so gay. Fake tan, steroids and crystal dick. I don't know what people were seeing when he walked out of the water in his speedo because I was seeing nothing. I've always felt that critics, male and female, by and large don't see a lot of dick. This proves it. I hate to be racist but Blondes can't be Bond. The words are too similiar. It's confusing. Even I as a blonde accept that. I'm no Bond. I'm more the Supervillain. But back to Clive. Not only is he in every frame looking like a hot Welsh hangover but he's in flip flops As an admirer of the male foot and particularly Clive's I was cheered by this. I think it was a crime however that even though he was almost barefoot for half the movie there was only one closeup. All through the film I kept imagining him as James Bond especially the parth where Daniel Craig has his testicles smacked about by the man with the leaky eye. Although Mr. Craig did acquit himself admirably I thought his feet over acted. Clive's feet would have been so much more expressive.
Monday, December 25, 2006
Years ago I briefly hosted a talk show set in the lobby of a hotel. It was called the Lobbylogues. Actually it only lasted one show. The interview was with Jason Priestly who was in Toronto making an American movie. This is the interview.
(to the studio audience of three)
About a year ago, I became involved with Saddam Hussein in a sexual situation. It was wrong and it totally upset the world power balance and I'm sorry. I'm sure there will be no long term geopolitcal damage done. There. Now let's move on. Tonight''s first guest is Jason Priestly. He used to be on Beverly Hills 90210 but now he's known mostly as a friend of the " Barenaked Ladies" but to be fair he's done some good stuff. That thing with William Hurt. Look. Things just didn't work out. Tell me about it. He's stil sexy though. Scruffy. He's unshaven because his career is in the doldrums. His career is in the dumps because he doesn't shave. It's a vicious circle. Ladies and gentlemen,please welcome Jason Priestly.
A surly unshaven Jason Priestly enters and sits down in a chair.
So what big American movie are you in?
It's called " 99 Crackers Drive ". It's about this pedophile who wins the lottery but it's not about his pedophilia. It's just about a man who gets lucky. It's so refreshing.
I agree. There's already so much negative pedophilia stuff out there. They don't need to add to it. We know already. Let's see what else this person might have to say.
So,what American city is Toronto standing in for this time?
Really. And how did Toronto do?
Amazing. One of the actors was from Chatanooga and he said that it was just like it. He said it was eerie.
Tha's a good word for Toronto.
No. Everyone's been very nice. And your crew's are great.
I don't find that.
No. I had a wonderful time.
So,have you every had sex with someone who was under age?
No,of course not.
So you don't believe in research.
There were other things about the character. He also was a student of Finnish and played the lute.
I was abused as a youngster.
I'm sorry. How old were you?
Thirty six. He was ninety. That's fifty four years difference in age. He's lucky one of my brothers didn't kill him. By the way,sorry about the mixup with hotels.
No problem. I just wondered why I wasn't staying here at the Park Season's where the show is taped?
(turns to the camera)
We'll be back after this.
We never came back. They pulled the plug at the commercial.
Sunday, December 24, 2006
What did you say?
What did you do?
What’s your sign?
Does it relate to ewe?
What did you think?
What did you feel?
Do you like dancing?
Are you for veal?
How was your week?
How was your month?
How was your year?
Were you a cunth.
How can I make your life better?
How can I make it taste sweeter?
How can I be a better host?
A proper journalist at my blogging post.
Are you a ho?
Do you love bacon?
What’s your sign?
Are you taken?
Do you hate France?
Are you a mason?
Or I’ll go off like Jason.
I love to listen.
It’s in my soul.
Tell me your story.
Banality for all.
How can I make your life better?
How can I make it taste sweeter?
How can I be a better host?
A proper journalist at my blogging post.
A feud with a friend.
A mother with AIDS
It’s a forum for healing
We don’t give out grades.
It’s your life.
Talk to me.
I’m hotter than
You’ve got me and I’ve got Ewe. .
The first person I ever knew who killed themselves was a friend of mine called Giovanni. It was way back in the Eighties when I was trying to be a professional tap dancer in Toronto. I ran the colour wheel at the Clinique counter in Eaton's by day and studied tap at the Toronto School of Tap by night.
Giovanni was a cobbler who lived across the hall from me in my building. He was basically straight but I've always been open minded that way. We had a brief liason which ended very soon after he re-tapped all my shoes but we'd stayed friends. We'd you know get together every couple of weeks for some coffee and cobbling.
Giovanni's problems began as so many people’s do, in France. He and his girlfriend Sophie were over there on a romantic holiday and one night in the city of Brest he ate a bad mussel and suffered minor brain damage. I'd warned him before he left not to eat the seafood but he thought I'd meant sailors. It was a Monday night and they'd ordered room service in their hotel room and and after it arrived he ate the treacherous bivalve and then after that, he ate the bad mussel. It was exactly eight o'clock which is significant because from that moment on he always thought it was Monday at eight o'clock. He was completely normal in every way except for that one thing.
Everything was fine for a while until Melrose Place came into the picture. Monday at eight o'clock. He loved that show. He just couldn't handle it when it ended at nine. And no one had VCR"S at the time. You were a slave to the TV schedule. It was primitive. Monday from Eight to Nine was great. The rest of the week he just kept asking why it wasn't on. Very annoying. I mean sometimes you just want your shoes sucked I mean fixed. We finally got one of the first VCR's and put Melrose Place on a constant loop which shut him up for a while but then one day it broke and he just lost it. He was never the same.
About a week before he died Melrose Place was cancelled. One night he called me and we had a long conversation about the show and what he was going to do now that it was over. He was very concerned for Heather Locklear. He didn't want her to do anything else after. He kept saying "I don't want her to sully it." So I told him if that had been the case before then Heather would have never done anything after Dynasty and we would never have had Amanda. That really got to him and he calmed down but then he suddenly said that he was going to kill himself and hung up. I had a bad feeling but I couldn't put my finger on it. Experts on suicide say that when someone is thinking of killing themselves they often send you signals thru odd behaviour such as singing in public or getting a perm. There was nothing like that but still,I was uneasy.
A couple of days later on a Friday he called again and said that he was going to do it that Monday night at eight o'clock. When I hung up I had that same bad feeling. I wanted to call back but I didn't want to be an alarmist. Besides it was Friday. I knew I had three days to figure out what to do. Then I remembered that it's always Monday at eight o'clock with him so I immediately called him back and his machine picked up. It was Giovanni saying, "I can't answer the phone right now because I'm not here. I mean I'm really not here. Don't bother leaving a message. Goodbye forever." Now I was really starting to get worried. I didn't know what to do. Finally I just opened the door and walked across the hall to his apartment. I opened the door and there he was. Sprawled on the floor between the bathroom and the hall with blood pouring from his mouth,an empty bag of shoe nails at his side and his hair all frizzed out in a hideous perm. It was awful.
I understand why he killed himself of course. I've felt like that but I would never kill myself. If I was ever feeling suicidal, I would find some other way to relieve the tension, some sort of displacement activity, like a hard game of tennis or shooting a horse. Better him than me.
After he died I found I couldn't tap any more. Every time I would slip my shoes on I would see Giovanni lying on the ground with that hideous perm and I'd have to stop. So I decided to go into modeling instead. It worked out very well. You may not realize it but I ‘m a huge star in the Phillipines. But truth be told, every once in a while when I see someone tapping their finger on a table or banging a metal garbage can lid rhythmically the old hunger comes back and my feet begin to move of their own accord.
Here's a poem I wrote. It's about a friend of mine who defeated jaw cancer by meditating on the image of the mascot from the 'Just For Laughs' comedy festival which I've included in case you too have jaw cancer. The concept is a lot like the blue dot which has helped so many people the world over win the lottery or get their car out of hock. Here's the poem. It's an inspirational little jingle called 'Jaw Cancer'.
Why did you attack my jaw
There are so many other jaws in the world preaching hatred and intolerance and other bad stuff and you attack me
Have you no mercy Jaw Cancer
Yes,I admit I might have loved my jaw too much
But is that any other reason to take my beloved jaw
Don’t you know that I use my jaw for my living
I’m a talker and I talk with my jaw
When I first saw the lesion on my jaw I at first thought that a mosquito had bitten my soft cheek which is the sweetest part of a fish so why not a human being but it was not a mosquito bite,
It was Jaw Cancer
LIttle did I know that jaw cancer was creeping up my jaw
I love to hold my jaw at this position and it gives me great pleasure to know that that the line is as straight and as strong as a Hollywood Matinee idol and when I hold my face at this angle there is not a hint of a double jaw or a wattle anywhere in the jaw the neck the throat or anywhere else in the environs of my face
Because I’m reciting this poem right now obviously I’ve defeated jaw cancer otherwise I would not be able to do it
Ha Ha Jaw Cancer
I laugh in your face and that includes your Jaw
I've defeated you Mr. Cancer
With a little help from my friend the mascot from Just for Laughs
Merde mon ami
Mangez someone else's jaw
What the heck? Oh no. Now I have to apologize to my dear friend Jennifer Aniston for publishing this picture without full Hollywood authorization. I feel awful especially with all the trials and tribulations poor Jen is going through what with Brad so happy with la Jolie and Vince running off with a stripper. Jen, you are an inspiration to me. You remind me of Jesus and look what he did. Food for thought. Chin up girl. Vince was a ho anyway. How do I know? Two words. Ma. Drid. I've said too much. Now, the picture of Genevieve.
As you probably already know that last picture wasn't my niece and sister but Courtney Cox, her mother and her husband David Arquette holding their newborn. As you probably guessed Courtney and I are dear dear friends and she sent me this picture with the express instructions not to share it with the world. Courtney. My deepest apologies. Contrary to appearances, I still treasure our special showbiz friendship. Accept this photo of me turning down a nomination for a Nobel Peace Prize as token of my regret. Your loyal friend. Buddy Cole.
That picture of Doris was so refreshing that my heart chakra just opened up as wide as Oprah's and I feel moved to share with you a shot of my niece Genevieve being held by my sister Claudette. If I'm getting too intimate too quickly I blame it on the season. I just can't stop sharing. Call me Santa Cole. Enjoy. Buddy.
Good morning world. Buddy Cole here. I thought I would leave you with something refreshing to help you through your day as you rush about buying last minute christmas gifts. I have none of those worries as I got all my christmas shopping done in one fell swoop with the publication of this blog. People have been clamoring for this for so long that I finally relented and gave people what they wanted. Moi. This is my gift to ewe. A little explanation of my unique spelling of you. You see, I would spell it like a normal human being but the good people at YOU TUBE have copyrighted the letters Y, O and U. Luckily I own the copyright on the letters E and W so I cobbled them together to spell EWE. How did I come to own these letters? Well, pull up a stool and let me tell you. My mother left me them in her will. It's proven to be quite a legacy. Anytime anyone uses them I make a penny. It doesn't sound like much but remember E is a vowel and there are only five of them and sometimes six. And everyone loves W. Why? Because all questions start with a W and people are such a curious lot. This is the reason I don't have to work and can travel the world spreading good will. So that's the story. Now you know why my home is called EWE. This is the reason my posts tend to ramble. The more I write, the more money I make. Well I'm off to visit the old folks home with a pitcher of martini's. Bi for now. Buddy.
twas the night before christmas and all through the house you could hear them all blogging, the ewes and the mouse.
As I sit here by the fyre contemplating the crackling logs and swilling the last of the Bombay gin and savouring the last olive on the tree I cant help but reflect on the past year and I'm reminded of my first post ages ago on the twenty third where I mentionded that I had been away for awhile doing 'good works' and you're probably wondering where I've been and Im tempted to tell in the words of one cyndi Lauper but 'I wonder why. Oo. Oo. Oo. Oo. Hic. I don't want to toot my own horn in this time of humility. Let's just say I was doing the work of our Lord. For now let's just rememember in this holiday season that even though the French will always be insufferable, they are also so damn sexy it's un-american. this really is goodnight. buddy.
Perhaps on second thought or more precisely, second sight, that picture of Jesus might not have been the best one to put the overseers at Blogger.com at ease. He looks so damn sexy. I'm sorry, The Savior had it going on. Do you know how hard it is to find an unsexy picture of Jesus? Impossible. And then when you do, he looks too gay. Oh please! Let me tell you a little story. Recently I was in a public washroom and I read this bit of graffitti scrawled on the door. "Jesus is the son of God " I mean,come on,you know, enough is enough. There was a number written under it so I called it on my cell. Jesus answered but he pronounced it Hayzus. He said he was horny and sitting at home alone stroking his chorizo and did I want to come over and suck it. So I said sure. He was good but he wasn't the son of God. Christianity went awry when it said that Jesus was the son of God. I mean Islam may have it's quirks but at least it doesn't say that Mohammed's the son of God. He's just the messenger. So he's more like the nephew of God. But Jesus says, "I am the son of God." You have to admit,"It's a little bit braggy". I believe Jesus did think he was the son of God. A lot of gay men think they're all that. Oh please! He wanders around the desert with twelve scruffy roommates who seem to spend an awful lot of time washing each other's feet. I went to a party like that once and it was a religious experience but Jesus, I eventually went home. And of course the only one who understands him is his mother Mary. Niggah please! Even her name is gay. Then his entire life is an attempt to render his father invisible. Hello! Then he's supposed to have been a virgin when he died. No way. No normal man who's able to,decides not to have sex with women unless he's gay. The pussy is that magnetic. I may not partake but I am aware of it's awesome power. Maybe Jesus didn't have what you might call sex but I bet I would. In some circles (Mel Gibson's), the crucifixion scene alone would constitute sex. And if you're still not convinced. His best friend is a whore. Straight men don't have prostitutes as friends? Fags do. It's part of the coming out process. Now for those of you going "Oh you fags think every deity is gay. Not every one. Muhammed is definitely straight. You know why Mohammed liked to fight? Because he could. Jesus probably took a swing at somebody when he was a boy and some boy said he punched like a girl and he came up with the turn the other cheek idea. It's something I would have done. And look at how he threw the Pharisees out of the temple. He kicked over their tables. That is so gay. He was probably mad because they they didn't have the rope belt he was looking for. I'm exhausted. One more top up and then it's off to vespers. Oh yes, I forgot. A non sexy picture of Jesus.
After a refreshing martini and signing back in, I decided to see if my blog had attracted any buzz and much to my chagrin I saw that it wasn't even available yet. Apparently there's some sort of comittee who will decide if my musings are to their liking. I realized that perhaps my photos might have given some people the wrong impression, think perhaps that my intentions were smutty. Nothing could be further from the truth especially during the holiday season. That's why I'm posting a picture of Jesus to show my true intentions. Happy birthday Jesus. Your pal Buddy.
She looks great doesn't she. But no matter what her size she alwasys showed toe. It was her signature move. I realize that I could have done all this blah blah blogging as one post but this is so much more fun. As if each post is a cocktail or a line of coke. Speaking of which. I need a drink. Bi for now. Buddy. Oh what the heck, one more camel toe for the road.
I just re-read my last post and realized that I didn't finish the story about how Denise had her heart broken. The problem is this whole blogging thing is so exciting that I'm getting sloppy. The publish button is like a slot machine handle or a cllitoris. You just keep pushing it over and over hoping you'll strike gold. How obvious is it that the last time I saw a clitoris it was on Sally Rand? So anyways, Denise had her heart broken by a gondolier in Venice named "Giovanni' and after that it was pizza, pasta, and polenta all the time. I tried to help but she refused to believe that I was just just tying his shoes. What can I say? He couldn't bend over because he had a bad back from all that poling. I thought you might want to see a picture of Denise in her prime.
I don't know what the heck happened. That is not me, not that I would be ashamed if it was. It's actually my friend Denise. The skinny one is a stranger. I'm sitting on the other side of Denise but you can't see me. Denise and I worked together in Venice one summer as gondoliers. Needless to say she didn't always look like that. She had her heart broken by Anyways, as for how the picture ended up here, well, one moment I was looking at my vacation pictures and remembering fondly our evening at the Marriot with the Detroit 'Gators' or " Cheetahs' or 'Cheaters' or whatever and the next thing I knew I was clicking 'publish' and thar she blows. Well Denise. Mea culpa. Call me. I'm going to try again to see if I can't put one of my own pictures up. Wish me luck. Buddy Cole.
Well I'm back. I know it seemed like forever but it was only a minute. The goddamn blog machine works. I'm on line. Praise the Lord and pass the gin. I don't know what to say. I wasn't prepared you see for this thing to work as I'm so used to anything on the computer jumping and biting me like a cobra. How do I put a picture in? You must see me. It's astonishing how helping the world is so good for your skin. I'm going to post this one now. Bonsoir.
Good evening everyone. My name is Buddy Cole. That's short for Butterick Cole. For the long and enthralling story of how I got that name you'll have to read my biography "Buddy Babylon" published by Bantam Doubleday. I've just surfaced after a long time away doing good for the world. I'm going to post this and see if it works.