The parody of Tom

I don't mean to be a parody of the rest of the celebrity gawking blogs out there. I was actually just meandering through the world wide web when I caught the pic above.

I have shown restraint. I have not started preaching about the fabulous PR machine that is Thomas Cruise Mapother, nor have I started spouting off my beliefs about the holy cult of Scientology.

THIS PIC REALLY, REALLY FUC&ED ME UP.

So here I am, feeling like an absolute idiot because I actually am dedicating time to this, when I should be seducing my boyfriend. ( Hey, I figure, if you have no time in the evening to exercise, you can at least have fun trying to break a sweat while having sex. As if we were really burning calories....)

Tom Cruise is behaving like an imbecile. What movie is he worried about failing? Why doesn't his normal PR junket work for this assumed bit of Hollywood trash? Who is his publicist? Who is Tom's manager?

Richard Gere needs to fly back from North India (My uncle is in Alaska salmon fishing. He will have to find another pilot), kidnap Tom, and take him for a reckoning before the Dalai Lama. Tom, tom, tom. This little girl looks absolutely clueless. She doesn't have any distinguishing star quality that will save her career, post-relationship, a la Nicole. Stop calling her your "little astral star beam" and go find a nice butch leather man. (Facial hair desired...I am thinking Freddie Mercury would suit Tommy just fine). After your groove has been gotten, I recommend some facial hair, a new passion ( watercolor painting? Sculpting?) that you can do in a Harper's Bazaar photo spread. Show off some new modernist digs on the coast of Vermont. Get some charismatic facial lines. After an appropriate period of eccentricity, you can marry some brilliant daughter, a la Daniel Day Lewis, and make a few more incredibly artsy, well appreciated flicks.

Katie, go back to giving sultry looks, and pull a Renee Zellweger. Star in a movie highlighting your lovely alto. Deep throatedly murmur lines at some unknown hunk. ( How is Clive Owen's schedule? How hot would that be?) If you can, sing a nice candlelit tune on top of a piano wearing nothing but the shadows. Get your hair cropped to your ears, and add some nice caramel coloring. ( You will need a tan for this) Spiral curl it into sexy tendrils. Bee sting your lips raspberry. At a significant moment in the film, drop a luscious tear down that cheek - let's see em' puff up a bit.

Anyway, you two are fools. We need to fix this bad. America, it is time to speak up.