Let us peek behind the curtain.
Let us cock the ear.
O, starlight starbright, who can these lovebirds be?
She: You were always the pilot who gunned his way to the top, the boy who danced in his underwear, the secret agent on impossible missions. Well, you’re not a kid in your underwear anymore! Now that’s the truth. To face. And deal with — if you want to survive.
He: Yeah? You’re nothing but a rotten, stinking TV has-been from a teen soap-opera! Supplying the soppy angst that made that shitty show run. You think your life’s a mystery. There isn’t a casting couch in this town that I don’t know about — and your ass has been nailed on every one of them! You reek of it!
She: DAMN YOU! Are you crazy! Are you! Tell me!
(He leaps onto the sofa)
He: I’m crazy! ((jumping up and down) I’m crazy!
She: Get down. Oprah’s not here now.
(From the wings): Oh yes, I am. (more…)


“That’s Hattie McDaniel,” the Indian woman working the counter at the Post Office told me when she showed me my choice of stamps. “George Clooney mentioned her last night
When the lab report came back with
“I didn’t hit rock bottom, and I didn’t turn to a particular church,” says David Papaleo, better known to us as the
Exclusively heterosexual, if we are to believe the newly corrected Papaleo, right, who admits, with admirable frankness, to having had
The great and powerful Oz, as we all know, doesn’t read newspapers (or apparently 
Aren’t babies beau-ti-ful?
Mark Tewksbury won’t be on a box of Wheaties, if history and the 




