FREEZE!!!

Why? Did I do something wrong?

What… What? WHAT is that?

Huh? Is there a bee on me?

… no. There’s a FUCKING BUSH on you!

Oh, that. Yeah, it’s my hat. Fab, right?

….

I wore it too piss off that cow, Catrall!

Yeah, but…

And my beard said it would look good.

He would know, but…

Also I’m a little bit insane.

I’m not arguing that with you.

Don’t even try to deny its awesomeness!

It’s just that-

You know you love it!

But, SJP!

LOVE! … IT!

….

….

Fine. Maybe I do.

Neeeeeeeigh! (/bucks hind legs)

Stupid awesome horse making me like her!

Bangarang!

It’s not often that a celebrity admits when they’re wrong. Scandals come and go, but count how many times you’ve actually heard Lindsay or Paris admit the wrongness of their actions or words. You can probably count the number on your thumb. And even then, the detraction was more than likely court-ordered.

So color me stunned when famed Dawson Leery sloppy seconds lover, Tom Cruise, went on the Oprah Winfrey show last week and admitted he was “wrong” about his comments on post-partum depression. He apologized for attacking Brooke Shields, and expressed his newfound belief that post partum depression can not be cured simply by taking vitamins (though, he did also claim that an Orange Wilma Flintstone vitamin cured him of “abnormal thoughts” back in 1996, so maybe he hasn’t learned that much). He further explained that he felt “pressed” by the media during his couch-jumping, batshit crazy period, and regrets saying a lot of things on TV.

The newly humble Cruise, fresh off the monumental failure that was Lions For Lambs, still plugging his ongoing sham marriage, and desperate for the love we all once had for the diminutive star, ran down a litany of things he once said or did that he now believes are mistakes. I have collected those comments for your perusal. You can judge just how truly sorry he is for the “mistakes” he once made.

OTHER THINGS TOM CRUISE WAS WRONG ABOUT:

• Tom admitted that he was wrong to date Penelope Cruz for two years. Not because they weren’t a happy couple, but because she had only signed a deal to be his beard for 18 months, and the negotiation for the additional six months was pretty onerous. Also, because he could never understand a word she was saying.

• Turns out, all the research Tom claimed to have conducted about drug addiction wasn’t actually factual medical information. It was just an early draft of the Requiem for a Dream script that got left on his desk (in his defense, Jared Leto can be quite confusing).

• Despite his initial fears, luring, capturing and commanding the mind of a teen soap star was far easier than Tom thought. Dealing with Scarlet Johansson, on the other hand, was just as annoying as predicted. He then wished Ryan Reynolds well in navigating that husky-voiced, square-bodied landmine.

• Tom regrets choosing to play a Nazi as his big comeback film; feels it may NOT have been the best vehicle for getting back into the hearts of the American people. In related news, Valkyrie has been delayed a full year while filmmakers try to figure out how to make a Nazi Tom Cruise appealing to anyone beyond the day staff at the Celebrity Center.

• Tom has come to realize, after many moments of soul-searching, that association with Ben Stiller in any form might be detrimental to his already damaged public image. Just ask Owen Wilson (too soon?).

• Electrocuting the most beloved TV personality in the world? Maybe not his finest hour.

• Tom doesn’t view his comments on the infamous Scientology Video as a mistake; he was speaking from the heart, and meant what he said. But looking back, maybe he wouldn’t wear the black turtleneck; that much neck fat should really only be rocked by a Thanksgiving Day turkey, or by John Goodman.

• And of course, he regrets hiring a sex doctor to teach him and then wife Nicole Kidman how to have realistic looking straight people sex for his Stanley Kubrick misfire, Eyes Wide Shut. Though the doctor was able to work through Tom’s awkwardness around the naked female form and successfully get the couple to look like they like each other on film, he was not, however, able to achieve Tom’s ultimate goal of the arrangement: convincing Tom that girls don’t have cooties. Sadly, Katie Holmes must now bath in an anti-cootie solution before and after she comes into the bedroom. And by” bedroom”, I of course mean “mind prison”.

So as you can see, Tom showed much contrition about his crazy antics of the last few years. He clarified comments, apologized for weird behavior and even acknowledged the creepiness of Ben Stiller. But the one thing Tom did not do? The one thing Tom will never agree was a mistake? Putting Colonel Jessup on the stand. He wanted answers. And after all, he was entitled to them! The big question is: can he still handle the truth? At least for today, the answer seems to be a resounding “sort of”.

Bangarang!

OHH! OHH! My little bubbala! I love ya! You’re precious! You love your Bubba? Enh? You love Bubba Katie? You are such a dear! The way I kvell about you at the Synagogue? They haven’t seen kvelling like this! They tell me: “Katie, with the kvelling, give it a rest! We know she’s cute. God forbid she could have had a less shiksa face, but what can you do? You love her, we love her, go eat something!” But how can I nosh when I think of you? Enh? Enh?

How’s your Dad, enh? He being a mensch? He could stand to call me once in a blue moon, you know? Like I don’t exist, he treats me! Like I can’t care for myself! Such a pisher sometimes. Did you know your Bubba used to work? Enh? Back before I was taken, I used to be an actress. A good one, too. OHH! Bigger than life, I was. I did a cable show where I schmoozed with this blonde goya who lived on a creek, but I ended up schtuping his nudnik best friend. It was a whole megillah I won’t bore you with today. But let me tell you, back in those days, Grammy Katie had moves.

You know what I was? I was smart! I had some common sense, some saykhel. I wasn’t some attractive blonde with a rock hard tucchis. But what I had was a rack! And I used it! I figured show your goods in a movie once, you have the boys foreva. And it worked! OHH! How the gentiles lined up for me! But what do I know, enh, I threw it all away to marry some fercockta schlemiel I used to have a poster for on my bedroom wall. And now I’m bupkes…

Let me give you a tip, my bissel: never marry a man with a big schnoz. The complexes these men have with their shvantzes! I can’t begin. Oy!

But you gotta learn these lessons now. You got it different than that toehead Shiloh. With her lips and those WASP-y cheekbones. A golden calf, she is! Moses, coming down from Mt. Sinai, would break the tablets for her, are you kidding me? But not for you. You gotta work for it. We yentas always do. First chance you get, you latch onto the cutest teen hearthrob you can find and you mach schnell from this madness. Don’t think you can run a marathon and just disappear. Trust me, I know these things. I LIVED these things! May you not KNOW what I’ve had to go through to make it to this day. Anne Frank on her worst day WISHES she was married to my Tommy! You don’t need that. Like a hole head in the head, you need that! Hear me? Enh Enh!

My little bubbalah, you are a delight! But oy gevalt, all this talking and not eating tires me out. I need a pickle and a nap! Let’s go find our happy place and rest our eyes. The nebbish will be home from the Oprah taping soon and I don’t need his mishegoss so early in the day. It would be so hard for him to come and tell me he loves me without some grand display? Hopping on things doesn’t put food on the table or love in the bedroom, you know this?

Oh, my little Suri, I love ya so much! Your Bubba is wild about you. I could just plotz, having you in my arms! I hope you know that. If only I could take you and find life without persecution, I would be so happy. But our people have always been oppressed. Such is life. I should just stop kvetching and take my brain pills. My sweet, sweet brain pills. I take them and I feel like I am back on the creek, kibitzing with those beautiful, normal goyim, who loved my rack so much. Those were the days…

Oy Vey!

My official sleeper hit of the summer!

Bangarang!

INT. AMERICAN IDOL PRODUCTION OFFICE

David Archuleta sits alone at a table.

He licks his lips.

The door opens and the American Idol producers enter. Simon Cowell sits down across from David. A thick file folder slaps down on the table between them.

David glances at the name on the file: “Archuleta, David.”

SIMON COWELL: As you can see, we’ve had our eye on you for some time now, Mr. Archuleta.

He opens the file. Paper rattle marks the silence as he flips several pages.

SIMON COWELL: It seems that you have been living two lives. In one life, you are David Archuleta, awkward fifteen year-old throat surgery survivor and son to a control freak stage father. You have an Xbox, you get good grades and you help your Mom… carry out the garbage. The other life is lived on TV where you go by the stage alias DAVID! ARCHULETA!, and are guilty of virtually every tween pop star crime we have a law for.

David licks his lips. Smiles vacantly.

SIMON COWELL: One of these lives has a future. One of them does not.

He closes the file. Rubs his nipples.

SIMON COWELL: I’m going to be as forthcoming as I can be, David. You are here because we need your help. We know that you have been competing against a certain individual. A man who calls himself “David Cook”. Whatever you think you know about this man is irrelevant to the fact that he is wanted for acts of musical awesomeness by more record labels than any other musician in the world. He is considered by many A&R reps to be the most marketable male solo act alive.

Simon leans closer…

SIMON COWELL: My colleagues believe that I am wasting my time with you but I believe you want to win the competition. And that Randy is an idiot. It is obvious that you are a talented singer, Mr. Archuleta, and that you are interested in not getting beat with a switch by your lunatic stage father. That is why I believe you are ready to put your past mistakes behind you, like forgetting the words in Top 12 week and the entire Beatles fiasco, and get on with the season.

David licks his lips. Tries to keep his eyes open. Fails.

SIMON COWELL: We are willing to wipe the slate clean, to keep Ryan away from you backstage and to give you a free pass to the Finals and all we are asking in return is your cooperation in bombing the finale so that we can bring the most talented male Idol to our record label.

David nods to himself. Licks his lips.

DAVID ARCHULETA: Yeah. Uh. Wow. Hehehe. Aw, that sounds like a good deal. Thanks! Thank you! (licks lips) But I think I have a better one, ooooh ohhh yeeeaaah! How about I, uh, perform “Imagine” on the finale and the viewers give me the crown whether you want to or not. Whoa oh oh oh!

Simon gives David moose ears.

SIMON COWELL: You disappoint me, Mr. Archuleta.

DAVID ARCHULETA: You can’t scare me with your English person crap. I know my rights. I want to tape the next Ford commercial now!

Simon smiles.

SIMON COWELL: And tell me, Mr. Archuleta, what good is shooting the Ford commercial if you are unable to lick your lips?

David looks worried. Strangely he begins to feel the muscles in his jaw tighten. He feels his lips grow soft and sticky as they slowly seal shut, melding into each other until all traces of his mouth are gone.

SIMON COWELL: You are going to help us, David, whether you want to or not.

David’s eyes go wide with fear. How will he lick his lips now?

To be continued…

Bangarang!