Thanks a million, Alex.
THis was just too funny, i felt compelled to share:
From Michael Musto's "La Dolce Musto"
"Mel Gibson looked terrific in his mug shot-not just becuase plugs are much easier to control than actual hair, but because, though he had just been drunkenly screaming epithets at uniformed law keepers, he cagily remembered to gently smile for the camera. What a star! The resulting photo is reminiscent of that last image of Norman Bates in Psycho, where he's eerily grinning in the police station, with the corpse's teeth superimposed on him, as you hear his alter ego thing, "I wouldn't hurt a Jew," I mean "fly."
But while the photo wasn't that messy, Mel's initial claim that he isn't anit-Semitic, he was just drunk, definitely was.I had no idea that an open bar is all it takes to turn Mother Teresa into a hair-plugged Hitler. My aunt the nun had better stay off the sacramental wine or she might end up grabbing a rifle and mowing down children in the nearest ghetto. We'd all better lay off the booze or, at perfectly sophisticated dinneres, we'll suddenly find ourselves singing "Tomorrow Belongs to Me" with right arms extended. That could be embarrassing.
Mel's excuse prompted a friend of mine to snicker, "Well, he must have been plastered when he made THe Passion of the Christ!""
so true.
From Michael Musto's "La Dolce Musto"
"Mel Gibson looked terrific in his mug shot-not just becuase plugs are much easier to control than actual hair, but because, though he had just been drunkenly screaming epithets at uniformed law keepers, he cagily remembered to gently smile for the camera. What a star! The resulting photo is reminiscent of that last image of Norman Bates in Psycho, where he's eerily grinning in the police station, with the corpse's teeth superimposed on him, as you hear his alter ego thing, "I wouldn't hurt a Jew," I mean "fly."
But while the photo wasn't that messy, Mel's initial claim that he isn't anit-Semitic, he was just drunk, definitely was.I had no idea that an open bar is all it takes to turn Mother Teresa into a hair-plugged Hitler. My aunt the nun had better stay off the sacramental wine or she might end up grabbing a rifle and mowing down children in the nearest ghetto. We'd all better lay off the booze or, at perfectly sophisticated dinneres, we'll suddenly find ourselves singing "Tomorrow Belongs to Me" with right arms extended. That could be embarrassing.
Mel's excuse prompted a friend of mine to snicker, "Well, he must have been plastered when he made THe Passion of the Christ!""
so true.