R. Thad Taylor

Paul St. Peter and I in “The Alchemist”.

1. The late, great R. Thad Taylor. My Facebook-assigned Best Friend for the Day (BFD) on Saturday was Rene Paul St. Peter, who I honored by posting this photo of us performing in Ben Jonson’s seventeenth century comedy The Alchemist in the mid `80s. The picture lifted my spirits as it reminded me of the glory days of the Globe Playhouse in West Hollywood where the play was performed, an extraordinary scale reproduction of Shakespeare’s original Globe Theatre on the west bank of the Thames in London. The West Hollywood Globe produced all of the Bard’s work in addition to other Elizabethan treats like The Alchemist, and was founded by Taylor, an inspired whack job and a delightful man who was more committed to the works of William Shakespeare than anyone I ever expect to meet in this lifetime. I did four shows at the theatre, including Taming of the Shrew, the second of the 47 productions of A Midsummer Night’s Dream in which I starred and The Alchemist (directed by my dear friend Mark Ringer and featuring a cast of actors who I continue to assassinate the character of on a daily basis on these pages) which still ranks as one of my favorite theatrical experiences.

R. Thad Taylor

The fourth production requires some explanation. In addition to producing plays traditionally attributed to Shakespeare, Taylor frequently staged Shakespeare “apocrypha”, or plays not usually included in the Bard’s collected works that some scholars with too much time on their hands insisted that Shakespeare had a part in writing. I appeared in one of these spectacles, a lamentably awful play titled Sir John Oldcastle that Thad himself directed. I don’t remember much about the production except that it was absolutely chaotic in its execution, with such a large cast and such a meager production budget that actors were forced to pass off costume pieces to other performers at various stages of the play so that everyone could be clothed for the entire performance. The script itself was a laughable piece of nonsense about a nobleman (who supposedly was the basis for the character John Falstaff, one of Shakespeare’s greatest creations) who would disguise himself by throwing a hood loosely over his head, whereupon no one – not even his closest followers who had played scenes with him just s few minutes before – was able to recognize him. It was an absolute mess, but helmed by Thad with such characteristic optimism and certainty of Shakespeare’s hand in the mix (despite the fact that the writing of the piece can best be described as too awful to be comprehended) that no one connected with the show seemed to mind all that much. Thad is no longer with us (having passed away in 2006) and I have no doubt that he is following Shakespeare around Heaven trying to convince him that he actually did write at least part of a piece of junk like The Birth of Merlin; but those of us who had the pleasure of working with Thad and being a part of his mad dream will always keep his memory alive.

The photo of the Jonny® button that made me realize how popular an item it was.

2. Mara Marini, who was my BFD on Friday. Since my custom is to make my profile picture an image of me with my BFD, I posted this photo of the lovely Mara modeling the new line of Jonny® buttons and pins from Mad Beast International. I was pleasantly surprised to notice that this profile picture got a far more positive response than the ones of myself that I usually post, which forced me to come to one obvious conclusion: that you people love the new Jonny® button, and that I should quadruple the order I placed to Taiwan so that I can fill all the orders that are sure to come in for them. Oh, it means that I’ll be on thin financial ice for a while, but most guys who take one look at this picture want what’s in it, and my spending my last three hundred grand to produce buttons with my caricature on them is sure to be the smartest financial move that I ever made. The market research proves it.

Bro Joe and I following his humiliating defeat to Sock Man.

3. Bro Joe, who was my BFD on Sunday. The photo I posted of Joe and me was taken when I visited him when he lived in Philadelphia and was taking part in a public speaking competition for the Toastmasters organization in which he was then active. Joe gave an absolutely hysterically funny speech about our mother which was by far the best of the contest, but he came in second to an old man who gave a mildly whimsical presentation about socks. Joe was less than amused by being judged inferior to the older gentleman – who he has referred to derisively ever since as “Sock Man” – and will work himself into a frenzy over the loss when he is confronted by a pair of socks even to this day. The contest took place many years ago and I am reasonably certain that Sock Man is no longer with us, but he seemed like a pleasant enough gentleman who I am sure would be shocked to learn that there is a frustrated speechmaker living in Sherman Oaks who curses his memory whenever he spies an Argyle pattern peeking out from beneath the leg of a pair of Cotton Dockers.

Fargo preparing for battle.

4. The evil genius Lars Fargo, with whom I met for a top secret summit at his fortress on Death Skull Island on Saturday night to try and work out our differences. When I arrived (protected, rest assured, by a large number of my operatives – some of whom are Vulcans), I was horrified by the overwhelming quantity of tiki troops that Fargo had amassed. My satellite recognizance had informed me that the tikis numbered in the thousands, but when I docked on the island for our conference I could see that the magnitude was vastly underestimated. There was literally nothing but tikis for as far as the eyes could see, most of which were animated and appeared ready to go into battle. Our summit accomplished little in the way of diplomacy, especially after we attempted to settle our differences with a friendly game of Apples to Apples which was intended as a peacemaking device but which only heightened the tension between us after Fargo humiliated me by somehow cheating and beating the pants off me. War is imminent and while the losses on both sides are sure to be devastating, the troops fighting for my honor with die knowing that I was cheering them on from the safety of my subterranean bunker.

Fargo and his poor, brainwashed minion Misty LaRue on Death Skull Island. Did they really think that they had me fooled?

5. Misty LaRue who joined me on my summit in the guise of being one of my operatives. As you all know, Ms. LaRue has deactivated her Facebook profile under the pretense of being too busy studying for her planned career as a pole dancer to devote any time to you people and your shenanigans. But when she arrived at Fargo’s lair she clearly had past knowledge of the evil fiend, and when we were discussing his apocalyptic master plan, she was salivating with an intensity that can only mean that she has really cut herself off from her past life in order that she can serve Fargo as a double agent in his nefarious plot to rule the world. She will obviously have to be disposed of, and in as painful a fashion as possible to serve as a warning to anyone else who thinks of selling their soul for a handful of Fargo’s golden shekels. It will be a loss to the world of pole dancing, but it is a sacrifice that I am willing to make.