Bill Gates vents his hatred of me.
1. Microsoft chairman emeritus Bill Gates. I use Windows Vista as the operating system of the computer that I immortalize my brilliance on this list every day, and every once in a while the system shuts down without warning to do “updates” even while I am in the middle of typing a sentence. Such was the case yesterday when I was about three quarters done with this list when my Dell Studio MT suddenly switched off, leaving me no auto-archived file to continue my work from. I was so dispirited at the loss that I opted not to have a list that day, infuriating my readers who hurled such frustrated oaths at me as “Sounds like you are a quitter Mullich” and the equally anguished “No one likes a quitter.” While I understood your anger and feeling of betrayal at not having a list to guide you through the day, I felt like I had no alternative: if my efficient Microsoft operating system needed to reboot to function properly even at the cost of a masterpiece like the February 25, 2010 Enemies List, that was simply that. But as I was going through the jetsetting activities of my glamorous bachelor lifestyle throughout the day, a much darker plot revealed itself to me. The only time that the machine ever reboots itself is when I am writing my daily rant, so my obvious conclusion is that Bill Gates is so concerned with the worldwide influence of this list that he has had his Microsoft goons plant a super-secret surveillance virus in my computer that allows him to shut down my system if he spies me writing something that he doesn’t like. I realize that this sounds egotistical and paranoid on my part, but I have gone over and over it in my head and it is the only reasonable explanation that I can think of. The only other possibility is that Microsoft cranks out a product that is the equivalent of a car that will break down on the freeway without any warning and vastly inferior to anything Macintosh puts out, and that can’t be the case. Can it?
Deborah Benton in front of the poster for the lost classic “The Blind Date”
2. Deborah Benton, who was my Facebook-assigned Best Friend for the Day (BFD) yesterday. Debbie was the star of my solitary attempt at filmmaking, a twenty minute silent film (one of the last of its genre) shot in the cutting edge technology of Super-8 entitled The Blind Date. It depicted the comedic efforts of a romantically-challenged young man (played by myself in a brilliantly nuanced performance of a role that was clearly outside my normal type-casting) who attempts to woo a young woman (played by Ms. Benton) he hooks up with through a computer dating service. It included such delightful scenes as my character going to pick up his date and being hilariously grilled by her father and mother (the latter played by Bro Joe in a delightful cameo appearance) and later going to a fancy restaurant (shot at the Granada Hills High School cafeteria) where they encounter an hilariously contemptuous waiter (played by Bro Joe in a delightful cameo appearance). I remember it as a classic piece of film comedy that never received the attention it deserved (it was a matter of great scandal when I received a C from the jealous instructor who taught the film class that I made it for) and while the delightful comedy is currently classified as a lost film by the American Film Institute, I have no doubt that if a print is ever found that it will immediately be regarded as one of the seminal American films of the 1980s. It is one of the tragic losses to the world of cinema that I was never offered another opportunity to make another film by the jealous Old Boy Network of Hollywood which so disillusioned Ms. Benton that she turned her back on acting shortly afterwards to follow a successful career as a therapist. Such is the soul-robbing hell of the City of Broken Dreams that even the auteur behind a masterpiece like The Blind Date cannot rise above its pettiness.
Douglas Boyle indulges his twisted perversions.
3. Douglas Boyle, who wrote “you remind me of the quote from the urban philospher Laura Silverman, ‘you know the good kind of pain… like a canker sore on the inside of your cheek, that you just keep chewing on… because it is a good kind of pain.’” I am horrified to even begin to ponder the variety of puss-filled carbuncles that populate the neglected regions of Boyle’s mouth; even moreso to discover that he regards it as a “good” kind of pain. Up to now, I have been blissfully unaware of the sick fetishes that reside like a cancerous tumor in the dark recesses of your mind, Dougerino, but now that I know that you list my esteemed person along with festering boils emerging from your gingivitis-encased gums as “good pain” I plan on slapping you with a restraining order and tripling my bodyguard detail. I have no intention of being duct taped to a spanking bench in your cabin deep in the woods so that you can demonstrate what else you classify as “good pain”.
Tonight's clothed Gary Lamb in
“A Prayer for My Daughter”
will be no competition for a
gloriously nude Jonny M.
4. Gary Lamb, who continues to exercise her mindlock over me by commanding me to house manage A Prayer for My Daughter at Crown City Theatre once again tonight. I have already told you about the show’s non-female nudity and while it’s not what I’m into, I have decided to take a “When In Rome” attitude. So I am going to perform my house managing duties buck naked this evening. If that what Crown City’s discriminating audiences are into, I feel it would be a heinous act to be parading around with my perfectly sculpted physique hidden by designer sportswear, so I will be showing up tonight wearing nothing but my birthday suit. As good as A Prayer for My Daughter is, it will be hard for the actors to compete with the real show that’s going on in the lobby, but that’s the risk you take when you ask Jonny to perform front-of-house duties for you. The house opens at 7:30, so bring opera glasses for a full gander at the special treat that you’re being handed this evening.
Misty LaRue in her new home.
5. Misty LaRue who has blackmailed me into helping her move into her newly acquired cardboard box home on April 3rd. I would rather help Douglas Boyle pop the puss from his mouth boils than strap Ms. LaRue’s armoire to my back and haul it down three flights of stairs, but she claims to possess a copy of my film The Blind Date and threatens to release it to the world if I don’t do her bidding. Since I know that the only way my film can maintain its reputation as a classic is if no one ever sees it, I have no choice but to cave. But since all of her other friends are over the age of 75 and spend their off-hours competing in pie eating contests to achieve a striking post-1979 Marlon Branoesque physique, it will be up to Bro Joe (who is just as anxious as I am to keep anyone from ever viewing The Blind Date) to assist her. But if any of my faithful readers would like to help, I will be signing autographs and posing for photos at the event, so please let me know if you’d be interested in taking part.
