Our California columnist on death and celebrity family news.
Prince died. Not Prince Charles, but the singer from Minnesota. Him I don’t know much about, except he sang, danced the boogaloo, and liked the color purple -- not the movie with Oprah and Whoopi Goldberg, but the actual color. Maybe he liked the movie too; I don't know.
Me, I never liked purple. With nothing it goes, except maybe black. Good for sitting shivah, I suppose. He’s also famous for changing his name to a picture of a tchotchke nobody could pronounce. May he rest in peace.
Tom Cruise, who’s in all the movies I never see, long ago married has-been actress Mimi Rogers, who got him started in that meshugge religion with the space monkeys living in volcanoes, like John Travolta.
Then her he divorced to marry Nicole Kidman, who later dumped him to marry that Aussie hillbilly singer Keith Urban. Next, Tom Cruise married Katie Holmes, who was a nayfish teenybopper in the “Dawson’s Creek.”
All this time, he was best friends with Jamie Foxx, who was Ray Charles in the movie. No surprise was it when Katie dumped Tom, secretly married Jamie, and is now pregnant. And Tom Cruise? He’s farbissener.
And speaking of pregnant, Leonardo DiCaprio’s girlfriend, Rihanna, is knocked up with his baby. Her, I never heard of, but the girls at the beauty parlor say she’s a hootchie-kootchie type of singer and a chain-smoking pothead who dresses like a nafka. His mother is auf gehoketh tsuris.
And what mother wouldn’t be? Except maybe hers.
Remember the movie “Cleopatra” with Liz Taylor and Richard Burton? It was a farshtinkener bomb that almost bankrupted the studio.
Who in their right mind would want to remake such a movie? Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt, that’s who. She’s a loksh, down to 70 lbs, can barely lift her head, and together they have enough kids for their own reality show.
Yet, this they need? Feh!
I’ve said enough already.