I was walking down the street the other day — yes, right here in New Jersey — and there coming toward me were Vince, Turtle, Drama, Ari, and E. I tried waving to them, then leaping in front of them, and finally, in an attempt to get their attention, whipped off my turtleneck, sweatpants, and underwear and stood in their path wearing only my Garnet Hill polka dotted kneesocks and Blundstone ankle boots. Finally, they glanced my way.
“She’s yours, Turtle,” said Vince.
“No, no,” I said. “I just want to ask you a question.”
“Questions start at $20 million,” snapped Ari.
“C’mon, Ari,” said Vince, rousing himself to blink. “She’s just a fan.”
“Oh, Jeez,” said Drama, “she can’t be a fan. If she’s really a fan, we’re over, over! Look at her, she’s older than Tina Fey!”
“Oh, yeah?,” said Turtle. “I bet she’s not too old to suck my cock. How about it, granny?”
“Please, I wouldn’t suck your little finger if it had chocolate frosting all over it and I’d been on a sugar fast for a month,” I said, hoping he wouldn’t guess it took me a whole 24 hours to come up with that line. “And I’m not a fan: I only watch you in a desperate attempt to bond with my husband and teenage son. But what I want to know is why they love you so much.”
“They love us because they wish they were us,” said E. “We’re proof that everything you’ve ever told them is wrong is actually right: You can be your most immature, lazy, stupid, unredeemed self, and you’ll get rich and famous for it. Oh, and you’ll get lots and lots of great sex with babes who are young and gorgeous and never make you put your Coke can in the recycling.”
“So do you horrify and repulse me because I’m female? Or because I’m old and out of it?”
“That’s two questions,” said Ari, yelling at me through his cell phone, even though I was standing right next to him and didn’t actually have a phone of my own. “$40 million!”
The other guys looked at each other and shrugged. “All the other women love us,” they said. “Must be the old thing.”
“But I would have hated you even when I was young,” I said.
Too late though: A Ferrari pulled up carrying some rappers, some pole dancers, and a couple of pit bulls, and the guys were off. But before they pulled away, Vince looked back at me over his shoulder and called, “See you next Sunday night?”
I sighed. “Sure.”