That Gerry Butler Thing

I’ve already shared with you a variation of the conversation Gerry Butler and I had while at TIFF. After that blog entry, I received an even more entertaining influx of emails; I never responded to any of them and the last one, is posted here (minus a few words I'm not prepared to share):

so u r ignoring my emails probably because u have nothing to say? i think not but i think u r ignoring my emails because u know im right!

i KNOW that u were at toronto festival and i KNOW that Gerry liked u. i KNOW he kept looking at u. i KNOW that u 2 were cozy everyone there saw and that he whispered 2 u alot.

and u r always in montrael? i don't think this is coincidence. or that u were recently in NEW YORK WHILE GERRY THERE? coincidence? NOT!!!!

u r a bitch anyway. f#$k u.

Mary Larry

I'm having mixed feelings about this entire situation and thought perhaps you could help me sort it out. Although, you know, as usual, most of my feelings land in the pit of comedy.

Gerry Butler is somewhat of a public figure. Let's play devil's advocate and go with the more illicit scenario (they're the most fun, anyway) of what could be running through this woman's head. Let's say: I bagged Gerry Butler. What then? What does a woman such as this expect?

I think she expects me to blog about the faux scenario she seems to have concocted and so...
I'm going to appease this weirdo's needs and offer that faux and sacrificial blog entry.

Title: "I Bagged Gerry Butler and Just Found Out About It!!"

Body of Text: Dear Diary. OH MY GOD, I BAGGED GERRY BUTLER!!!!!!! I did it behind my own back and just found out about it this morning! He's really tall and has great hair. It was, like, something really important. Almost as important as, like, in those AWESOME Scottish Highlander Romance Novels and the guy's name is Girth McHung. Only in this case it was Gerry Butler (without the Mc, diary).

I don't know why no one's asked me for the gritty details because I really want the world to know that he's the size of a Tsunami. Heh. You don’t think anyone's going to think I'm dirty, do you diary? Gosh, I hope not, 'cus I really really really like Gerry Butler and I think we totally connected. I saw how he looked at me. He was SO INTENSE, like, with his eyes and stuff, and it couldn't have been because he was drunk, 'cus he doesn't drink. Maybe he was high and staring at me and wondering where he could find some peanuts? Or maybe drywall and cardboard 'cus I think that's all they're allowed to eat in Hollywood. To stay thin, you know? I dunno. It's cool, anyway, I could totally tell he was into me. Did I already mention that we had a connection? I totally felt it when he grabbed my boob. TOTALLY. We're soul mates. SQUEE. I BAGGED GERRY BUTLER!!!!!!!!!!

I think he feels the same way, too. He told me so! And you know that like because he's a GOD & an ACTOR, he would, like, never lie, diary. You know, 'cus that would make him some kind of gigantic meanie, and we already know that the 'gigantic' part belongs elsewhere. Get it? I mean, like he's Gerry Butler McHUNG. I mean he has a huge hoo hoo. HA HA HA!!!

Did I tell you we had a connection? He stared at my eyes (and I'm pretty sure he wasn’t thinking about peanuts).

I wrote a poem for him, diary. I'll find him and impale him on it give it to him even if he's lying because I'll totally be cool with JUST the memory that we connected. Totally. And I know Gerry Butler thinks about me every day. I can feel it!

Ok, so here's my poem:
I love you Gerry Butler
You make me feel like a piece of melted butter

i luv u Gerry Butler And you're totally intense

i heart Gerry ButlerAnd you should change your last name to McHung
Especially if the Hollywood thing
Gerry Butler ROCKSdoesn't
that's Mr. Gerry Butler to you!work out
And you have to do porn instead

we'll make pretty babies Gerry Butler and II love you
but we won't let their last name be McHungI love you Gerry Butler

...wait, diary. Maybe that's not a poem. Maybe it's a haiku? Don't you totally dig the way the lines aren't lined up? I hear that poets who do that are really smart. I don't know what it means, but that's okay cus I'm pretty sure Gerry Butler won't know either. He'll just stare at it and wonder where I've hidden all of the peanuts. But he'll have to highlight it to find the hidden poem in the empty spaces! I'm so smart, aren't I, diary?

I'm so happy I have you to write to, diary. Even if you're on-line and not password protected and my picture's on the side, I think this is the safest place to be discreet.

I have to go now, diary. I love you almost as much as I love GERRY BUTLER!
Xoxo
Maha

For the record:
Gerry Butler didn't "like" me in the McHung sort of way, he was merely pleasant and gracious because we met through a special individual.

Gerry Butler didn't have the time to look at me. If he glanced at me more than once it was probably while he was thinking "...she looks like someone who carries peanuts...".

Gerry Butler didn't whisper to me.

Gerry Butler and I were anything but cozy.

& p.s. because I've not done this in a while: Download B.B. King's entire album Makin’ Love Is Good For You. Although released only a few years ago, it's vintage.