So like, I’m finally beginning to get a little play from Dana Plato — and yes, it ran me more than a large spinach and artichoke take-n’-bake and a couple bottles of cheap plum wine to get her out of those vintage Jordache skinny stretches she’s always stuffing herself into — when who shows up at her door begging for a place to crash but Gary freakin’ Coleman?
And let me tell you: there’s nothing quite so surreal as hiding naked save a red rubber gimp suit behind Dana Plato’s divan while she stands pantless at the door of her studio digs trying to convince a dead midget that he’d be better off holing up at the Marriott “because they have, like, a kickass breakfast buffet and a pool.”
Really. Trust me on this.
Dennis Hopper as Frank behind Dana’s curtains with a nitrous mask could turn up the surrealism a notch, I think.
I can see that, sure. Though then you’re really pushing credulity…
The Marriot’s breakfast KICKS ASS!!!
“…and dude? What’s with Bret Michaels. Live or die or get out of the way, man!”
Part of the Gary Platonic dialogue:
“Gary, can we agree that a breakfast buffet is better than some leftover crusts of a spinach and artichoke pizza?”
“Haim’s in there, isn’t he?”
“Isn’t a pool a good thing?”
“He’s hiding behind the divan. I can see latex-covered feet sticking out! Is he wearing a gimp suit?”
This made me think of Joan Rivers singing a duet of Singing in the Rain with Weird Al Yankovic naked except for a sombrero and a sock monkey sitting on their shoulders.
The intrepid Spaceman Spiff notes the Bizarrotron has been reading a little low lately, as he zooms through the thread.
Dana Plato? DANA PLATO?
You poor stupid little prick, don’t you know Brittany Murphy is throwin’ the dogs a bone (so to speak) over at the Palomino Club?
But then Brittany Murphy’s husband shows up to the party and you know he’s a total buzzkill.
The Hampton’s breakfast is free. I like the Hilton Garden Inn the best though, because, no offense to Mr Coleman, tomorrow’s a big day.
pfft, just put Gary in the guest room.. he won’t mind.
Damn, I’d forgotten everything I didn’t know in the first place about Dana (Tyler Lambert’s mother; Tyler committed suicide a month ago today, at age 25) Plato. I blame it (the forgetting) on my complete lack of interest in sitcoms after Welcome Back Kotter ended in 1979.