As I and other celebrities get older, it becomes harder to differentiate between the roles we’ve played and the regular a$$holes we used to be. (I still put my pants on one leg at a time, but each foot is bathed in frankincense before inserted into the crotch part.)
The Gulf oil leak has dominated the news, and there’s only so much left for any of us can write about plans to put BP’s greasy turd back in its oceanic butthole. I’m plum out of ideas because, as much as I’d love to come up with a solution, the only way to prevent my leaky poop metaphor is to not play with buttplugs and Ex-Lax in the first place.
But, little would I believe that Kevin Costner may be the cure. For oil. Not diarrhea. We’re back to literalism here.
Yes, the man whose only seeming qualification is a willingness to spend millions of other people’s money on Waterworld may very well save the Redneck Riviera.
To put this in perspective, if this works, Tutanka’s next trick may be to save the U.S. Postal Service, hopefully without hordes of anarchist rapists.
Or, to take this further, let’s revisit the last time I had trouble straddling the ever-diminishing line between celebrity and reality. Continue reading Take it from Snee: The line between celebrity and reality (Costner Edition)