Sue Goldberg aka Elephant's Child and, oops, Tori Spelling

Dear Sillies,

   Sue Goldberg is one of the most special of all the special people in blogland. I can't think of a more generous, heartfelt person. Her words are eloquent. Sue readily gives of her time to save lives, and she never hesitates to do favors for me.

   So when I asked if she'd read and write some words about InSanity, I got this from her within a few days, despite her own obligations and stresses. Thank you, Sue. You're remarkable beyond words.

“I guzzled it. If you are after sunshine and roses, this book is NOT for you. If you can cope with suicide, pain, grief, frustration and anger with a generous helping of laughter and hope, come along for a dramatic, no holds barred ride . . . ” 

—Sue Goldberg, Blogger, Elephant’s Child 

And now, InSanity's COVER REVEAL:

 Oh no! Oh no, no, no! How did a fat Tori Spelling get in here? So sorry! In Tori's defense, though, she's desperate to save her marriage and they can't afford Viagra. So she got pregnant for the 6th time and must've hacked into my account to post this photo, that *bleepin* *bleep*. 

Here's a slice of the real InSanity cover:

Please stay tuned for more thank yous, year end stuff, Santa Erotica...Please also take gentle care. It's a tough time, emotionally, and pretty much in all ways.
I love you, my dears.

Not-so-subtle advertising of my upcoming book will continue a bit longer:

   I don’t think I’m insane.  I don’t want to be.  Am I merely in denial of my insanity? As we know, denial is its own form of insanity. So, I’m insane for believing that I’m sane and not insane. Right? If you’re confirming my insanity and you’re insane too, can we be normal together? Because if you’re sane but I’m insane, I don’t want your company. And if you’re insane but I’m sane, feel free to drop by whenever I’m bored. You entertain me. Don’t stick around too long, though. You exhaust me.  from page 61 of InSanity

Celibacy and Suburbia and Bob Hope (dead you know) Stirs Controversy at Life by Chocolate

Dears, 
  Most months zip by, but August has been a long one. Am I right? I hope it's been kind to you, though.
  Next week, Tuesday, September 6th, I'll launch my silly little book ~ Celibacy and Suburbia. To build anticipation, I asked some big-name folks for quotes.
    First, Janie Junebug, sassy, heartfelt Queen of blogland and all else, said that the book "hits the G-spot of hilarity."
   The others' administrative assistants shouted obscenities at me before ending the call, blocking my number, and tracking my every move. So I made stuff up: Donald Trump said "I'd hit that little woman so hard, I would. I'd pound her face so hard it would spin. Her terrible writing, oh, it's getting worse. Engel's writing is absolutely killing this country! It's killing us all. Let's make America hate short people again, really. We need to build walls around short little people like her. The midget Muslims in Mexico, oh, they'll pay for it, they will. I'm so good looking. They're gonna pay." Martha Stewart said "Dress it up with a delightful springtime salad. I'll add lightly roasted pine nuts and a handful of juicy tomatoes from my garden. Use diamond encrusted handcuffs and one liter of hot wax for the dessert portion and viola! It's really quite a lovely feast. You and your guest will be satisfied for days."

And now, a brief preview of this small three-part book:

Part I. 250 Reasons for Celibacy
Me Man You Woman
Headline need help, Tarzan.
I am a professional, 6'2" of Italian decent.
Well, I suppose that's an upgrade from French offensive.
Funner than your ex
So is a colonoscopy.

Part II. Mock Talk (from my IWSG series)
Robyn says to Tori Spelling: You played a virgin for seven years. How'd you pull that off?

Part III. Calenderotica

From Thanksgiving Erotica: 
We're ravenous, so let's indulge.
Take off your belt. Expose that bulge.

That's it, my sillies.
Be well, stay well, and keep a stash of chocolate around in case of emergencies. Establish and hold yourself to a very liberal definition of "emergency."

Valentine's Erotica! and Love for Melissa

For so many reasons, I hate Valentine's Day. Even though I currently have a sweet beau, my V-Day venom broils over. For one, the world would be much better off if self-worth was the standard, versus dependence on some prince/princess to bring happiness, status, red roses, and crappy non-fair trade chocolate packaged in huge heart-shaped containers making it appear as though you'll be set through menopause--when, upon opening it, you need a microscope to decipher a few lousy shards of cocoa...I'll quit now. 

Buy your chocolate before prices sky-rocket, or wait for the after-V. Day sales.

I love you, my dear sillies, and I hope you liked this poem.

Much love to my sister-bloggy friend, Melissa Bradley. Her heart's huge; her sassy wit, remarkable; and Melissa writes the hottest erotica I've ever read. Please send healing thoughts her way. If it's your practice, prayers are requested. She's dealing with beastly news. We love you, Melly. We're cheering you on. You got this!

Take care of you, every one of you.

Interview with Tori Spelling: IWSG

    

Thanks to Alex J. Cavanaugh for founding and continuing the IWSG. As you know by now, the IWSG provides a space for revealing writers' insecurities, supporting each other, and -in my case- interviewing some of the brightest, dimmest and weirdest of celebrities.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I really wanted to talk with the most successful Film and TV Producer of all time, Aaron Spelling. But he's dead, so that was going to be risky. Next I sought his childhood dog. Dead too. I'm afraid we're stuck with the daughter of the amazingly talented but dead and sorely missed Aaron Spelling. She played TV's most annoying virgin in the hit series, Beverly Hills 90210, produced by her father, the late great Aaron Spelling. May he rest in peace!

A troubled, tearful, emaciated Tori Spelling  walks onto the stage. There's no applause. There's no audience. We can hear stagehand Macaulay Culkin snorting something. Robyn shakes Tori's feeble hand and gestures towards a sofa set that was once admired by the late great beloved Aaron Spelling. May he rest in peace.
Robyn: Thanks for being here, daughter of Aaron Spelling. May he rest in peace.
Tori: Daddy was my hero. It's been really tough. But my father, Aaron Spelling --he was my rock-- taught me the value of working real hard and how to love and be a good person with strong family values.  My father, Aaron Spelling, was a very good man.
Robyn: May he rest in peace. Say, you played a virgin for seven years. How'd you pull that off? Tori looks perplexed, as always. You also claim to be an author. An actress too. Your father, the phenomenal, sadly dead Aaron Spelling, may he rest in peace, paid for acting lessons for you. It didn't stick. Tori's eyes widen, and she changes the topic. I've written six books, with a top best seller too. Robyn: On that note, let's read what one reviewer wrote to you about your authorship. Robyn reads from a large flashcard. "Aaron deserved a better family, not a golddigger wife and spoiled brat child. And to top it off, any success you have is from your fans, yet you seem to be ultimately bothered when they want an autograph, and you did not even thank them in the book! Wow! So grateful!"

Tori defends herself. It's not that easy. I'm only worth $15 million*, and we can't even afford a vasectomy for Dean. *actual estimate of her worth; **actual complaint she made regarding financial hardship.

Robyn:  If you think it's hard before the vasectomy, watch how hard it grows after -- Robyn giggles, blushes and nudges Tori with her elbow. At 80 pounds, Tori falls off her chair and onto the floor. She stands up and takes a seat again, as if nothing happened.
Tori: Just because I'm the daughter of TV Network Producer, Writer and Filmmaker, the late great Aaron Spelling, don't think that I have it easy. But Daddy taught me to always be strong.

Robyn's had enough. Look, you and Dean cheated on loyal spouses and destroyed two families. Your first husband found out about your infidelity when he saw the supermarket tabloids. Now you're acting all --Robyn pinches her nostrils to speak in a nasally tone-- 'Poor me! I'm such a victim! How could he do this to me?' Get a grip, b*tch!

A shocked daughter of the late great Aaron Spelling, may he rest in peace, runs off the stage crying. The camera zooms in on Robyn. My friends, I think I've proven that while money and nepotism might land you the starring role as a virgin, lacking any redeeming qualities, your cheating, drug addicted, worthless but attractive husband will tire of you. So will the the rest of the world. 
     If she can write six books, you can too. Right? Write! Be confident. There's more than enough room for talent to rise to the top and take center stage.