Now, I’m warning you, the following report is simply darling. DARLING! 

But first, before we get to that other darling (DARLING!) junk, something must be gotten, as it were, off my chest. And yes, I have one. And the thing I must get off of it is this: I do not now, nor shall I ever, give a flying shit about fricking “Bee Movie”. Do you hear me? Do you? Do you have any idea how desperately serious I am?  

I really doubt it.  

Well. How can I put this gently? Fuck “Bee Movie”! If Jerry Seinfeld were to BURST into flames and fall screaming in agony at my feet and I had a bucket full of yak pee, I’d drink it.  I despise Jerry Seinfeld, professionally and personally (he owes me five bucks), and with a deep and burning passion worthy of a much nobler cause. I despised the Seinfeld show with every little Irish fiber in my little Irish self, and I loathe everyone associated with it by extension. And he’s worse NOW than he was THEN, with all of this “Bee Movie” retardation. Ohhh, LOOK! Cute little BEES, wearing deodorant, playing competitive sports and being sassy—just like PEOPLE! How CHARMING! How DELIGHTFUL! How GRAND!  

Gag me.  

If I had but one wish, it would be that Jerry Seinfeld’s father had been completely infertile—or, at the very least (if my conscience were to become itchy for wishing someone completely out of existence for some reason, which it wouldn’t, but hypothetically), I’d wish that God would get off his fanny and strike the stupid old drip with a scathing case of terminal lockjaw, like he deserves, so he would FINALLY just shut the hell up about fricking “Bee Movie”!  

Shut UP, Jerry Seinfeld! Do you hear me? Shut up, shut up, shut UP! Fuck you, and fuck “BEE MOVIE”!! 

Please never, ever speak of it again. Thank you.  

Now, for that just DARLING report we were talking about earlier: It’s the George Clooney/Fabio throw down! 

Awwww! 

Indeed, pushing and shoving and greasy dishwater locks, one or more flipped birds, and some more pointed hair-flipping: that’s what it was all about when George Clooney (guy with the brown mullet from Facts of Life? Ring any bells?) and, oh my God, FABIO (I Can’t Believe it’s Not Butter, and he seems to have rubbed it all over his body? Remember?) got into a testosterone-rich CAT FIGHT in a Hollywood restaurant! 

Sources so inside they were really outside report that several so-called “women” had won a night on the town with Fabio somehow. (My theory? Clever cover story. They were all really prostitutes.)  To that end, apparently, said women and the aforementioned Fabio were enjoying a delightful, margarine-rich evening at a table together in a Hollywood restaurant. The “women” (whores) began snapping photos of their host, and Clooney, flummoxed and befuddled, charged to their table and chewed them out for taking pictures of him. ..which is what he thought they were doing. And then he flipped them off! 

But Fabio wasn’t having none of that. No, sister!  

According to millions of eyewitnesses (and In Touch Magazine, which I’ve never heard of), this happened next:  

“Fabio went over to Clooney’s table to explain, but the conversation became heated, and the long-haired actor was overheard telling the “Ocean’s Eleven” star, “I thought you were a nice guy. Stop being a diva!” The encounter reportedly prompted angry Clooney to stand up and approach Fabio.An eyewitness tells In Touch, “The waiters broke it up before it got out of hand. George looked annoyed….reportedly skipped the rest of his meal, asked for his bill and left.” 

But that’s not quite all, Fabio got in the final flex:  

“Fabio’s manager has refused to comment about the incident, but says, “George is lucky he didn’t end up in the ER.” 

Adorable!

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