In the broader sense, the universal sense, I guess it doesn’t matter. Nope. Not a bit. We’ll all laugh about it some day. And heck, in a hundred years, as they say, who’ll give a crap? Right. The super intelligent cockroaches who will rule the earth then. They’ll give a crap. And a-plenty. But we’re not talking about them. We’re talking about Gary Coleman’s wife. Yes, Gary Coleman’s wife. He has a wife.

You heard me.

Finished? May we proceed?

Now?

Thank you. Well, it all happened so suddenly, and he’s so damn short, I’m not surprised you missed it. I bet he missed it. But somehow, SOMEHOW, after suffering more humiliation and indignities than Carrie, Milli Vanilli and Carrot Top combined, the little bugger who buggered his little black butt into the hearts of televised America has finally (FINALLY!) scored himself some ‘tang.

Nobody knows exactly how he did it. I suspect Voodoo.

I always suspect Voodoo.

And while we’re on that subject of voodoo, let’s face it: the infamous “Curse of the Child Stars” has not been kind to Gary Coleman. Sure, he’s not dead. That’s a plus. And while it’s true that he has somehow heretofore been spared a horrible demise like the rest of the cast of Diff’rent Strokes (he’s the only survivor—Mrs. Garrett was found face down in a pool of her own vomit last week, true story) but, um, don’t think for a moment that The Curse has spared him. Oh, no sir. The Curse has ground him into a twisted and bitter speck of a man. It has dealt him the cruelest fate of all: the fate of living while being Gary Coleman. And that sucks ass, Loretta.

I mean, when I sit down and think about Gary Coleman, and his life, and his kidneys, and his life, sometimes my poor little heart just wants to cry. After it stops laughing. And when I saw the picture of him and his new wife, my heart wanted to cry, and laugh and laugh and laugh and cry a little more than perhaps ever before. And if you look at their wedding picture, you will laugh and cry too. But don’t look too long. (They say that if you stare a the picture for more than 30 seconds, Gary Coleman’s image comes to life and announces the date of your death….don’t try it. He’s like the Bloody Mary of twisted midgets.)

But see, the problem is the breeding, as in, DEAR JESUS! What if they DO!? I know, I know. But calm your self. There doesn’t seem to be any chance of that. And why? Well. Because, you see, The Curse has affected every (and we talkin’ every, Willis) aspect of Gary’s poor little life, including, let’s be frank, his twisted little libido. He’s 40 years old, you understand. And he is still a virgin. This is not a joke. This is not a drill. And like my great aunt Countess used to say, “Child, if one waits too long, it becomes psychologically impossible to lose one’s virginity—best to do it while one’s young, like you.” I was seven. She drank.) So instead of consummating his new relationship, he has pitched temper tantrums and thrown small objects at her instead. It’s a very serious situation (and a better option than bopping his wife—you’ll understand when you see the pictures–DON’T STARE!). I heard all about it on Inside Edition. Which I never watch. Screw you.

So Gary popped the question… but when will he pop his wife? That’s the unpopped question. And it’s unpopping as we speak. If you get my meaning. Which would be surprising, because I’m not sure I do. And I forgot what I was talking about twenty minutes ago. Congratulations, you twisted midget! The whole world is watching your crotch! That should calm him down.

Adrian Ryan

Share It!