Beverly Hills 9021 Uh Oh
Television producer Aaron Spelling is being sued for sexual harassment by his former nurse. She claims he “placed his hands on her breasts, groin and genital area, exposed himself, solicited oral sex and offered her cash in return for various sex acts.”
That’s just part of the allegations against her 82-year-old former employer, but common sense tells me things didn’t go down the way she claims.
I’ve seen Spelling a couple times. The first was three years ago in Vegas (“My New Year’s W/Rickles and Spelling”) and at the time he looked like he was at death’s door. When I saw him again two years later, he looked like a Jehovah’s Witness at death’s door, refusing to go away until the Grim Reaper let him in. Now he probably looks very much like former death row inmate Charles Ray Allen does today: just a rapidly decomposing prune. The guy wouldn’t even have enough strength to lift the gargantuan rock his wife Candy sports on her hand. The point being I might believe the accuser if she said he’d copped a feel in one naughty spot or another. But there’s no way he possesses the strength and dexterity necessary to get his hands on the melons and the muffin unless she let him. At the very least, she must have done a lousy job rebuffing his advances. If a guy lays his hand on any of my jewels, it’s either going to be followed by a serious smack or some serious smacking. Depends on how hot he is.
As for the allegations he exposed himself, well, she is a nurse. I can’t even count how many times I’ve had comics whip out their shlongs in non-sexual situations. Like it is for nurses, that’s just part of the job for female comics. And so what if he did offer her money for sex? That’s not sexual harassment, although it could be deemed sexual insultment if the mega-millionaire didn’t offer her a tidy sum for a little romp.
Per court papers, the home nurse was first hired to tend to Spelling in November 2004. Shortly thereafter, she claims, Spelling began his lewd behavior, which also allegedly included masturbating in front of her, sticking his tongue in her mouth and telling her “that he had many actresses who would come into his office and perform oral sex on him.”
That last part I believe. There’s no other explanation for the career of that awful blonde actress who played Donna Martin on “90210.” But come on, he stuck his tongue in her mouth? I’ve had scores of overanxious dogs try to do that but none has succeeded. And they’re professionals with nine inch tongues. How wide does someone have to keep her mouth open for Grandpa Spelling to manage that kind of action? I don’t even think the jacking off part is a big deal. She could look away or go to another room- she had about 100 other rooms to choose from for crying out loud.
Given that he created such bed-hopping guilty pleasures as “Melrose Place,” and “Dynasty,” I don’t doubt that he’s a real horndog. And most likely he did make advances toward her but there’s a way for a woman to shoot a guy down and move on. If the behavior continues, start collecting proof, especially when it’s against someone so loaded. I’ve managed to make more than a few bucks over the years from the covert collection of information I later used against employers who fired me (yeah, the plural there is correct- “insubordination” appears quite frequently in my old employee files). But I wouldn’t have been able to retaliate if I hadn’t kept records of situations as they occurred. In this day and age of mini-cameras and tape recorders, it shouldn’t have been too hard for her to document one of the many behaviors she claims occurred. I can guarantee that if she had any actual proof like that, this whole situation would have stayed quieter than George Bush on “Jeopardy.”
Sexual Claims
I was hanging out with a group of mostly friends and some girl I don’t know mentioned that she dated (or maybe just fucked) Robbie Knievel, Evel Knievel’s son. When she left, one of the guys scoffed, “Well, who’s knows if that’s really true.”
I said, “OF COURSE it’s true. Who’s going to lie about screwing Robbie Knievel?”
I guess he thought she was attempting to impress the group, as if Robbie Knievel was actually somebody. He’s merely the son of a guy who achieved tv fame at a time when there were only 12 channels (the “u” channel didn’t count) and the other viewing options were a couple of PBS telethons and seven stations of static. I have no idea what the dude even looks like. For all I know, maybe I’VE fucked Robbie Knievel.
There’s nothing to be gained by falsely claiming him as a lover. Dropping the name Robbie Knievel won’t get your script greenlit or move you up on the reservation list at Dolce. I think declaring you’ve had sex with the guy from the Capitol One commercials actually holds more cache.
Believability is all about the fascination vs. shame factor involved. If someone said she screwed People’s “Sexiest Man Alive,” Matthew McConaughey, I’d roll my eyes in disbelief. But if she told me she screwed Gary Goleman, I’d believe her. If someone said she screwed George Clooney, I’d think she’s full of crap. But if she confessed to doing William “She Bangs” Hung, I’d definitely believe her. If someone said she screwed Colin Farrell, well, I might believe her because that guy seems to get around.
The easiest way to determine the validity of a sexual claim is this: if it’s safe to assume a video tape of said encounter could be released to the public and nobody would have any interest in viewing it (beyond the “I had a threeway with Mini-Me and Ron Jeremy” horror/curiosity variety) then the claim is probably true.
Members Only
Last night I went dancing at a club on 80′s music night and noticed a hot guy. The attraction soon ended when I spotted him on the dance floor. Now, maybe I could forgive the fact that he danced the same way most 14-year-old boys danced back in the 80′s but then I made the horrific discovery he was wearing a turquoise Members Only jacket. I realize it’s shallow to judge somebody harshly because of their appearance. But come on- it was a Members Only jacket. And it was turquoise. How much depth is one mere mortal expected to have?
He approached me, which I had anticipated, because really hot guys always seem to want to talk to me about two minutes after I’ve noticed some glaring flaw in them- like they’re gay or married or wearing a turquoise Members Only jacket. He seemed very nice and I tried to convince myself the jacket wasn’t that bad, especially in comparison to the guy in the corner wearing the pink headband and break dancing. Didn’t work. I kept hoping he’d give me some sort of sign that the jacket was a joke, in which case I’d think he was the coolest guy ever. Nothing. His whole demeanor told me, “I’m used to hitting on girls in my hip Members Only jacket.”
Later he asked me for my phone number and all I could think about was what if I went out with him and he wore that jacket or, even worse, what if he decided to dress up in his parachute pants and skinny piano tie? I really don’t care what others think about me, but apparently I have a great deal of concern for what others think about the clothing style of my companions. I mean, certain really bad choices indicate some sort of mental deficiency, right? And that’s a perfectly legitimate reason to decline sharing my number, which I did.
I’m aware that my Seinfeldian pickiness will probably leave me old and alone but a woman has to have certain standards and there’s no way I’m letting a Members Only penis get near my public vagina.
Er, well, you know what I mean.
