To All the Girls I’ve Loved
John Michael Hughes recently explained to the authorities why he let himself into a Malibu, California house.
He said his fiancée, movie star Meg Ryan, forgot to leave her key under the mat. He had had no option but to kick in a bedroom window and enter. This seems reasonable to me but the cops called it breaking and entering.
Ms. Ryan claimed that she had never met the 30-year-old real estate agent. The movie star and her lawyers charged Hughes with stalking her.
As far as I’m concerned, it’s pretty obvious certain celebs will use anyone and do anything for publicity.
John Hughes is my cellmate and believe me, we both know first hand all about the catastrophic problems celebs, especially female celebs, cause.
Take Madonna. When I was married to her, life was certainly no bowl of cherries. The material girl insisted on wearing a pointy metal bra nonstop and each time we snuggled, I sustained terrible puncture wounds. You would have thought I was wedded (or welded) to a vampire.
Speaking of vamps, I married Cher in 1999. When we tried to become intimate she’d disrobe right quick but before I could make Move One, she’d pull on a new costume, then disrobe, dress again and on and on. Cher could go through a dozen silks and boas in seconds. Made me dizzy. I had little alternative but to divorce her.
By then Britney Spears started pestering me to marry her.
I probably would have broken down and tied the knot, except, before Brit and I could make it to Vegas, Céline Dion started phoning me.
Being both from Canada, we were made for each other. (I helped her with her body English; she helped me with my bawdy French.)
I would have probably stayed married to Céline but you know how those Montreal chicks are — pestering you to help them with their careers. I repeatedly reminded her, I was a lover not a manager. Had little option but to leave her. The last I heard she was happy, probably because she ended up with my child.
I got to thinking that my love life would make a terrific biography.
I thought I might even include a few paragraphs on things John Hughes told me about Meg Ryan. You know how she faked an orgasm in When Harry Met Sally? Apparently she wasn’t faking!
A psychiatrist who evaluated Hughes said he was nuts. Well, actually the shrink said Hughes was “delusional.”
Shrinks! What do they know? Precious little. Most are simply not right in the head, themselves.
Why, a few shrinks even doubted my sanity.
When you read my book you will truly understand how shrinks and cops are in cahoots with movie stars.
You’ll also discover the real inside romantic dope on Madonna, Cher, Brit and Céline.
As a bonus I’ll include several chapters on k.d. lang. (How I changed her into a carnivore and got her to forget about women in 2002.)
Yes sir, just as soon as certain misguided mental health authorities unbuckle my straitjacket I’m going to reveal the truth. All of it. Promise.
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