I Touched Ice T – Coco Nono

 

Stealth is the sign of any truly great celebrity who wants to avoid being noticed.  Good stealth techniques can make a celebrity’s trip to Long John Silver’s all that much more enjoyable. Stars utilize a wide variety of intricate technologies to achieve stealth:  dark sunglasses, wigs and Von Dutch trucker hats (bonus points to me for dated pop culture reference!).  But charismatic-rap-star-turned-wooden-actor Ice-T has mastered another stealth technique – Distraction.  And, he uses the most powerful form of distraction known to man – it’s called Coco.

As far as I can tell, Coco is human, but at some point the government should really take a stand on when too much silicone renders the body into an action figure.  Coco is rapper-turned-crazy-guy-sitting-in-handicap-seats-near-the-front-of-the-bus Ice-T’s curvaceous wife, with physics-defying boobs and an ass that could house two Kim Kardashians.  And trust me, this Coco isn’t shy about showing off her marshmallows.

During a recent trip to New York, I happened upon Coco as she bounded like a Hippity Hop through La Guardia Airport, leaving smoldering heaps of manhood in her wake.  Her outfit: dead-hooker-in-the-trunk-of-my-car acrylic heels, what appeared to be a bathmat fur mini skirt, and a baby doll t-shirt so small it only covered about 3/4 of her ample bosom (peak-a-boo!).  Yes, all eyes, including mine strangely, were fixated on Coco.  So much so, that no one noticed, walking five feet in front of her, was rapper-turned-black-Michelin-Man Ice-T.  He was in one of the busiest airports in the US and no one was noticing him, thanks to his stealth distraction technique: Coco.  I would have missed him too, but boobs can only hypnotize the gays for so long before we start critiquing the clothes they are encased in.

Once Coco’s spell wore off, I noticed rapper-turned-angry-Starbuck’s-barista Ice-T and was able to concentrate on the fact that I needed to touch him.  Unfortunately, he and Coco were heading right on to the plane.  Luckily, however, we were on the same plane.  And this is where rapper-turned-irrelevant Ice-T made a rookie mistake.  He allowed Coco to sit by the window in first class (potentially blocking everyone’s view out said window, which is rude), and he sat on the aisle.  All good stars know to always sit by the window to avoid autograph hounds and that woman who doesn’t realize that when she turns sideways that, yes, her ass is in your face… I mean, really in your face…

I got on the plane and casually strolled down the aisle.  Coco’s breasts again caught me with their gaze.  How was she doing that???  I regained my composure just in time to gently brush past rapper-turned-Whitney-Houston-on-a-bad-day Ice-T’s right shoulder, careful not to catch his slightly effeminate afro ponytail on my Jack Spade Messenger Bag.  Celebrity touch secured.  And valuable lesson learned:  distraction is a powerful weapon, but in the wrong hands, it can prove deadly (I have no idea what that means, but I needed a clever closer.)

 

 

I Touched Christina Aguilera – The Apple Falls Far From The Tree

 

Poor Christina Aguilera can’t seem to catch a break lately.  First she accidentally marries her Uncle Sal, the accountant, which only leads to divorce (and a child who will surely have no chin).  Then she releases an album and movie that made even homosexuals bored.  Can you imagine???  And, to round out this rather horrible stage in her career, she flubbed the “Star Spangled Banner” at the Super Bowl (which was still way more tolerable than that horrifying halftime performance by the Ewoks).  All this activity reminded me of the time I touched Christina Aguilera.

The location was a post-Grammy Awards party at the Chateau Marmont in Hollywood.   Really quite the scene for Celebrity Touching™, this event featured a cavalcade of celebutards who were easy pickings for even the most amateur Celebrity Toucher:  Matthew Perry, Leona Lewis, Paris Hilton, Nicole Richie, Lindsay Lohan, Ryan Phillipe and many more.  One of my favorite touches of the evening was Mischa Barton.  Now, while touching her was actually just OK, it was much more entertaining watching her try to convince the bouncer in the VIP area why she was an actual VIP, all the while wearing a silly flowered headband. (Note:  Real celebrities don’t wear flower-encrusted headbands or glitter tube tops, Mischa!).

I was with my friend Julie the Mischief Maker as we glided past Mischa and her floral headwreck into the VIP section.  It was rather crowded, which was a boon for Shakespearean actor Kenneth Branagh, who was grabbing young starlets’ buttocks, completely unnoticed (much like his career lately.)  For some inexplicable reason, the King was also in the VIP area.  And, when I say King, I naturally mean the Burger King, who was apparently a sponsor of this event, because nothing says high class glamour like a Whopper and a side of “Why the F*ck is there a giant Burger King mascot in the VIP area at the Chateau Marmont?!?”

The King was apparently hawking a new menu item – Apple Fries.  While I am sure congealed fried apple slices are tempting, his efforts went pretty much unnoticed by all, including a visibly impaired Christina Aguilera, teetering in the corner with Uncle Sal.  Spotting an opportunity for a high-quality celebrity touch, Jules and I moved in for the kill.  And, dear reader, that is when things went horribly wrong, thanks to… you guessed it… Kanye West, who had just emerged from the bathroom.  You see in the commotion caused by King Douche Kanye West’s entrance, the massive-headed Burger King was bumped.  Which would have been fine had he not been carrying a full tray of Apple Fries, which cascaded like so many bad reviews down on Christina Aguilera’s head.

Christina was understandably befuddled, waving her arms in the air like a used car lot inflatable.   The King panicked.  Kanye ignored it.  And, Christina… well, she pretty much lost her mind acting like a homeless person in a Bloomingdales.  In all the confusion that followed, Jules and I made our move, catching Christina on the back as he stormed out.  And that, my friends, is how I touched Christina Aguilera (and learned to love Apple Fries).

I Touched James Franco – The Evil Eye

 

Let me start this celebrity touch update by first saying I like James Franco.  I really do.  I think he is a great actor who consistently delivers a rare mix of intensity, humor and sexiness that I usually only equate to things like IHOP’s Rooty Tooty Fresh and Fruity breakfast menu item.  However, much like IHOP, what James also delivers in generous portions is a heaping helping of cuckoo crazy. 

 

I encountered James at the Toronto Film Festival this week. (see Colin Farrell touching incident from last year).  I do love the Toronto Film Festival because it provides so many good touching opportunities.  Easy pickings this year were Josh Brolin, Javier Bardem, Maria Bello and some horse-mouth girl named AnnaLynne Mc Cord (I understand she is on the new 90210, which explains what happened to Aaron Spelling – she ate him).

 

I ran into James Franco twice in Toronto.  I first saw him on my same hotel floor at the Park Hyatt, looking like a pimple on the ass of Dom Deluise following an apparent night of partying with Celine Dion and Alan Thicke (OK…admittedly, those are weak Canadian celebrity references, but you try to come up with list of Canadian stars… and no, Howie Mandel does not count as a celebrity.  He is an anomaly, like a good-looking person on roller blades.)   Needless to say, James was in no condition to be touched.

 

I ran into him again later at a charity fundraiser.  During a speech by the charity organizer, James took the stage behind him to be recognized as a supporter.  Bravo James!  Nice work helping the impoverished… but why are you now staring at me?  And, I mean staring.  Right at me.  Not at anyone else.  Just me.  And, with a really blank crazy stare.  Like that look you get from a cab driver when you say you want to use a credit card. 

                                                                                                                                       

It was like he was staring into my soul, piercing me with his intent, glassy gaze.  Like he wanted to smoke my face (see Pineapple Express).  I turned around to see if there was a six foot high water bong behind me or maybe Dave Mathews (oxymoron, I know), but there wasn’t.  And, he wouldn’t stop staring.  I don’t think he even blinked. This went on for a good five minutes until the presentation was over. 

 

At this point, I was actually a little scared to touch him.  Of course, it had to be done, but I really didn’t want to get that close to him.  This was Canada after all, and something horrible was bound to happen, as it always does on Canada. 

 

And this, my friends, is when being an all-state high hurdler comes in handy.   Spotting James across the room, I could just work out an angle of fast approach, touch, and quick exit… if, and only if, I could kind of hurdle the little group of poverty-stricken children that were there as the charity’s benefactors.  For a high-quality touch like this, I was willing to try. 

 

After 10 minutes of deep stretching (important!), I lined it up and I took off, managing to touch James’ elbow and miraculously only barely clipping the tattered turban of a tiny little bongo player.

 

As I walked out the door, flush with my success, heart pounding in my chest from having run about 10 yards, I looked back and there it was again:  James’ icy stare burning a hole through me and my impeccably tailored Theory skinny black suit.  Until our eyes meet again James Franco… until they meet again.

I Touched Angelina Jolie - Tah Dow!

Whoa... it has certainly been a busy week for your friendly celebrity toucher. It probably helps that I attended the premiere of the film "Inglorious Basterds" in Hollywood. Now, this little picture stars Brad Pitt, meaning the holy grail of all touchable targets could be in attendance. No, not Brad, silly. ANGELINA JOLIE!

I arrived to the premiere looking dapper with the lovely Elizabeth on my arm, and made my way down the red carpet. There was Brad up on a platform with that annoying girl from Entertainment Tonight(name them, they are all annoying) interviewing him. Way too far away for a touching. I breezed by BJ Novak (The Office) and touched his back. No big thrill.

Once inside, I just about hit the floor. There, standing not 20 feet away, was my target, Angelina. She was looking skinny as hell in a black leather strapless dress I am sure I have seen before on RuPaul. Angie (I call her Angie) is taller than you would expect, but damn girl... eat a cheeseburger... and some curly fries! She is so flipping skinny. Her hair looked like it needed a good V05 Hot Oil Treatment too (Walgreen's honey, $4.95). She was talking to three people who looked like publicists because they were wearing expensive shoes and cheap outfits. This certainly wasn't enough protection to prevent a good, old fashion celebrity touching.

Two of the publicists moved away as I moved in. As I got close enough for a casual touch, the other dude (read: gay... PS. All male publicists are gay) totally blocked my attempt. Bastard! I almost punched him in his over-done Dolce & Gabana belt buckle (tickety tack tacky).

Thwarted, I kept moving past them, not losing my casual stride. Once safely in the opposite corner, I planned my trajectory again and worked my way back to Angelina.

*Celebrity Touching Tip (TM): Now, the key here is to act like you are looking for someone else in the lobby, kind of walking around aimlessly, eyes darting, stumbling into potted plants, completely ignoring Andy Dick (which is really easy to do). Don't ever let your target know that you have even seen or recognized them. Now, back to the chase:

I walked up, eased in close, the sweat glistening from my brow. I was just so close to touching a rare breed... a dodo bird of celebrity. As I approached her from behind, she pushed back her elbow ever so slightly - perfect! I reached up my hand as I glided by her looking for my imaginary friend, and gently touched Angelina on her left elbow. SUCCESS! (albeit exceptionally bony) I gave myself an internal high-five and moved on.

But, that wasn't all that night. There was a real cavalcade of celebrity touching. Russell Simmons (with his new bimbo on his shoulder); Methodman looking for ho's; Cameryn Manheim, who was hitting on my friend Elizabeth; Samm Levine (not really a celebrity, but he is the dork in almost any teen movie you have never seen) and Eli Roth, who is awesome in the movie.

I must admit... I did proactively walk up to Sarah Silverman and say to her "So, Sarah Silverman, do you actually have anything to say to Brad Pitt, or do you just touch him?" She didn't think I was funny and shunned me (proof again, that I should only be touching, not talking, to celebrities).

Of course, the one that got away was Brad Pitt himself. Too many people for me to get close enough. I made a stab for it as he was rushing to the exit with Angelina, but security blocked me.

Oh yeah... and Kanye West was there... but who gives a crap about Kanye West. His ego was so big it created an impenetrable touching shield around him.

Overall, a great night for celebrity touching. I rewarded myself with a SKYY Vodka White Russian... which is what Angie is drinking this picture from the premiere. Klassy 'til the end.

I Touched Ben Stiller - Having A Ball

 

Inevitably, even the most cautious celebrity toucher will find himself in a situation where there is no avoiding the intended target knowing they have been touched.  This is particularly relevant if the celebrity toucher has been duped by a woman of low moral character, like that cry-baby woman Glenn Beck.  In my case, the woman with questionable morals I spend the most time with is a blonde bombshell we affectionately call “Spice Rack,” and trust me, she didn’t get that moniker because of her skills with an E-Z Bake oven.

Spice and I were nursing a post-apocalyptic hangover (really, why did we think Irish Crème and Slimfast Shakes were such a good idea?) at our favorite celebrity watching morning venue, Hugo’s, in Los Angeles.  Hugo’s is THE morning-after spot to catch shameful celebs trying to pull it together after a night of champagne cocktails, ego-stroking and ass-kissing (which we all know can be very tiring).   By the way, Vince Vaughn, if you are reading this, perhaps you could remember to put on underwear the next time you wear grubby grey cotton sweatpants to breakfast?

I have to admit, I wasn’t quite on my game this Sunday morning, the day of the Lord, sitting at our table nursing my coffee and several packets of Mixed Berry jelly. So when The Rack told me to stick out my hand, I had no idea what she was up to.  I put my hand towards her ample bosom, which she likes to rest on dinner tables.  She said “No, put it out to the side.”  Having no idea why I was being told to do this, I stuck out my hand – just in time to punch Ben Stiller in the balls as he walked by.

Now, you can imagine that this startled Mr. Stiller a bit.  I imagine this also startled Mr. Stiller’s testicles, which probably needed coffee just as much as he did that morning, or maybe a teabag or two.  I was personally taken aback by the fact that Mr. Stiller hadn’t learned all that much while filming his hit movie “Dodgeball” or at least his balls hadn’t learned to dodge things on their own.

Unfortunately, there was no way this could be considered a professional stealth celebrity touch.  I am pretty sure Ben knew he had just been hit in the nuts, and pretty hard too, like any comic book fan who saw the movie “Daredevil.”  I apologized and he walked gingerly on.  Spice Rack gave herself a digital high-five for having manipulating me so perfectly, not unlike how Roxette manipulates my emotions every single time I hear “Listen to Your Heart.”

But never fear faithful reader, even though Ben now walks with a distinct limp and will never have children again, I am resolved that I will eventually get him as a true celebrity touch, or bust my balls trying.  Well, maybe not my balls…

I Touched Julianne Moore – A Wink and a Nod

 

If there is one thing I pride myself on more than my long glamorous eye lashes, it is my ability to find a good stiff cocktail when I really need one. You know, like after enduring any episode of The Voice that features Christina Aguilera (one of my most dramatic past Celebrity Touch™ victims).  But there are times that my inherent booze GPS fails me, leaving me as parched as Courtney Love’s lady area after a night of unfiltered Marlboros, Red Baron Pizzas and collagen injections.  I faced such an occurrence recently in New York’s West Village and the only thing that pulled me through was the freckle-faced oasis that was Academy-Award nominee Julianne Moore.

 

The day started innocently enough, thumbing through ironic over-priced, poorly-made day-glow hipster clothing at Scoop in the Meat Packing District.  I was being helped by a salesperson who was all man… until you got to his face… from there up he was all “I’m Comin’ Out” Diana Ross, with purple cheeks and eye brows that looked like John Waters had misplaced his mustache – twice! 

 

As you can surely understand, shopping for age-inappropriate clothing and minimum wage gender identity crisis (trust me, this was a crisis), leaves one very thirsty.  So, I set off south to find a place of worship, and by place of worship, I mean a bar.

 

Now, you must first understand, dear reader, that my odds of finding such a synagogue of Singapore Slings should have been heightened because I was with my trusted drinking companion Clint, who has the nose of a bloodhound (or Amanda Bynes) when it comes to uncovering anything distilled, brewed or fermented.

 

After several blocks, however, we found we were no closer to finding a speakeasy than we were to finding out what the hell Jennifer Lopez sees in her new Muppet-faced boyfriend Casper Smart.  Things were getting bad.  Every turn revealed some ridiculous cupcake bakery or pet clothing supplier, but no watering holes.  Thirst had made me as cranky as Katy Perry in a JCPenney.  It had gotten so bad that I actually considered bursting into a nearby playground where I would surely find Jennifer Garner playing with one of her children named after 1940’s soap products and shaking her until she told me where I could find a drink in this godforsaken neighborhood.

 

On death’s door, that is when a cooper-haired angel sent straight from Celebrity Touching™ heaven descended on us.  Julianne Moore had just turned the corner and was now walking towards Clint and me, in sensible flats, age-appropriate jeans, and a v-neck t-shirt that said “hi, I’m a v-neck t-shirt.”   She really is quite a fetching lady, freckled to such a degree that Serat (look it up) would have spontaneously combusted upon meeting her.

 

As she approached, I found just enough energy in my weakened state to muster a smile, showing her all 32 pearlies.  I was delighted when she smiled back at me and nodded, obvious taken aback by my impressive eye lashes.  With wave after wave of thirst crashing over me (ironic right???), it took every ounce of will and determination I had to raise my left hand and graze her speckled left hand as she walked past.  Celebrity Touch™ secured!

 

And as I stumbled forward around the corner from whence Juliann had magically materialized, practically collapsing from alcohol dehydration, I spotted The White Horse Tavern.  Julianne, the brazen darling of Hollywood, had led me to salvation.  I would live to touch another day.  God bless you Juliann.  God bless.

Celebrity Quick Touch - Brandy

 

Celebrity Touch Target:  Brandy

Why:    Because she is a multi-platinum R&B artist and Demolition Derby Champ

Where:  W Hotel Hollywood

How:  Like a praying mantis on a Hippity Hop, doe-eyed Brandy was dancing on the back of a VIP booth at a Rolling Stone party when I spotted her.   If there would have been a “Booth-Top Booty Drop Challenge” on Dancing with the Stars, she surely would have won, because she was killing it!  One dramatic, yet assuredly elegant, fall into the booth by yours truly (a move invented by Spice Rack) landed the perfect touch of Brandy’s leg, and “The…Touch…Is…Mine.”