Pervs have permeated
THE world has changed. Hemlines have changed. Language has changed. Prices changed. Hairstyles changed. Dating’s changed. Government’s changed. Manners changed. Political correctness — definitely changed.
Rules now differ from days of yore. Those seeds inside Harvey Weinstein just outlived their sell-by date. Bad Boy Harvey’s a product of the old days. Old-school.
Hypothesize about that phrase “casting couch.” Think early Hollywood before moviemakers immortalized such quality work as “Ghost Rider: Spirit of Vengeance,” “King Arthur: Legend of the Sword” and Grampa “Batman.” Before guys wore zoot suits, when gals still wore bras and cigarette smoking was not a felony.
In that ether, many a short fat dude fingering his big fat cigar met busses that dumped the new bosomy starlets chugging in from places like Shove It, Utah. These guys tagged Lana Turner as the greatest tragedienne since Maria Ouspenskaya? Nailed Marilyn Monroe as another Sarah Bernhardt?
Females famous today — a producer, a socialite, a designer — with firsthand knowledge of like behavior recalled for me their earlier days in an earlier era. Each memory smelled the same.
Modern day is just a rewrite. Young women still marry rich old fops. Take Georgina Chapman. A nowadays difference is menfolk look to polish their manners along with their nails. How about greatly revered President of the United States of America John F. Kennedy, who’d lock onto a dead female if he could’ve pried open her crypt. How about — married with children — a New York sitting governor who was sitting with a hooker but his legs were wrapped in knee socks.
Let nobody dare say I am plumping up Harvey Weinstein. Nobody — not me — no- body is suggesting he get a Kennedy Center honor. Even if this man’s staring into his mirror, he’s not suggesting a maybe Croix
de guerre. As a kid, he’d be smacked. As a grown-up, Harvey is definitely getting smacked.
Everything about the man was oversize — his belly, his ego, his ambition, his ability, his bullying, his sexuality, his entitlement. But he’s done. Gone. Burnt toast. Maybe the wife really loved him. Maybe starting out not famous, successful or rich, she really thought he looked like
Jon Hamm and sounded
like Benedict Cumberbatch — who knows? But even she’s now taking the A Train. I only know that many slavering Hollywood animals who voted him out and did him in — are still Doing It. Or, with help, trying to. They’re on threesomes. Foursomes. Other guys’ wives. On coke. On a salad of drugs. Multiple marriages. Female escorts. Grabbing a quickie in a closet. I’ve personally met many a low-class mistress who has slithered into becoming their highclass missus. It’s the system, kids, the system. Politicking is lying. Producing might be laying. It’s the system.