Save the Macy!

The Fuggers have done it again, documenting the cruel plight of my favorite scruffy-preppy actor next to Sam Waterston.

Save the Macy!

Poor William H Macy. Can’t you just read his mind?

WILLIAM H MACY: Save me. Someone save me.

BAI LING: I am soooooo comfortable here with William H Macy. I feel so safe.  I feel so in love. I feel like I am wrapped in a giant ball of safe love. Love safe. Sove! Lafe!

WILLIAM H MACY: I fear I am about to start laughing inappropriately. The way you do at a funeral. Who wears a bikini top with a matching skirt, anyway? Although this isn’t bikini material. I don’t think. I don’t know. Felicity always wears a sensible one-piece…dress or swim suit, come to think of it. Oh my god, is she touching my butt?

BAI LING: Bai Ling Macy. Mr and Mrs William H Ling-Macy. Bai and Bill Macy-Ling.  Ooh! Ooh! Personality Number Nine will LOVE being Bai Macy-Ling. That sounds like a new cut of panties!

WILLIAM H MACY: Felicity. I am so sorry. This means nothing. This crazy woman just attacked me.  What was I supposed to do? I’m scared of her. She’s preternaturally strong.

BAI LING: I am so glad I decided to take this totally adorable polka dotty dress and make it into something that shows my middle section part! Look at Billiam H. Ling Macy-Ling rubbing my tummy!

WILLIAM H MACY: I am trying really hard not to touch any exposed skin.

BAI LING: I can’t wait until he leaves that lady who was the man-lady in that movie thing.

WILLIAM H MACY: How long am I supposed to stand here?

Hard Up

Is that a Burj inyour pocket or are you just happy to see me?Poor baby. His penile implant worked like a dream, and waggled happily skyward without pause from the moment of activation. For ten years. So, what did Mister Genius here do? Get himself a bevy of ladyfriends and a bad reputation?

No, he became a hermit instead. One has to wonder what he wanted it for in the first place. If it’s that bulgy, you can always stuff your pants with a pillow and just pretend to be fat. Or, hey! tell everyone your name is “Colin Farrell.”

From News of the Weird:

The Rhode Island Supreme Court in June affirmed a $400,000 judgment for Charles Lennon, 68, who had sued the now-bankrupt Dacomed company after his Dura-II penile implant remained constantly erect for 10 years. Lennon said embarrassment had forced him to become a recluse.

Black Bush

With Bush‘s real-life, slightly muffled and demi-masticated “Shit” (mp3) making headlines, we would like to present an alternative view of the presidency. There’s a reason it’s called black humour. In the meantime, would someone please tell him to close his mouth when he’s chewing and swallow before speaking? I’m sure Tony Blair knows all about the benefits of American dentistry, and doesn’t need to conduct an inspection at the dinner table.

Oh, and as I noted on Gawker, Shrub can at least keep it down once he’s swallowed, a talent which famously escaped his father.

Video o’ the Day: Spiegelman’s Fightin’ Woids

More on the now-infamous Toby Young book party…can you ever get enough?

If he ever wants a party in Vancouver, I’m up for hosting it. Pass it on.

Here is Spiegelman, explaining how he was ready to sever his opponent’s jugular and rip his entrails out for macrame when he graciously gave way before Young’s wife’s request to “take it outside.” I mean, what’s the point of bitchslapping a rival if nobody can see you? Smart boy.

Quote o’ the Day

Toby Young, on the ruckus at his book party, and as reported in Lowdown:

The Rumble in the Urban Jungle

It sure wasn’t Norman Mailer bouncing his Scotch glass off Gore Vidal‘s head. But writers Ian Spiegelman and Doug Dechert brawling at Soho House — pushing, shoving and flinging insults — was more than enough to make Toby Young‘s book party a rousing success. Young is the mischievous Brit whose new memoir, “The Sound of No Hands Clapping,” follows his 2002 chronicle of life at Vanity Fair, “How to Lose Friends and Alienate People.”

Spiegelman is the former Page Six staffer who was fired by the New York Post two years ago after his bosses learned — from this column — of his threatening, obscene E-mail to Dechert in a dispute over a young lady.

Apparently, they hadn’t spoken since — not until their fateful encounter at Soho House the other night.

According to witnesses, Spiegelman fortified himself with a few stiff drinks before confronting Dechert, demanding satisfaction.

He called his nemesis something unprintable. Dechert responded in kind. Then, according to the definitive account by Gawker.com correspondent Neel Shah, “Spiegelman proceeded to lightly bump Dechert, initiating some sort of violent lambada, but Dechert refused to shove back. … Not one to back down from a challenge, Marty McFly Spiegelman proceeded to shove Dechert with both hands.”

(Afterward, Spiegelman claimed to a Lowdown spy: “I smashed him three times in the head. He kept saying ‘Not here, man, not here.'” Spiegelman paused here to swig his drink. “I hit him eight times!”)

Young’s wife, Caroline, the mother of their two young children, bravely intervened to break it up. “Either stop fighting or leave,” she scolded.

At which her husband cried: “Are you insane? This is great publicity!”