Guest Blogger

Mommie Damnedest: Happy Mother's Day From Joan Crawford

Filed By Guest Blogger | May 11, 2014 1:00 PM | comments

Filed in: Entertainment
Tags: Joan Crawford, Mother's Day, parody, satire

js-hamilton-author.pngEditor's Note: Guest blogger Joan Crawford was assisted in writing this piece by JS (John) Hamilton (right), a seasoned marketing executive and author of her new "autobiography" and pop culture parody: Ego Heroin - Joan Crawford Stars in Your Fakebook Page Does Not Make You a F**king Movie Star. By turning from corporate-speak to unauthorized fake autobiography, Hamilton considers himself to be using old professional skills to tell new lies. Joan's guest post today is adapted from the book.

Jesus Christ. I come back from a cigarette break in Movie Star Heaven to find Vatican City worshipping Hollywood's Holy Trinity of Lying, Sex, and Money, and Fakebook has convinced everybody they are a fucking movie star from whom we are dying to read posts about their new tribal tattoo. And I am furious at the iceberg of reality "celebrity" for sinking the luxury liner of stardom, creating a new class of steerage reality starlets from Hollywood and Washington in Kardashian Kollection sailing wardrobes.

Since I left you, I've been making music videos as GlamRappa (I invented reinvention, Cher) with the Christian rap thug R.E.L.E.N.+.L.E.S.S.B.B.C., but I'm back for this special Mother's Day guest blog post.

Do not assume I am here because I think I owe one single goddamned explanation about book-length typos regarding my policies as CEO of my Brentwood mansion. It is lonely at the top and the boss's decisions are not always understood or popular with those less informed who think they know better.

Since everybody now seems so fucking interested in how I, as one of Hollywood's biggest stars, cleaned her goddamned bathroom baseboards, my Mother's Day gift to you is this scientific whitepaper elaborating on some of my guiding best-practice scientific-basis domestic principles. And by "scientific basis" I don't mean the body's system of processing alcohol, either.

These nocturnal protocols included Midnight Gardening when soil and plants were moist, and cleaning closets and bathrooms when germs were asleep and one could surprise them.

For instance, everybody knows my commitment to health and being a good citizen (goddamn it, I am telling you everybody knows that), and there was an officially-mandated Midnight Gardening Emergency due to citrus canker in Brentwood under which we were ordered by the Filmmakers' Farm Bureau to exterminate all citrus trees overnight. To relieve my tired young timbering crew, I asked a Malibu kindergarten hoodlum with delayed-development language and cognitive skills to please go inside and ask my housekeeper to "Please ma'am bring us some cocoa and snacks." My words were apparently whipsawed by that evening's stiff breeze bordering on storm-force Santa Ana Winds (Los Angeles meteorological records are lost now), such that he thought I said, "Bring me the axe."

Joan-Crawford-color.jpegFor other instance, it became known that a certain dry cleaner in Brentwood used Chinese-made wire coat hangers which contained dangerous levels of lead and arsenic. Just like today, you didn't always know what you were getting if it came from China, which is why we avoided their fish products which is still good guidance. A big emergency night-purge was conducted to rid all Brentwood closets of this carcinogenic scourge. The hangers were collected in an orderly manner, and securely boxed at the curb for morning hazmat pickup by my studio.

So there are often mitigating scientific circumstances directing a CEO's decisions. But let one work 18 hours on a hot movie set blowing life into a dead script while air conditioning hisses mold at one, come home and take a sinus pill possibly shared by one's sympathetic friend Judy Garland, sip on a glass of Cabernet or Stolichnaya (a Russian white) at dinner, and then perhaps stumble as a high-heeled slipper catches on sloppily-installed carpet as one ascends a staircase to relax upstairs by cleaning a surface or two before bed, and one suddenly finds one's self portrayed on screen as a harridan by someone previously best known for playing a trashy gangster.

Love to you all, always.


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