It wasn't as I intended -- promise. No one sets out to make a train wreck. Actually, comparing it to a train wreck isn't really fair to train wrecks, because people actually want to watch those.
It started, as so many of my choices do, with my Willy Wonker.
It was 1994, and I had read an article in Premiere magazine saying that the Celebrity Center, the Scientology epicenter in Los Angeles, was a great place to meet women . . .
"Honest, judge, I was just horny! And the next thing you know, I'd done something infamous!"
Yeah, dude. Blame it on your pecker.
But if you read the article to the finish, you can't help but notice that he didn't even get laid.
Labels: battlefield earth