Queasy SEA CRUISE for Movie Nerds...SOLD OUT

For fuckin' Chrissake. NERDS want to go on some kind of idiotic boat ride JUST to watch MOVIES? MOVIES they could see at home??

NERDS actually want to pay between $1,000 and $2,000 to to able to pester Eva Marie Saint about Alfred Hitchcock trivia? And tell Ruta Lee how much they LOVED LOVED LOVED "Seven Brides for Seven Brothers?"

SOLD OUT.

Leaving tomorrow, November 1st, Sunday, for five glorious days at sea...

This is truly some mental case's idea of a good time. What is it with fucking CRUISES? What is the joy of putting yourself in potential lethal danger from Legionnaire's Disease, of being sea sick during a storm, or of simply being cramped up for five days with food poisoning and a stopped-up toilet?

How lame are people who would actually want to seek out Fred MacMurray's daughter and talk to her about how much they loved the guy's movie and TV work??

I might not have shown up to this stupid thing if it was FREE at a convention center within a cheap bus ride less than 30 minutes away. I'd be thinking, "What kind of fanboy geek am I, that I'd want to sidle up with a hopeful grin to try and get some D-lister's attention for five minutes?"

I put the question to veteran cruise ship hustler AIDS Savage, who used to be employed as everything from a drummer in the house band to a toilet cleaner and puke mopper for various now-defunct lines. You might remember him aboard "The Titanic, Recreated" and "The Doody Ooze Cruise" (featuring the band that recorded the shit, "Nights in Brown Underwear.") He was often at the dock, greeting guests under the sign: "This is HULL, Abandon All Hope Ye Who Enter."

Says Savage, "You do risk being seasick, and having a perpetual headache. At least, if I'm aboard drumming with some tatty cover band. I got sacked for exposing myself at the dinner table and screaming "So what if I'm built like a cocktail weiner!" This was after I was seen raping a sea gull.

I was totally banned for all cruise lines when I kept stalking a lady and cursing at her like a sailor. I was told it would've been all right if I'd been a sailor. But I wasn't! Well, her fella beat me so badly my hair fell out just like Phil Collins. I moaned, 'look at me now,' and stuttered, 'I-I b-better s-s-stay home in my stu-stu-studio.'"

I would've spoken to Savage a little longer, but he had some kind of epileptic fit, which involved trying to show off his limited drumming skills by trying to stab a cockroach with chopsticks. It was my fault for suggesting we meet in a Chinese restaurant run by Muslims.

The alternative he suggested was a picnic: "I'm a cheap bastard so packing sandwiches from home is good enough. The best part of a picnic is when I can find a grasshopper and can snap off one of its antenna. I laugh so hard I shit myself. The whore I live with likes that, because my shit smells better than my body odor. Say, what's all this about Fred MacMurray's daughter? Is she a goer? Know what I mean? Nudge nudge, wink wink? Does she fancy ugly fat guys who can't even keep a beat while chewing gum?"