Hold Me Closer, Tiny Shatner

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I am NOT afraid to tell you that I am getting increasingly interested in William Shatner. I think it started a few years ago when he was spouting poetry on those Priceline commercials. I guess I just admire anyone who is so blatantly, moxiously ridiculous. Tonight I ran across his 1978 rendition of Elton John’s “Rocketman.”

It may be viewed here: Mars Ain’t the Kind of Place to Raise Your Kids.

The spoken-word delivery. The Who-the-Fuck-Are-You, Sartre? cigarette. And oh sweet baby Jesus’s barber’s dog, the toupee. Then, when it just can’t get any worse, a giant, more animated Shatner mitosises off of the original Shatner, dwarfing him.

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Figure 1: “Lookin’ good, Shatner.” “Right back atcha, dawg.”

Me, on the way to the can: “William Shatner makes me hot.”

Companion, sincerely: “That makes me really happy.”

What could be better on a Sunday night?

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