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Here's to You, Mrs. Robinson

February 07, 2005

So. Last Sunday night, my parents, El Dukay, and I all went to see The Graduate, starring Morgan Fairchild and her naked body, at the Fox Theatre in Atlanta.

The good news, and I may have mentioned this before, the good news is: they serve wine at the Fabulous Fox. And also, martinis. And we needed them, y'all, because YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW.

Now, have y'all heard about this? This Graduate stage production thing? Because I will be happy to tell you ALL about it, namely, that it involves Morgan Fairchild, BUTT ASS NAKED, and also, with no clothes on, and incidentally, the woman is NAKED AS A JAYBIRD, right there up on the stage, in front of my PARENTS, and that may be a sign of the apocalypse, right there.

When we told my father about our evening plans, he was less than thrilled. And my mother kept saying, "Oh, come on. You'll get to see Morgan Fairchild naked. Every man wants to see Morgan Fairchild naked." And this horrified my father. Deeply. And he kept on protesting, "No, I DON'T, and why WOULD I," and he was VERY BOTHERED, because Dad...well. Poor Dad had mixed up Morgan Fairchild with Morgan Freeman. And they have different hardware entirely, and I am not even going to get INTO the look of pure, sweet relief on his face when he realized his mistake.

But speaking of hardware. People, we are talking about watching NAKEDNESS with parents. My parents do not have a "naked." I don't even want to talk about it. They were born wearing shoes and parkas, and that is that.

Now, my dumb ass was responsible for purchasing the tickets for our evening of theatre, and because I am both AWESOME and STUPID, I (through no fault of my own, I may add) ended up procuring front row seats for the show. And so we went, my MOTHER, my FATHER, my BOYFRIEND, and myself, to see Morgan Fairchild in her birthday suit, because DID I MENTION that the woman is NUDE.

Now, they use tasteful lighting in the scene where Morgan Fairchild shows us the goods, and by "tasteful lighting", I mean, "it is kind of dark." So people who are in, say, row FIVE will see nothing. People in row one? Well...hello, Morgan Fairchild's vagina! And how have YOU been?

People, it pains me to say this. But Mrs. Robinson...well. She got herself a Brazilian. KILL ME.

(Sidenote! As someone who wrote one of her two theses on The Graduate (this is true. The other one was on Marilyn Manson, but that is a story for another day), well, as someone who did that...this made my cry a little. From SHAME.)

So, anyway. We're sitting there, my MOTHER, my FATHER, my BOYFRIEND, and MYSELF, gazing at Morgan Fairchild's girl parts and thinking, "How did this happen, exactly?" and also, "Oh my FUCK," because I never, ever want to be in the same room -- nay, not even the same ZIP CODE -- as my father gazing at a woman's netherreigons. This is not RIGHT. This is the sort of thing that drives otherwise healthy people to insanity, I am thinking.

What made it worse, what made it MUCH worse, is that Morgan Fairchild...well. Y'all? Just between us? NO. That woman was not born with those breasts. There is a team of surgeons in Malibu high-fiving each other every time she exposes herself, because HI, THEY ARE ENORMOUS, and they are WAY BIGGER THAN MY HEAD on this BITSY little Morgan Fairchild body and that is NOT RIGHT. Frankly, I was terrified. Now, THEY deserve their own zip code. And area code. And dress code. Frankly, they may take over, and Kiefer is looking into it, and we are all in danger.

So, Morgan Fairchild (I feel the need to use her full name, because I HAVE SEEN HER PARTS) waltzes out onto the stage in NO CLOTHES, and I think, well, things can't possibly get any worse than this! No, my discomfort could not possibly increase! Because, hi, DAD!

But, unfortunately, this was not the end of seeing way more of Morgan Fairchild than I have ever wanted to see. Because remember, WE ARE ON THE FRONT ROW at the Fabulous Fox Theatre, and she kept on getting under the sheets of the bed and then they'd...MOVE, and stuff, and the woman is not wearing undergarments and it was HORRIFYING, and I say this because I AM SITTING NEXT TO MY MOTHER, and the woman is very liberal, BUT THAT DOES NOT MATTER, and I JUST SAW WHERE THE BABY COMES FROM.

I freaked out accordingly. So I had to drink several martinis. Y'all know.

At the end of the show, as we're all sitting there, with everyone else in Atlanta who is thinking "Hello, I just saw SNATCH on a Sunday night, and that is the day of the Lord," my father turned to us while Morgan Fairchild was taking a bow, and said, "I have one word for you: PLASTICS."

And the man was so right, y'all. So terribly, terribly right. Please send help. And more martinis.

Posted by doxie in General Whining | permalink

20 Comments

Snort.
And El Dukay said nothing....?

Posted by: Snapper | February 8, 2005 06:50 AM

Har. The production here in Boston starred Kathleen Turner. "What fresh hell is this?"

Posted by: urbanoutback | February 8, 2005 07:00 AM

OMG...just the thought of that on a Tuesday morning was horrible. And, I thought watching the rollercoaster scene in Fear with the parents was bad. I advise scrubbing eyes with bleach.

Posted by: Morgan | February 8, 2005 09:59 AM

Hee! I'd love to hear your father's take on this.

Posted by: jcc | February 8, 2005 10:18 AM

How terrible! And...funny. It reminds me of the time we accidentally took my dad to a nude beach in Spain. Poor guy was trying not to stare, but just couldn't help himself (there were breasts everywhere he turned his head!). No matter the venue, parents + nudity = ickiness.

Posted by: Jen | February 8, 2005 10:51 AM

Ew. Mrs. Robinson should not have a Brazillian. Isn't she a wasp?

The part about Kiefer cracked me up A LOT.

Posted by: Em | February 8, 2005 11:01 AM

Good Christ, girl. Here it is first thing in the morning and I am giggling fit to pee, and crying into my tea besides. Your poor daddy. Morgan FREEMAN? That poor, poor man. I would have been bewildered and frightened, too.

Just by the by, they say that Madonna has a huge Frida Kahlo rendering of a vagina hanging in her living room. They further say that her daughter Lourdes is terrified of it. And now we all have a new vagina of which to be terrified. Morgan Fairchild's girl parts? Before breakfast? This is sure shaping up to be an interesting day.

Posted by: Gretchen C. | February 8, 2005 12:20 PM

I just don't feel that Mrs. Robinson needs to be all up in your grills with her Brazilian. It's just simply not right.

Posted by: Heather | February 8, 2005 12:27 PM

I can't imagine there's enough alcohol in the world.....

Posted by: Birdy | February 8, 2005 01:40 PM

HEEEE! For a millisecond, I, too, was picturing Morgan Freeman, thinking WTF... so, my sympathies to your Dad.
Noone today can hold a candle to the lovely Mrs Mel Brooks, don't you think??

Posted by: fifi | February 8, 2005 02:13 PM

Ah, I meant Anne Bancroft.(couldn't quite remember her name, but could manage who she married to....) Damn this early-onset Alzheimers...

Posted by: fifi | February 8, 2005 02:16 PM

"A bald vagina is a vagina with no emotional edge, indeed, no emotional appeal, which is why prostitutes and female porno stars shave themselves. It is not so much to reveal all, confirming men's worst castration fears, but rather to deny emotional entry and create a certain emotional distance." - can't remember

Posted by: Rick | February 8, 2005 03:09 PM

Your dad is FUNNY. I don't think my mom would have made it through that entire play. She would have taken one look at the boobage (let alone the vaginaness) and high-tailed it for the lobby!

Posted by: supine | February 8, 2005 03:56 PM

I'm with Snappah, there is a miserable lack of reportage on El Dukay's reactions. There was alcohol! There was nekkidness! What gives?

Posted by: Miss Fish | February 8, 2005 06:16 PM

All parents emerged from the womb fully clothed and with a certain number of tickets. These tickets were later exchanged for babies at the baby factory. My parent's were given a ticket for my sister and me, and they have NEVER been naked.

I tried to watch Love, Actually with the folks, but I couldn't make it past the sex-double parts. I had to fast-forward the DVD and tell my parent's that particular vignette has nothing to do with the real plot.

Posted by: smartjuice | February 8, 2005 06:49 PM

Kiefer called. Says he's trapped between 2:59:59 PM and 3:00 PM until next Monday. Sorry.

No problem, though. Boobs, TAKING OVER? I think I have the credentials to take care of this one. Before I begin, I'll need some photos or video to ID the subjects. Does your Dad (or El Dukay?) perchance have a video camera on his cell phone?? And we can't under-estimate the threat of the SNATCH taking over...

Posted by: Kiefer Twin | February 8, 2005 07:33 PM

Holy ta-tas, that was funny. Morgan Fairchild is all about the plastic. And remember those infomercials she used to do for that stupid machine with the electrode-thingies that you attached to your face, which would then PULSATE and somehow give you younger-looking skin? That? Was FRIGHTENING. And now, the image of a NEKKID Morgan Fairchild with the doo-hickies on her face....*shudder*

Posted by: LadyBug | February 10, 2005 09:50 AM

Oh, you poor thing. Sending good vodka and olive-soaked thoughts your way.

Posted by: Coleen | February 10, 2005 11:52 AM

This is the funniest thing I've read in like, forever. And I read LOTS, too. mmhm.

Posted by: krystalc | February 11, 2005 10:49 AM

wow. i need a few martinis myself after reading that...

Posted by: jezzie | February 11, 2005 01:03 PM

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