I've been busy with a regimen of intensive behavioral therapy prescribed after the episode that occurred when I found out Brenda Walsh was staging a grand comeback on Dancing With the Stars, while I, LAURA KINGMAN, am trapped in this so-called "psychiatric hospital." Therefore, I haven't been stabbing at my Brenda Walsh voodoo dolls with my authentic Maggie the Cat pin as much as I'd like.
Thank heavens that the gods have heard my plea. For years people have been making suggestions that worshipping a pair of ceramic drama masks is pointless or insane. Well, LOOK WHO IS LAUGHING NOW, AND IT ISN'T BRENDA WALSH!
It's me! LAURA KINGMAN! Maggie the Cat is alive! I'm ALIVE!
That's right, America fell sway to the power of my voodoo masks, and BRENDA WALSH couldn't even beat Kate Gosselin, who according to one of the orderlies in my ward is one of the most unpopular shrews in America. The vile Minneapolitan role-stealing WHORE was voted off for SUCKING at jive dancing. I guess that since the evil and corrupt Roy Randolph wasn't on the judging panel, Brenda had nobody to do a DO-OVER private "audition" with. I guess Carrie Ann Inaba isn't as easily influenced by skin-tight black mock turtleneck mini-dresses as CERTAIN California University acclaimed visiting theater directors. NICE TRY, BREN.
Now that I've secured my archenemy's dismal failure (HA HA HA), I intend to increase my schadenfreude even more by praying in the name of Tennessee Williams to my revered masks that something like THIS will come true:
It's a pity that I can't make this happen with one of my patented fabricated rape accusations, but hey, a STAR LIKE ME can dream!
Cheerio, my tasty young co-eds! 'Tis I, the world-famous master of the theatre, Roy Randolph, and I have taken a break from my current directorial smash success on the off-off-off-off-off-off-off Broadway collegiate summer theatre circuit to enlighten you all with some spectacular news.
Typically, American television is a ghastly mess of humourless situation comedies, formulaic police dramas, and the most vulgar forms of documentary (which I believe the Yanks refer to as "reality shows," though perish the thought that any of them should ever be my reality). However, finally the blokes who decide telly programming made a proper casting decision...prepare yourselves, chaps.
BRENDA WALSH WILL BE APPEARING ON SEASON TEN OF DANCING WITH THE STARS!
Brenda Walsh has many talents. Now that she's recently come from her directorial debut (not as magnificent as mine, but it is unfair to make the lovely Miss Walsh compete with a veritable god) on the West Beverly High production of Spring Awakening, she's decided to show that she is what your coarse American critics would categorize as "a triple threat." Not only does she act and direct, she also can dance. And how, by God!
While notable amateurs such as chat show host Jerry Springer, physical prankster Steve-O, and footballer Warren Sapp have displayed their footwork on this programme, none will be able to match the sheer explosion of talent emanating from Miss Walsh. I should add that the forgettable Kelly Taylor, who chose a dull life of pathetic insignificance when she removed herself from contention for the role of Maggie in my aforementioned epic production, previously proved herself once again a miserable failure not worth the clotted cream on her crumpets during a previous stint on this show. Likewise, Steve Sanders, the erstwhile accomplice of the utterly mental trollop Laura Kingman, couldn't sway the audience with his jive routine in the semi-finals of season four. Those grim fates shall not await the singular Brenda Walsh. Undoubtedly she will shine like the effulgent star I aver her to be.
Miss Walsh has already displayed that her dancing chops are almost as meaty and luscious as her acting chops. During a private moment she once confessed to me that she once, due to happy accident at a university pool party, found herself in a dance contest with a masterful dancer: specifically, the noted David Silver, who even at that young age already had a credit as remarkable as the second chair pianist for the noted tenor Kenneth "Babyface" Edmonds. Not only could Brenda Walsh match Mr. Silver's suave stepping technique, she assisted him in a grand and valourous triumph over their rivals. On another occasion, she prevented a reignition of the tragic riots that plagued South Central Los Angeles by participating in a dance routine that distracted the ruffians of colour who threatened to disrupt the West Beverly homecoming dance. Ultimately this resulted in racial harmony, a brilliant spoken word performance by the aforementioned Mr. Silver, and a treacly, poorly structured 10,000 word first-person editorial piece of rubbish by Brenda's insufferable, self-important enemy AKA her twin brother Brandon Walsh.
I sincerely hope that Miss Walsh has the fortune of being paired with a dancer of European origin. Not only are European men far more smooth and sophisticated than their coarse and boorish American counterparts, but it will grant her the opportunity to showcase her ear for accents. Due to my familiarity with her very early work, I can say that she does honour to accents from both Brooklyn and France. Certainly, thanks to her legendary performance under my directorial command, the entire world knows she does a spot-on version of a trashy, desperate Mississippian. I would be positively thrilled to listen to her shrewish voice flex its Ukrainian muscles when engaging in improvisational banter with Maksim Chmerkovskiy. She has demonstrated her British accent to me in the privacy of my estate on many occasions, and I must say it is impeccable.
So let us all toss our tea in the bin, and instead raise a snifter of brandy to the glourious Brenda Walsh. May she dance with the stars forever!
PS-Please exercise caution in viewing the below video, as the despair over never having seen something as astonishingly majestic as this might cause you to consider suicide, as your life will surely be complete.
