Hug

I know, Uma. There, there. It’s all gonna be OK. I do it to, you know. I think we all do. When time’s are rough. When the only affection we can get is from a stalker (and even he denies it). When our love life is in shambles. When our career is swirling in a big whirl of toilet water (My Super Ex-Girlfriend? Yikes!) And when the world has seemingly passed us by. We do it, too. It feels good, doesn’t it, Uma? You just have to cross your arms. Maybe caress your own shoulders. Just squeeze real tight, Uma. Just close your eyes and pretend it’s someone else. Am I right?

Yeah. Every once in a while, I like to give myself a hug, too. It allows me to remember that under these tight leather pants, when the whips are gone, and there’s no flesh to be seared, I am a person just like you, Uma. Only not as lonely. Or pathetic enough to self-embrace in front of a cameraman.

Next time, get a room, Uma. It’s just sad. You’re making us all feel bad.