"You're full of shit. I support the Second Amendment. I'm not taking your gun away. I did not say that."—Joe Biden responds to a worker at an automobile plant in Detroit who accused him of "actively trying to end our Second Amendment right and take away our guns." Biden also talked about what firearms he has. Sure doesn't seem sleepy to me.
I, Billy Masters, being of exceptionally sound mind and on the brink of single-digit body fat, do solemnly declare this to be my last column and testament. Unless I survive my surgery, in which case I shall return next week. Or, if—as I've always suspected—I am really Jesus Christ, in which case I will return in three days.
Wherever I end up, Lord, please don't let me bump into Ronan Satchel Allen O'Sullivan Sinatra Farrow. I was willing to give that smug piece of work a pass due to him exposing Harvey Weinstein and others. But last week, Ronan crossed the line. As you know, Ronan is estranged from one of his many possible fathers, Woody Allen, over abuse claims from his sister Dylan—claims, I should add, that were never substantiated, despite at least five investigations. Woody wrote a memoir, Apropos of Nothing, which was to be published in April by Hachette Book Group. Plans changed once Ronan got wind of them. You see, Hachette also published Ronan's book, Catch and Kill. Ronan stated that because of their relationship with Allen, he was severing ties with the company. In expressing his outrage, Ronan tweeted (in part): "Hachette did not fact check the Woody Allen book. My sister Dylan has never been contacted to respond to any denial or mischaracterization of the abuse she suffered at the hands of Woody Allen." This begs the question—was Woody ever contacted to respond to the allegations Mia made in her memoir? Because I don't think that's how memoirs work.
A hatchet job was quickly waged on Woody, and Ronan was at the very least the catalyst for a Hachette employee walkout. In short order, Hachette shelved the book and terminated its relationship with Woody. Why? Well, Ronan is a star on the rise and is taking a victory lap due to the Weinstein conviction. If this were simply one person against another, I might not bat an eye (assuming I still have eye activity). But in this case, the troublesome irony for me is that the recipient of a Pulitzer Prize for investigative reporting and public service is trying to squelch someone from telling their story. Clearly censorship on any level is loathsome—especially from someone whose profession is uncovering the truth. Stephen King tweeted, "The Hachette decision to drop the Woody Allen book makes me very uneasy. It's not him; I don't give a damn about Mr. Allen. It's who gets muzzled next that worries me." You'd think that would worry Ronan, as well.
Perhaps I'll bump into Corey Haim in the hereafter and get to the bottom of another story. In the documentary (My) Truth: The Rape of Two Coreys, Corey Feldman claims that Charlie Sheen raped Corey Haim. Of course, this is not a new allegation. However, it is the first time Feldman has gone public. He claims that the sexual assault took place when Haim was 13 on the set of the film Lucas. (At the time, Sheen was 19.) The living Corey says that Haim told him, "Charlie bent me over in between two trailers and put Crisco oil on my butt and raped me in broad daylight. Anybody could have walked by. Anybody could have seen it." And yet, it doesn't appear that anybody did. Sheen has fought back, saying, "These sick, twisted and outlandish allegations never occurred. Period." Also coming forward is Haim's mother, Judy, who says, "My son never mentioned Charlie. We never talked about Charlie. It was all made up. If my son was here to hear all of this, he would throw up."
Broadway may not be dead, but it is in a medically induced coma. Gov. Andrew Cuomo suspended all shows on the Great White Way for at least a month. Insiders calculate this will cost roughly $100 million. Many shows will not survive the hiatus, and the entire industry could be at risk.
Someone who I may bump into is Mart Crowley. The author of The Boys in the Band died last week at 84. While he lived long enough to see his seminal play make its Broadway debut last year, he did not get to see the Netflix adaptation, which is scheduled to come out this summer.
Oh, no: A bright light is beckoning me. I fear this is it. But, wait—a voice just said, "Billy, you're not finished." What does that mean? "Come back—I will finish you off." My God—it's Aaron Carter! Why is he reaching out to me? And what is that goop on his hand? Is it hand sanitizer? I sniff it—is this what Gwyneth Paltrow's vagina smells like? Oh, no ... it's slippery! And he's using it on ... his OnlyFans website. That flickering light isn't the great beyond—it's a candy striper using his tablet in post-op! And to think, I came back from the brink of death to see Aaron Carter's naughty bits! And he's charging $125? You can see him for far less on BillyMasters.com.
Someone else just joined OnlyFans, and he's certainly getting the blood pumping to my nether regions. It's Chad Johnson—the psychopathic stud from The Bachelorette. Of course, that's just my opinion; I'm no doctor. But I'd be happy to play doctor with Chad ... although I'd have my finger on the 911 speed dial, just in case. Like Aaron, you can get a gander at Chad's Johnson on our website.
When my life is depending on Aaron Carter and Chad Johnson, it's time to end yet another column. The question remains—am I live or am I Memorex? The only way to know for sure is to check out BillyMasters.com—the site that endures no matter what. You could also try sending an e-mail to Billy@BillyMasters.com . Until next time, remember: One man's filth is another man's bible.
