It's like I never left...

Hey, I'll be go to hell, I just found out that fuckin Yvonne de Carlo was actually from Vancouver.

Did you know that? I sure didn't.
When I was a kid they used to say she was the most beautiful woman in the world.
She's alright, but I don't know about that.

For that vintage, I'd probably be getting a lot more excited about, I don't know, like maybe fuckin Gracie

Or, definitely, O fuckin Hara, shit mon, are you familiar with the expression New York Fucking Minute?

Nice nuts, Mo.

Still, Y de C deserves respect for at least 2 things.

First for being brave enough to let The Chucksta chew the crap out of the scenery all around her in The Mother of All Bathrobe Operas:

Your eyes are as sharp as they are beautiful.

That still kills me every fuckin time. She must have kept a towel in her wardrobe to wipe away the bits of cheese flying off his performance.
Coupled with Johnny Boy "Leatherpecs" Derek there, it was probably like being locked up over the long weekend in Kraft's fuckin Cracker Barrel factory or something.
Actually, she looked pretty alright in that

I wouldn't be climbing over her to get to Presley, that's for fuckin sure.

Oh, and the other thing she deserves eternal gratitude for is being part of the Greatest Hollywood Story Ever. You know, the one Tony Curtis dined out on for decades.

I can't find decent video of it, unfortunately, I know he's told it on Letterman, at least twice.

If you don't know it, it goes like this*:

"When I left the Navy, I used the GI Bill to get into the Dramatic Workshop, which was located at the President Theatre on Forty-eighth Street. Walter Matthau and Harry Belafonte were students there, too. We were all just trying to make it. Later on, I went out to California, and good things started happening for me. When I came back to New York to do a promotion for City Across the River, they gave me a suite at the Sherry-Netherland and a huge black limo. I took it around to show my buddies in the Bronx and then went by the Dramatic Workshop. It was a terrible, rainy afternoon, and who do I see out in front? Walter Matthau. He's got a long, heavy coat on with a Racing Form sticking out of the pocket, and he's looking down at the gutter. Here I am in this nice, warm limo. And there he is, this grumpy guy surrounded by a cold, miserable world. The look on his face says, "What's ever going to happen for me? Nothin'!" So I tell the driver to pull alongside him and stop. Now Walter's watching the limo. I roll the window down, look at him, and say, "I fucked Yvonne De Carlo!" Then I roll the window back up in a hurry and tell the driver to get the hell out of there.

I got no followup for that

Raj

*SHAMElessly copied from the most excellent, always delightful, Death Diva Extraordinaire Mr. Scotty's http://www.findadeath.com. Go there now and enjoy the CRAP out of it.