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Merry Christmas. . .especially to our friend and faithful reader Donna (forgive me Donna if I am assuming. . .galaxyMafia often gets above her station) and to the good gals down at the Church of Wentworth Miller. . .how were the services this year? You crafty lasses are goin' to the Dickens in a handbasket but galaxyMafia has a feeling y'all don't mind all that much. . .

So. . .here's the third installment in the continuing saga of Wenty-Fresh and the lovely Gabby U.

Gabrielle struggled under him, her face flaming.
“Get the fuck off me!”
“What are you doing here?” He asked, grabbing her wrists, pinning them down against the stone. She looked up at him. . .the moonlight shadowed his features but, still she could see his eyes. . .icy, pale green-blue. . .penetrating. . .the lashes long, the lids heavy, half-closed, luminous. . .the way he was looking at her. . .she knew what he was thinking, she could feel his erection, huge, heavy against her abdomen. . .
She wanted to be disgusted by him. . .he’d shot at her, slapped her. . .
Instead, like some kind of sadistic tramp, she felt her body responding. . .
Just like the old days when they were together. . .
“Get off me!” She screamed at him, twisting her body. “Now!”



Wentworth wished she would stop writhing beneath him.
“Be still. . .” He told her, his voice lowered.
“Get off of me.”
“Who hired you, Gabby?” He asked her.
“Who hired you?” She turned the question around on him.
He stared at her. . .she was beautiful. . .and even more frightening, much more exciting because she was more uncontrollable, more tempestuous that he remembered. . .he hesitated, unsure of what to do. . .should he let her up. . .he didn’t know. . .for some reason, he liked the feeling of having her trapped beneath him. . .



“Please. . .” Gabrielle said, deciding to try another tactic. . .
Maybe being a demanding bitch was pissing him off. . .she knew he preferred a demur, delicate woman, too preoccupied with her manicure and her make-up to fight for her life. . .she knew from experience that he liked her to be a willing submissive he could control. . .
“If you get off me. . .then we can talk,” She told him. “This concrete is killing my ass. . .”
He gave her a dubious look. “Are you armed?”
“No. . .”
Another skeptical look.
“If I had a gun, Went,” she said, smiling. “You’d have a bullet in your head right now.”
His eyes narrowed yet he still seemed unconvinced.
“Would you like to pat me down?” She asked, her gaze lascivious, hoping to catch him with his guard down. . .
His look told her that he wanted to do much more than just pat her down, and once again, she felt herself responding. . .the warmth, the tingle between her legs. . .
But, then the look changed. . .he became serious again, all business. . .
“This is my promise to you,” He said. “If you try anything. . .I’ll shoot you.”
“Do you always keep your promises?”
Reluctantly, he rose up, swinging his leg over her, standing up, helping her to her feet. Gabrielle kept her eyes on the gun in his hand, hanging by his side. . .
“Now, who the hell hired you?”
Dusting herself off, Gabrielle smiled. “After what you did to me do you think I’d be stupid enough to trust you again?”
He smiled at her. “Are you still mad about that?”
“Am I still mad? Do you honestly think I can forgive you for leaving me to die there alone, you bastard!” Gabrielle scowled as she kicked his wrist, sending the gun flying across the sun deck behind him.
He lunged at her, trying to grab her with his uninjured hand. Gabrielle side-stepped him, delivered a stinging right hook to his chiseled, square jaw and cried out, shaking her throbbing hand. She looked past him at the door that lead into the dressing room. . .
She tried to run around him but he anticipated her move, and blocked her. She tried again, and again, he blocked her.
“Where are you gonna go?” He asked, smiling.
Gabrielle didn’t know. . .he wasn’t going to let her get into the door. . .behind her, the railing along the sun deck was four-feet high. . .below the railing was the pool and courtyard. . .she should have taken them up on their offer to provide her with equipment. She could use a damn grappling hook right now. . .
But, in the absence of one. . .and with Went set to tackle her, wrestle her to the ground. . .and maybe even try to have his way with her, what other choice did she have. . .
Sometimes. . .you have to protect yourself. . .
She didn’t need his words in her head right now. . .she couldn’t deal with them, she had to concentrate, figure out her next move. . .
“You’re not leaving until I say you can leave,” he said. “So you might as well tell me. . .who hired you. . .” Gabrielle took a deep breath. “Sorry. . .I’m not allowed to talk to assholes who lied to me.”
She grabbed the top of the railing, pushed herself upon it, swinging her legs over it, and jumped down into the pool, before she had a chance to think about what she was doing, before she had a chance to talk herself out of it. . .

copyright 2005. . .galaxyMafia. . .wants all of y'all who are wonderin' if Wenty and Gabby are gonna "do it" to keep something in mind. . .sexual tension. . .it's what kept "Moonlighting" on for so long. . .when Wenty and Gabby do it, the act will destroy whatever devious fantasy you've got goin on in your head. . .there's no way I can show Wenty "doing it" the way you see him "doing it" in your mind. . .which is not to say I am copping out. . .we just have a long way to go so be patient and I hope you stick with me!!

. . .well, well, well. . .for all you ladies (like galaxyMafia) who like your chicken young, tender and juicy. . .

The older galaxyMafia gets. . .the more she likes 'em young!


copyright 2005. . .galaxyMafia. . .does not have a "crush" on her co-worker who is only 17 (!) and shall remain nameless (to protect the innocent. . .which he is probably not)!!

I promised myself I wouldn’t write anymore drooling posts on The Pretty until he did something worthy of aggravating my carpal tunnel or until Prison Break retuned but as Florida Evans said, damn…damn…DAMN!

When I saw this pic (Entertainment Weekly-December 05) on the First Church I literally called out to the good Lord! Talk about sexy muthafuckas (Mr. Miller, not the Lord, but bigups to The Great I Am just the same for creating Mr. Miller)!

I bet the congregants at TFCoWM have already found out what brand of jeans he’s wearing and what size they are as well as where he bought them and what he said to the lucky sales clerk who checked him out! I further bet that said jeans will be bought by the congregation and made into an altar covering! [Ha!]

I just love his whole stance with the thumbs hooked in his front pockets and the way he’s looking at the camera…looking at me! Pardon me Dear Readers, I feel a fan girl scream coming on…

[AAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE]

There, that’s better. Sigh.

And again I say…DAMN! Oh and Merry Christmas!– GD

Hello Dear Readers! Ms. GD is back again with her current list of the three people she’d most like to see Shut The Hell Up. I know what you’re thinking – Who in the Sam Hill does Ms. GD think she is? What gives her the right to stifle anyone? Answer: My Superior Intellect that’s what!

So as usual, if you don’t agree with my “fanatical views” you can go sit in the corner, in the fetal position, sulking and sucking your thumb. If you do agree or you just like reading my paltry opinions, then please do read on…

This week’s list of people whose lips I’d like to permanently zip are:

Condoleezza Rice – Tie that shit off! Girl, I know you just doing your job and I feel you...really I do...but no one believes you [I doubt you even believe you!] so why keep talking about it? The whole world knows that not only does the United States torture people but that it is fully sanctioned by Halliburton, er I mean the “US Government”. You look like a damn fool yammering on and on to anyone with ears about how the US would never place electrodes on someone’s testicles! I hate to see a sister go out like this but you brought it on yourself when you picked the red team. The only way you can preserve any of your hard fought for respect and dignity is to go quietly when Dubbya’s term is over. Spend a year or two relaxing, get laid, get a mani-pedi, even work on your memoirs but remember sistagirl, until the book comes out - Shut Up!

Senator Joe Lieberman – Shut your yap! Before you start calling Ms GD an Anti-Semite, let me just state for the record that this is so not about Mr. Lieberman’s ethnicity/religion [Glamour Diva is an equal opportunity trash talker]. This is about his supreme stupidity and nothing more. And to think, I once believed he’d make a good Vice President [Come back robotic yet strangely alluring Al Gore! We hardly knew ye...]! What the hell is up with him and his unfailing, erroneous support of the war and Dubbya? And why does he insist on yelling his thoughts from the mountain top? Does Dick Cheney have pictures of him eating shellfish while renting porn after sundown on the Sabbath? There’s a famous quote that I’ll paraphrase here; it goes a little something like this: It is better to have people think you’re a fool than to open your mouth and prove them right. Shut Up!

Bill O’Reilly– Stifle yourself! When he was on Inside Edition he wasn’t nearly as megalomaniacal as he is now. But that’s what happens when Fox News throws money at you and gives you free rein to be as obnoxious and uninformed as your little stone heart desires. Poor, ignorant Bill. Does he really think we give a damn about his list of people he thinks are “Enemies of The State and Bill O’Reilly”? Does he really think he’s as important as The State?!?!? Talk about delusional! And what is this bullshit about some evil, liberal plot to take the Christ out of Christmas? You’d think being publicly denounced as a cad would keep him from throwing religious and/or moral stones at others but noooooooo, the hits just keep on coming with Old Man O’Reilly. I bet it’s cold as fuck living in a glass house, in the dead of winter, with big, gaping holes in the walls. But alas, I don’t feel the least bit sorry for his trifling ass. Shut Up!

Shut Up! Shut Up! Shut Up!

Glamour Diva’s house is made of the same space aged, NASA developed material they make those “memory foam” mattresses out of. - GD

"Bulletproof Love"

. . .when we last left, Wentworth had discovered that Gabby was in the mansion. . .Gabby kicked Wentworth in the gut and in response, Wentworth pulled out a gun. . .

The gunshot was loud.
. . .deafening, explosive. . .
Gabrielle dropped to the floor on her hands and knees, crawled to the double doors. Now the sonofabitch was shooting at her!
Gabrielle reached up, pushing the doors open. . .two bullets slammed into the left side of the door, shattering the teak, splinters of wood raining down upon her. Rolling across the marble floor into the gallery, she sprang to her feet and ran straight ahead into a hallway, and up a flight of stairs. . .
Shit!
Halfway to the top, she realized she’d made the wrong move. . .the bullets had caused her to panic. . .she should have run to her left when she’d reached the gallery, and then headed back towards the foyer. . .
Now she was going back upstairs. . .damn it. . .!
And she couldn’t go back down. . .he was right behind her. . .



Wentworth pushed through the drawing room doors and ran into the hallway, wondering why she was headed back upstairs. . .why hadn’t she gone towards the front door. . .as he ran towards the stairway she’d just sprinted up, he wondered if Gabby might have a big surprise waiting for him at the top of the stairs. . .would there be a bullet waiting to hit him between his eyes, or a flaming Molotov cocktail tossed in his face. . .?
Quickly but, cautiously, he jogged up the steps, his nine millimeter leading the way. . .



At the top of the stairs, Gabrielle went down a hall to her right and into a bedroom.
There was a walkway that lead into the bathroom, and from the bathroom, glass doors opened out to the sun deck overlooking the pool in the courtyard below. . .
If she made it across the sun deck, there was a door leading into the dressing room of the master suite she could go into. . .and then she could head back downstairs. . .
As she opened the glass doors, she felt the absence of the nine millimeter against her ankle. . .she knew she should have brought it. . .
I won’t need this. . .
Went was following her. . .he would be in the bedroom in minutes. . .if she’d had the gun, all she would’ve had to do was hide in the closet and wait for him. . .a couple of rounds into his thigh would put him down long enough for to get the hell out of there. . .
But she’d told them she wouldn’t need it because. . .
He slumped to the floor, gasping, clawing at his chest.
The glass door shattered behind her. . .
Her scream was drowned out by the thunder. . .chunks of glass slammed against her back. . .a glass shard piercing the back of her neck. . .she ran. . .if she could make it across the sun deck. . .



“Stop!” Wentworth called out.
Shit! He didn’t want to shoot her. . .
But, he knew Gabby. . .she was a crazy, fearless bitch. She’d always been under the impression that she could outrun his bullets. . .
He took off after her, yelling at her to stop.



Gabrielle ran faster.
Did Went think she was crazy. . .that she would actually stop so it would be easier for him shove that gun in her mouth and blow her head off?
No fucking way. . .she was close now. . .she was close to the door that lead into the master suite dressing room. . .if she could get there –
Something heavy slammed into her, knocking the breath from her. . .and then she was tripping on something. . .losing her balance. . .falling. . .something was around her neck.
“Don’t move, Gabby!” he growled in her ear.
His forearm was around her, and they were falling. . .crashing to the ground. . .
Gabrielle fell on her side, her face hitting the stone, scraping the skin on the side of her face. . .the asshole still holding on to her. . .the lightning flashing. . .they rolled together across the sun deck. . .over, and on top of each other, under, and around each other. . .
Gabrielle fought, scratching and kicking, clawing at him, trying to get away, trying to break his hold. . .


Wentworth held on to her as if his life depended on it. . .
Damn, she was strong. . .he moved his head back, trying to avoid her hands as she scratched him, and slapped at his face. . .
“Stop moving!” He told her.
“Fuck you!” She spit in his face.
“Bitch!” Wentworth struggled on top of her, straddling her, slapping her hard, twice.
For a moment, she seemed stunned, and she stopped moving. . .
Wentworth stared down at her. . .the clouds had moved and the moon was visible, casting light across her face. . .her swollen, half-parted lips, her fierce deep, creamy chocolate eyes, blazing at him, her hair, wild and tousled. . .for an instant, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to shoot her, or fuck her. . .
She moved beneath him, the shock of his slaps wearing off, and Wentworth was suddenly, painfully aware of his erection. . .he was angry, annoyed. . .he should be controlling Gabby, demanding answers from her, making her tell him where the diamonds were and instead, he was getting aroused. . .
But. . .wasn’t that always his reaction whenever Gabby was around?

copyright 2005 galaxyMafia. . .thanks you all for reading and for the nice reponses!!

For those of you having "Prison Break" withdrawls. . .here is a true story about Wentworth Miller and Gabrielle Union. And by true, galaxyMafia means that she believes it could happen.

"Bulletproof Love" by galaxyMafia

At half an hour to midnight, Gabrielle Union turned onto the private road leading towards the mansion, gripping the wheel of the Mercedes, speeding over the tree-lined, gravel road. It was dark out, the moon eclipsed by thick, heavy storm clouds. She parked the car at the front door, grabbed her backpack and reached down to secure the nine millimeter in the ankle holster strapped to her right calf. . .
Only the gun wasn’t there – it would never be there again. . .
I won’t need this
Take it anyway.
Gabrielle shook the memory away, and got out of the car.
A resentful, melancholy washed over her but, she refused to give into it. Sure, her marriage was in the toilet and her television show, “Nightstalker”, had been cancelled by ABC last month but, she would be fine. . .she’d get through it.
And this too shall pass, she thought.
Now that she was an out-of-work actress again, she’d been forced to go back to the one thing she knew she was good at. . .
Stealing diamonds from people who’d never deserved them in the first place.
And this time, that devious sonofabitch Wentworth Miller wouldn’t stop her.


Outside, the wind had picked up, whipping her hair across her face, and the scent of rain hung in the air. As she closed the door, she heard the distant rumble of thunder.
With the key given to her, Gabrielle entered the mansion, stepping into a wide, expansive foyer. It was stuffy in the house, warm and cloying. They’d told her that the house had been without electrical power since the IRS had come to take everything six months ago.
Adjusting her eyes to the darkness closing in around her, she reached into her backpack and took out a high-powdered flashlight.
Splashing illumination along the deserted, empty hall ahead of her, she headed to the right, into the gallery. Along with the key, she had been given blueprints of the house. Supposedly, the diamonds were hidden in one of the house’s nine bedrooms, although they hadn’t been able to confirm that for her.
Gabrielle walked across the marble floor of the empty drawing room. Recalling the blueprints in her mind, she knew that there were three bedrooms on the first floor.
Wiping perspiration from her neck, Gabrielle hurried through the Drawing Room, heading for the bedrooms on the first floor.



Wentworth Miller had secured a floor plan of the house from the real estate agent who had sold the Palm Beach showplace five years ago.
According to the filed he’d swiped from the agent’s receptionist, an over-sexed, under-dressed sixty-something who’d been too busy trying to indiscreetly flash him peeks of her tits instead of paying attention to him, the house was modeled after an Italian villa, built around a large stone courtyard surrounded by open loggias, and featuring a majestic fountain and pool.
Dressed in black pants, a black T-shirt and black baseball cap, he stopped the gray BMW station wagon he’d rented earlier in the day in front of the stone steps that lead into the laundry room at the rear of the house. He cut the engine, grabbed a flashlight from the glove box, checked the clip in his nine millimeter and got out of the car.
Behind him, the wall of tall trees and flowering shrubs that separated the house from the next estate swayed and rustled in the wind. He stood at the door to the laundry room, pulling a copy of the floor plan from his back pocket, consulting it, asking himself where he would hide loose diamonds, and vaguely wondering if Gabrielle would really be here tonight as they’d warned him she might be. . .
Gabrielle Union. . .
The finest piece of milk chocolate he’d ever had the pleasure of tasting.
It had been five years since their last encounter, when she was the starlet on the rise and he was completing an indentured servitude at Border’s. Now, the tables, as they said, were turned.
Wentworth’s show, on FOX, “Prison Break” was a break-out cult hit, and had garnered him critical praise and slavish adoration from millions of women across the country. Gabby, on the other hand, had experienced a recent reversal of fortune. Her show had been cancelled and he’s heard she was divorcing her husband. . .
Hmmm, Wentworth mused, a wry smile playing at the corner of his lips. Now that Gabby was unencumbered, maybe they could pick up where they never should have left off.
Wentworth picked the lock, opened the door and went inside.
It was hot and dark, musty.
He cut his flashlight on, and looked at the floor plan.
If he went to his right once he exited the laundry room and then followed the long hallway to the kitchen, he could go through the kitchen, continue through a room called the Butler’s Pantry, and then into the Dining Room as he headed over to the east wing of the property, where the bedroom suites were located.



Thunder followed the lightening.
Wentworth went up the staircase, heading towards the master bedroom.
Does the lightening bother you?
You’ll think I’m silly. . .
No, I won’t. . .
I don’t like the thunder. . .
He left the bedroom to the right of the hall and headed across to the opposite bedroom. Half-heartedly, he shined the beam around the room. He was tired, hot, thirsty, frustrated, wondering if he’d made a mistake, wondering if he was in the right house. Maybe the IRS had already come, already taken the diamonds, maybe he was just wasting his fucking time.
He went into the bathroom, wondering why he was searching for the diamonds. It wasn’t like he needed the money. His show was doing well, other projects and endorsement deals were in the works. . .
He sighed. . .
The truth was, he knew exactly why he was looking for the diamonds. . .
Because wherever there were diamonds to steal, there was Gabby. . .
More than anything, he wanted to see Gabby again. . .even though he’d hurt her, even though he’d ruined things between them with his lies, his betrayal. . .
Wentworth stopped at the entrance to the closet. . .



Gabrielle closed the closet door in the master bedroom, and walked across the room to the bathroom.
Lighting flashed, brightening the room, and she jumped, gasping, her heart pounding. . .
Are you afraid of the thunder?
No. . .the lightening sometimes bothers me. . .
Soon after, she felt raindrops against her face as Went pulled her close to him.
Gabrielle closed her eyes for a moment. . .opened them and walked over to the bathroom.
Why the hell was she thinking about that bastard Went?
After what he’d done to her, the only thing she wanted to do was plunge a knife in his chest, and rip out his heart.
Behind the double doors, she checked the toilet, the pipes, the cabinets, the floor for any loose tiles that someone might have put the pouch of diamonds beneath.
Lightening flashed, reflecting in the mirror, and she jumped again as the room was swallowed in darkness again.
She took a step forward. . .something, like a current of electricity, ran through the length of her body, her knees buckled beneath her and she grabbed the basin for support, trying to catch her breath.
Massaging the spot between her eyebrows, she took a deep breath, trying to calm down, shining the flash light in front of her, trying to figure out what the hell had just happened to her. . .
. . .Went was still kissing her. . .
She should have pulled away from him by now. . .he wasn’t supposed to be kissing her, she didn’t want him to kiss her. . .but. . .
It was heady. . .she felt as if he were smothering her, breathing with her. . .it was a current of electricity.
She dropped the flashlight on the tiled floor. . .



What was that. . .?
Wentworth stood inside one of the closets of the master suite.
Had he heard something? Was it the wind again. . .
Lightening flashed again, spilling into the room through the glass doors leading out to the balcony, and then thunder.
Wentworth walked out of the closet, heading slowly towards the bathroom, the beam from his flash light growing dim. . .he stopped, hitting the barrel of the flash light against his palm. . .was the damn thing about to go out. . .?
He shined it on the floor, watching the dimness diminish into darkness. . .



Gabrielle dropped to her knees on the floor in the darkness, taking her backpack off, unzipping it, reaching inside, fishing around for more batteries.
When she’d dropped her flashlight, the battery hold had opened and the batteries had scattered across the floor.
She sighed, continuing to dig in the backpack, trying to calm down, trying to ignore the feeling that there was something in the darkness surrounding her, something watching, something waiting. . .
There’s nothing there, she told herself. . .there was no reason to look over her shoulder. . .she wouldn’t find anything. . .



As he walked closer to the bathroom, the smell intensified. . .
. . .you smell nice. . .
He walked through the damp blanket of darkness. . .until he reached the bathroom.
The smell was stronger. . .and he felt something. . .like energy. . .like. . .



Abandoning her search for the batteries, Gabrielle stood up slowly. . .her heart pounding, her hands trembling. . .
It was so dark. . .almost pitch black. . .she couldn’t adjust her eyes to the blackness. Her fingertips touched the basin and she backed up against it. . .
Was there something there. . .
She opened her mouth. . .but, nothing came out. . .



Wentworth reached out, touched the wall. . .backed himself up against it. . .
It wasn’t just a smell. . .it was a fragrance, swirling around him, inviting and terrifying at the same time. He inched along the wall. . .the air in front of him seemed charged, galvanized somehow. . .
He reached out, his hands settling on the frame of a door. . .



Gabrielle made her way along the edge of the basin. . .telling herself that nothing was there, it was just the lightning, just the thunder. . .she just needed to get out of the bathroom, get out of the house. . .
Just forget about the job. . .forget about the money. . .
She grabbed the door frame, peering into the darkness before her, trying to see as she walked through the doorway, out into the bedroom. . .



Wentworth walked through a doorway.
Trying his flash light again, he smacked it against his palm. . .dim light flickered. . .it was a weak illumination but, it was enough light to see the copy of the floor plan. . .and a few minutes later, he regained his bearings and figured out that he was in the dressing room of the master suite. . .


Gabrielle stopped in the middle of the room, checking her backpack once again. . .
Within minutes, her hand closed around the package of batteries. She opened the batteries, worked them into the flash light and cut it on, splaying light around the room in chaotic arcs, trying to remember where she was, looking for. . .
Looking for what. . .?
The goddamn boogey man?
Chiding herself, she headed out of the master suite. As she passed the closet, she slowed down a bit. . .
The closet door was open. . .
Hadn’t she closed it. . .?


With the dim flash light, Wentworth looked around the dressing room, realizing that he’d wasted his time, that he was too late, that he had been lied to. . .
The diamonds weren’t here. . .
And neither was Gabby. . .
It didn’t matter that he hadn’t found the diamonds. . .but, he was disappointed that he hadn’t encountered Gabrielle. . .
Tired, and hot, he decided he would go back to his hotel room at the Breakers, take a hot shower, get some sleep and maybe in the morning, Gabby would be out of his head. . .
Sighing, he left the master suite, heading down the stairs. . .


Gabrielle opened the double doors to the drawing room, and closed them behind her, walking toward the opposite set of doors that lead out to the gallery.


Wentworth opened the doors to the drawing room, staring ahead of him. . .
Was that. . .?


Gabrielle froze, hearing the doors behind her opening. . .
Someone was there. . .behind her. . .
She turned, looking over her shoulder. . .


The light was dim but, Wentworth could still make her out, as he shined the flash light on her. . .
Gabrielle. . .less than twenty feet ahead of him, staring back at him.
He called out to her.
She started to run.
Wentworth took off after her. . .he had to get to her before she got out of the drawing room. . .he had to catch her. .
Gabby was less than a foot away from the doors heading out of the drawing room when Wentworth caught up with her, grabbing her backpack, pulling her back against him.



Gabrielle screamed, trying to struggle away from Went. . .
Why wasn’t she surprised to see that asshole. . .?
“Get your goddamn hands off me!” Gabrielle yelled, slamming her elbow into Went’s gut. She heard him grunt, and his hold on her relaxed a bit as he tried to recover.
Pushing away from him, Gabrielle raised her leg, punching the heel of her foot against his abdomen once. . .twice. . .landing another kick in the center of his chest, sending him sprawling back, failing his arms, tripping over his own feet, stumbling to the floor.


Wentworth couldn’t breathe. . .he couldn’t fucking breathe. . .
That bitch. . .
Damn, was she still that pissed off at him. . .? That last kick she’d given him, he was sure one of his goddamn lungs was punctured. . . Staggering to his feet, gasping for air. . .Wentworth reached around behind him, pulled his nine millimeter from the waistband of his jeans and fired a shot after her. . .

copyright 2005 - galaxyMafia. . .tune in next Monday for the second installment of "Bulletproof Love"

Now, the good Wentworthians (or, do they call themselves Millerians) down at the First Church of Wentworth Miller seem to be obsessed with the fact that old Wenterrific isn’t attached (with Velcro) or tied (with a pretty rainbow colored ribbon) to some buxom Hollywood starlet babe type.

Glamour Diva and galaxyMafia don’t find it odd so much as we find it. . .none of ya damn beeswax, as we say down here in the South.

But, galaxyMafia (who does not associate with the Anti-Went but can feel their pain) has pondered what will happen when the Wenternator finally decides to dabble in that old black magic. . .romance. . .

Now, back on her home planet, galaxyMafia, in another life, was a very tenacious, industrious matchmaker, a honest to goodness intergalactic Emma Woodhouse (go Jane Austen, it’s ya birthday!). She spent countless hours plotting and scheming with the hearts of many an unsuspecting, apathetic suitor, and thus, is more than qualified to help W. Middy pick a shorty, or boo, or whatever.

Presenting. . .Wentworth Miller: The Romance. . .

Could Wentworth handle this spicy, sexy Latina?





= Wenteva





Does Jennifer have a ghost (Whisperer) of a chance?






= Wennifer






Would this tasty hot tamale be too hot?





= Wentina






Could this honey-n-creme be Wenty's dream?





= Wendy






Could Ms. Bryant bring joy to Mr. Miller's world?





= Joyworth






And finally, galaxyMafia's favorite. . .
After all, all men like the taste of chocolate. . .Mr. Miller included!




= Wentrielle

So, folks. . .what do you think?
Which one of these lovely ladies will be crowed : "The new main squeeze of Wentworth Miller"?

copyright 2005. . .galaxyMafia would like Wenty and Gabby to get together but, really, she needs to find her own damn man!

May I quote you of that?

Sex. In America an obsession. In other parts of the world a fact. ~Marlene Dietrich

The tragedy of sexual intercourse is the perpetual virginity of the soul. ~William B. Yeats

Life in Lubbock, Texas, taught me two things: One is that God loves you and you're going to burn in hell. The other is that sex is the most awful, filthy thing on earth and you should save it for someone you love. ~Butch Hancock

To hear many religious people talk, one would think God created the torso, head, legs and arms, but the devil slapped on the genitals. ~Don Schrader

Nymphomaniac: a woman as obsessed with sex as an average man. ~Mignon McLaughlin, The Neurotic's Notebook, 1960

Instruction in sex is as important as instruction in food; yet not only are our adolescents not taught the physiology of sex, but never warned that the strongest sexual attraction may exist between persons so incompatible in tastes and capacities that they could not endure living together for a week much less a lifetime. ~George Bernard Shaw, Everybody's Political What's What, 1944

When authorities warn you of the sinfulness of sex, there is an important lesson to be learned. Do not have sex with the authorities. ~Matt Groening

Nothing risqué, nothing gained. ~Alexander Woollcott

Beautifully perverted thoughts…

Amaury Nolasco, “Sucre” on Prison Break, is so damn cute! The more I watch the show the more I love him…and the more tainted my thoughts become. His character is so damn lovable, so ingenuous. And that mile wide smile makes me melt. I just want to grab him by the lapels and put a big, fat, wet one square on his lips! There’s just something about the way he plays that character that makes me want to take advantage of that naiveté.

What a pretty picture I have in my head: Amaury stripped naked, shivering in front of me. Is he cold, frightened, excited or all of the above? I place a studded, leather dog collar around his neck, fasten a leash to it and lead him around my house. I make him pick up my dirty panties with his teeth and drink water from a bowl on the floor. I make him kiss and lick my vinyl, thigh high, six-inch heeled boots. I make him beg for my attention. And finally I make him bend over my cold, metal and glass desk and fuck him to orgasm with a seven-inch vibrator! And when he’s satiated, sobbing and thanking me. Next I’ll discard the dog collar and whisper in his ear that he's a good boy. I’ll kiss him on his forehead and the bridge of his nose and cuddle him to my ample bosom while I sing and rock him to sleep.

I wonder what he’d say if he knew some woman out there in the blogosphere wanted to make him her bitch? Doesn’t really matter…in my fantasy he likes it…hard.

Fun Fact: “Amaury” is the French form of the ancient Germanic name “Amalric” (Amal = “work or labor” and ric = “power”. Amalric is also the name of two rulers of the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem in the 12th century.


Yawl ain’t ready though…

Untitled 4
Roses are red
Your balls are blue
You wanted this pussy
But you didn’t know what to do
You kept calling my house
'Cause you felt so all alone
When I said come over you came
But it was over the phone
What the hell is your problem?
What is your matter-function?
When ever I touch you
You start coughing and sputtering
Like a bitch dying of consumption
Are you scared of the pussy?
Or are you still a virgin?
Please tell me what’s up brother
‘Cause this act of yours in unnerving
So don’t make me no promises
And don’t feed me no lines
Boy I ain’t to be played with
‘Cause next time…
THE DICK IS MINE!
©1997 Glamour Diva

I wrote the above poem many years ago in direct response to the then relatively new phenomenon I’d been experiencing of men coming on to me like gang busters then running away in terror. In my very short life I have only known three men who where willing to talk the talk as well as walk the walk. The rest of them have been as erratic as Scarlett O’Hara!

My most recent tangle with male ignorance was a few weeks ago at work. Dear Alex glued himself to my side the moment he say me. Every time he’d pass my desk he would say hello or make some sort of gesture. He’d tell me how attracted he was to me and how I was his idea of the perfect woman (said while staring at my tits are while walking behind me as he stared at my ass). He never let a moment go by without expressing some facet of his lust either through his speech or his ogling of my body.

So after many days of this behavior I decided to test him. I wrote him a note chockfull of double entendre stating that I would be interested in meeting him one weekend...just the two of us…alone. I’m still waiting for him to get back to me. In fact, he hasn’t been able to look me in the eye for a week!

So is it really the “thrill of the chase” that makes men like Alex scamper away like mice caught eating the cheese? Maybe they run because my outward appearance of gender role conformity combined with my seemingly incongruous aggressive pursuit of my own pleasure is just too perplexing a situation for them to handle? Or maybe they aren’t really interested? Maybe it’s just a case of the relationship lookyloos; not really attracted to the prospect of buying (or even renting for that matter) but anxious to give it a test drive? Either way it’s damned annoying for me and I wish they’d stop! As my father used to say, either piss or get off the pot…

Before you say it…I know no one uses the word “consumption” anymore! If you can find a word that rhymes with tuberculosis let me know and I’ll change the poem. – GD

Dear Santa,

I could write a letter full of heartfelt wishes for world peace, a healthy ozone layer, kittens, rainbows, butterflies and lollipops etc., but I won’t insult your intelligence. If you already know whether I’ve been naughty or nice then you already know that what I really want for Christmas isn’t a warm, fuzzy feeling but really cool stuff! Attached please see my 2005 Christmas List.

Smooches,
Glamour Diva

1 10 year, 5 book deal with Random House
1 Tom Ford as my personal stylists
1 Full set of Luis Vuitton monogram canvas luggage including steamer trunk
7 Hermès scarves, the large ones
52 pairs of Gucci shoes (pumps, mules, sling backs and boots), 1 pair for each week of the year
3 Kate Spade bags: 1 all purpose tote, 1 evening bag and 1 “just for fun” bag
1 Man from this list
1 Summerhouse in the Netherlands, preferable in Rotterdam
1 Jet
1 Lifetime supply of Chanel º5



I know I won’t get many of the things on this list (at least not right now) but a girl can dream can’t she? – GD

Death Is Not An Option!

Which "Paul" Would You Rather Get It On With? Sean Paul Paul Walker I can only choose one? Damn! Current Results

NAME: Raymond Ayala aka Daddy Yankee

AGE: 28 (He’s a February Aquarius just like me! Yay!)

HEIGHT: Dunno

WEIGHT: Dunno

WHY SHOULD SUSHI BE EATEN OFF HIM? Because he’s fine and all Puerto Rican and fine and cute and fine! And did I mention he was cute and fine?

WHEN SHOULD YOU EAT SUSHI OFF HIM? Right after he rocks the mic at one of his sold out concerts but before the groupies sink their teeth into him

WHERE SHOULD YOU BE WHEN YOU EAT THE SUSHI OFF HIM? In the back seat of his draped up, drop top caddie

FROM WHAT PART OF HIS BODY SHOULD YOU EAT THE SUSHI? Those beautiful lips!

HOW SHOULD YOU EAT SUSHI OFF HIM? Like he was the last Alcapurria you were ever going to get!

PROPENSITY FOR VIOLENCE: Medium. He may be a stereotypical “Fiery Latino”.

STALKER QUOTIENT: -600 (increases exponentially if you refuse to throw ya hands in the air and wave’em like you just don’t care)

SHOULD/COULD/WOULD YOU QUIT YOUR JOB FOR HIM? You ain’t said nothing but a word! I don't mind living in Puerto Rico!

IS HE WORTH BEING PHOTOGRAPHED GIVING KARL ROVE A TONGUE BATH WHILE BEING ANALLY PROBED BY RICK SANTORUM AND SPANKED BY “SCOOTER” LIBBY? H to tha…E to tha…L to tha…L to tha…NO!

IF HE WANTED TO USE YOUR PLACE AS A SAFE HOUSE WHILE AVOIDING CAPTURE AND CERTAIN PROSECUTION BY THE FEDS FOR CARJACKING JUDGE SAMUEL ALITO AND HOLDING HIM HOSTAGE UNTIL DUBBYA WAS OUT OF OFFICE? You ain’t said nothing but a word…

WOULD YOU HELP HIM BITCH SLAP SYLVESTER STALLONE TO STOP HIM FROM MAKING ANOTHER “ROCKY” MOVIE? Sigh…of course I would! Guantanamo Bay and Abu Gharib aren’t the only place you can be tortured. Your neighborhood Loews Cineplex can feel like an auto da fé sometimes…

¡Muévalo hermoso! ¡Hágame la sensación mi amor! – GD

Oh my dear, dear readers what a weekend your beauteous Glamour Diva has had! What with the fiber optic stalking, musings on the male member and studying for final exams, Ms. GD hasn’t had a drama free moment to herself! But alas, I am here today to tell you all about it because I know you’re all a twitter and a flutter and can’t wait! Ready? Here we go…

Ponder this…
The master in the art of living makes little distinction between his work and his play, his labor and his leisure, his mind and his body, his information and his recreation, his love and his religion. He hardly knows which is which. He simply pursues his vision of excellence at whatever he does, leaving others to decide whether he is working or playing. To him he's always doing both. – James A. Michener

Erections! We got erections! Get your erections here!

So there I was, sitting in my living room, minding my own business, when I decided that I’d turn on Saturday Night Live so I could watch my current musical heartthrob, James Blunt, perform. Well I’d forgotten that you have to wait until halfway into the show to see the musical guest so I decided to just set there because I didn’t have shit else to do you know? Besides, I haven’t liked SNL since Eddie Murphy left. As far as I’m concerned, it’s been downhill from there.

So anyway, this comedian named Dane Cook was introduced as the special guest and he started his monologue, which was basically a standup routine but a very funny one indeed. I kid you not I was in hysterics! Towards the end of his set he begins a little story about the day he had his “best erection ever”. He’d just gotten up, was walking around the house, and there it was in all it’s spectacular, blood engorged glory! The punch line of the joke was that while making himself a sandwich he decided to use his penis as a catapult of sorts and launch a cashew into his mouth! Seriously, he said that on national TV dear readers.

After I picked myself up off the floor and rubbed salve into the bruises I received from all the laughing and rolling around on my hardwood floors, I took a few moments to reflect on what he’d said. No, no not the cashew part, just the erection part! [Get your minds out of the gutter you filthy, filthy (yet still very dear) readers!] The relationship men have with their cocks has always fascinated me. Men always seem to be very schizophrenic about their genitals. On the one hand, you have the penis as close, personal friend. On the other hand the penis can be a man’s worst enemy. If you mention castration to a man he winces but if you suggest that he should try to control himself he’ll tell you how his penis has a mind of it’s own.

What gives? We as women don’t seem to be so wrapped up in our clitorides. Is this because we are so used to being ignored and/or butchered by men that we’ve learned to separate ourselves from our bodies? Or is it because women don’t define their femininity by their breasts or uteri? How can we when we know that these things can be so easily taken away from us all in the name of our “health” or “safety”? I’m not down playing the very real dangers of breast and uterine cancer, or even female genital mutilation. I just find it interesting that in the 21st century women’s bodies are still treated as mysterious, walking, baby crockpots. It seems as though medical science is concentrated solely on keeping us reproductively viable and when we are no longer able to bear offspring then it’s “Out With Her Uterus”! I know that if men were affected by cancer in the same way, that is to say forced to choose between certain death and life without reproductive organs or genitals, female genital mutilation would finally be outlawed the world over and medical science would be further along in detection as well as a cure for all cancers.

But back to erections and my original point – WebMD defines erections thusly:

Physical and/or mental stimulation cause nerves in the brain to send chemical messages to nerves in the penis telling the penis to relax so that blood can flow freely into the penis. Once in the penis, high pressure traps the blood. This causes the penis to expand, thereby creating an erection.

If this is true then why are women so often blamed for erections? How many times have you heard, my dear female readers, and not necessarily in a joking manner, “Baby look what you’ve done to me?” I hate that shit. I am not responsible for your hard cock. No woman is responsible for your hard cock. Forget what you’ve been told gentlemen; you do in fact have control over your erection! Granted as the above snippet states, you may not have control of the initial acquisition of one but you defiantly have control over whether or not you keep it. I refuse to believe that every time a man has a stray thought and/or sees an attractive woman that it becomes some sort of out of body experience for him and he’s forced to go along with things until his spirit is permitted reentry.

And no, telling me that I’ve caused your erection does not excite me or make me feel special. Why? Because I know that almost any woman could do that for you. What excites me and makes me feel special is that my scintillating intellect, sparkling personality as well as my bodacious booty turn you on so much that you want me to ride you like the Lone Ranger rode Silver! But even more importantly is knowing that out of the hundreds of erections you’ve had during the day you’ve chosen to share this particular one with me.

So thank you Dane Cook for sharing your erection with me and the rest of the world…I bet you never knew your hard on would be responsible for such deep thought did you?

Call me…on the line, call me, call me any…anytime. Call me!

So there I was on a Friday night, doing my grocery shopping in the 8th circle of hell (also known as Wal-Mart Supercenter), minding my own business, when a man walked up to me, trying to get my attention. Now no matter what galaxyMafia says, I never think that just because a man walks up to me and tries to start a conversation that he’s interested. It just so happens that nine times out of ten he is interested!

Unfortunately for me I’m a nice person and I listened well when my sweet, southern Mama Diva was teaching me how to be a swee, southern Glamour Diva in training – no matter who walks up to you you should always smile politely and you are always respectful. Why is this lesson unfortunate you ask? It’s unfortunate because smiling and showing respect is so often confused with romantic interest in some men’s eyes. The logic goes like this: I find her attractive. She didn’t slap me; curse my mother for giving birth to me, or run away screaming when I approached her therefore she must be interested in me. Au contraire mon frère!

His name is Tejan and we works restock. He is from Sierra Leon and is thirty-seven years old. He isn’t very tall or all that cute either but he has nice eyes and a tight, muscular little body. He is also very chivalrous and walks me to my vehicle and helps me with my bags. By this point I’m thinking that it probably wouldn’t be so bad if I went out with him. I haven’t been out on a date in ions and Glamour Divas get lonely too! Also, he has white, straight teeth and can hold a decent conversation, what more could a girl ask for right? Well as it turns out a lot more but I’m getting ahead of myself!

We exchange phone numbers and he promises to call me Saturday morning after he gets off work. About thirty minutes after I got home the phone rings and guess who it is? Why Tejan of course! He says he knows he wasn’t supposed to call until Saturday but that he just couldn’t wait to speak to me again. I think this is very sweet and we talk for about fifteen minutes after which Ms. GD heads off to the land of Nod.

It is 8:30 on a Saturday morning and my phone startles me awake. I answer the phone and it is Tejan on the other end. We talk for a very long time. He is quite the raconteur and regales me with stories about his life in the United States, his family, Sierra Leon and his arduous search for a good woman. His accent is a tiny bit difficult to navigate at first but I begin to find it charming. I tell him that I’m getting sleepy again and ask if I could call him back later in the evening after I’ve finished my nap and my errands? He says yes and we draw out our goodbyes, it’s all very sweet and full of hope. And then the bottom falls out. The last words he speaks to me are the three little words no one should ever say to anyone in the first 24 hours of their meeting – I love you!

Yes you best believe it dear readers; the man told me he loved me! Love. ME! Don’t you know I hurried up and hung up that damn phone? I swear that man called me all damn day long! I had to turn the ringer off just so I could get some peace! When I checked Sunday I had twenty calls and ten messages from him. And before you say it, no it isn’t a cultural thing! This isn’t the first time a man I’ve known less than 24 hours has told me he loves me, all of them up until Saturday have been American! In fact, I seen to have a talent for finding, shall we say, overzealous suitors?

There was “Pete” the alcoholic, Vaughn, or as he called himself, “Dollar Bill Vaughn” the man that couldn’t keep a date to save his life, then Tejan and some guy named Eduardo who decide to pop up Saturday also after a two-month hiatus (we never actually went on a date. We’d make plans to “make plans” and then I wouldn’t hear from him for a few weeks).

In all this madness I’ve been able to extrapolate two reoccurring themes:
1.She ain’t got shit else to do but sit around and wait/talk for/to my ass – This has to be what these fools are thinking when they either call you all day and all night long or, in Eduardo’s case, call you after two months like you’ve been vacuum-packed waiting for their return!
2.My biological clock is ticking too damnit! – I don’t doubt that men, eventually, want to have a family and all the wonderful things that women are supposed to crave but getting a woman to marry you isn’t like buying a car. You just don’t wake up one day and head out to the woman dealership and pick up the latest model at the best price! I’d be the first to say that marriage is more of a business transaction then many of us would like to believe but this is just ridiculous. It is the height of conceit that men think they can just pop off a woman from the woman six pack and drink down her womanly goodness anytime they damn well please!

You know what really chaps my hide though? It’s knowing that if I were the aggressor I would be called a stereotypical hysterical, stalking woman! Face it, men say they like it when women are the aggressors but what they really mean is that they want a woman they already find attractive coming on to them and chasing them all over town! I just don’t understand this mentality. If Michael Phelps professed his undying love for me the moment we met and proceeded to blow up my phone all day and into the wee hours of the night, I’d still think he was a stalker. Fine as hell but still a stalker!

So now I am forced to go against everything Mama Diva has ever taught me and call both these men and tell them where to get off. Getting salty with people, contrary to popular belief, is not something I enjoy. I prefer to ignore people until they fade from my memory, which with me being an Aquarian shouldn’t take more than a few weeks. But still, it’s a choir and choirs aren’t good for my fabulous manicure!

Ponder this as well…
"Half the world is composed of idiots, the other half of people clever enough to take indecent advantage of them." – Walter Kerr

Dating is a bunch of bullshit! There, I’ve said it. So sue me! - GD

JENNIFER GARNER. . .

Now, class, see if you can follow along.
Today’s lesson: JENNIFER GARNER - HOW TO BE A SKANK HO AND STILL BE ADORED BY THE PUBLIC

Okay, she cheated on Scott Speedman with Michael Vartan. Then she cheated on Michael Vartan (whom she refused to be seen in public with – must be taking lessons from them chocolate loving white boys – you know who you are, Paul Walker!). then she kicked Michael Vartan to the edge of the driveway for Ben Affleck. Then she got Michael Vartan kicked off “Alias” because she didn’t want to do love scenes with him anymore. Talk about a bitch in sheep’s clothing! Can you say vicious, devious skank class? You can? Well, good, you say it. Because if I do, I’ll be accused of throwing stones, and we all know that good Christian girls don’t ever throw stones, right?

Okay, a few months ago, it came out that Jenny G was having a kid outta wedlock with Big Ben (and I do believe I mean that in every sense of the word. . .there’s a reason why it chimes every hour on the hour, ya know?) and she had the unmitigated cajones to be very hurt that it came out before she could tell her friends. Oh, please, Jenny. Like your friends didn’t already know you were a skank ho? Whoops. . .that wasn’t a stone in my hand, was it? Sorry, my bad. What it comes down to is this: Jennifer Garner has no right to complain about people being all up in her beeswax because. . .she’s a “white girl”!

Key points to remember:
(Each one will count for 25 points on the test!)

1) As a “white girl”, Jennifer can have a show on ABC in which she plays a tough, kick-ass white girl (now, if that ain’t living in the neighborhood of make believe, I don’t know what is! Somebody call King Friday and Lady Elaine Fairchild!) even though nobody watches the damn show and it should be taken off the air and replaced with some other more deserving, more worthy show.

2) As a “white girl”, Jennifer can show up on the covers of IN STYLE, GLAMOUR and MARIE CLARIE, and in the accompanying interviews can be referred to as, “prettier in person” and “lovely” and my all time favorite, “beautiful”. I mean, come on, I see prettier white girls down and the Big & Nasty where I toil as a cog, er, bookseller. Jenny’s got lackluster hair, pinched features and a flat ass. Ben must be having withdrawal symptoms!! After J. Lo and that booty that charmed America, I know he’s crying bitterly into his pillow at night. I love ya, Ben but alas, I can’t feel ya pain. That’s what ya get for playing it safe. . .shoulda took a cue from Bobby DeNiro!

3) As a “white girl” she can put some mean ass Jedi Mind trick on a Cadillac-driving fugga like Ben Affleck, scaring him into thinking that caramel and chocolate would be bad for his teeth! Hey Jen, Luke Skyywalker called. He wants the Force back! Not only did she get that fugga to spawn with her but, when she gave him the ball and chain, he happily clamped in around his ankle. No wonder Ben’s career is in the toilet.

Well, I suppose he could always do seminars. . .you know, How to deal with being p***y-whipped after you’ve been gelded!

Jenny, if you was Latina, or Asian or (worse) black, your ass would be on UPN and you woulda been cancelled by now!


COPYRIGHT 2005 - Allow galaxyMafia to say it one mo' time. . .she likes white girls. . .they usually show as characters in most of her books!!

OK, peep this. . .
Y'all know that life would be so much better, and people would have a lot less strife and strain if they would just ask galaxyMafia but, alas. . .

THEY AIN'T ASK ME SO. . .(Part I)

In this series, galaxyMafia will expound and extrapolate upon various topics that she was not, through no fault of her own, asked to opine or scrutnize.

Check out the photo of Leo and GiGi. . .don’t they look like they want to raise up outta that
bee-otch. . .?

Now, I suppose you could beg to differ (but, really, do ya want to go there? Ya know how much more clever I am) and say that, as a model, GiGi understands how to position her body for the most effective (dazzling, gorgeous) shot. The gal do know how to model. She’s been on more magazine covers than any other mannequin and she’s got enough chedda to keep her constipated way into the afterlife. Thus, she may have hooked Leo DiC up with a clue. But, I think they was trying to get the hell away from each other. Both of them look like they’d rather been getting a colonoscopy (without lubrication) in public instead of standing next to each other, pretending that they’re in love. It’s clear and tumultuously obvious that GiGi was doing Leo a favor by showing up as arm candy for him. See, those in the know happen to know that Leo DiC is a bit rutti, tutti, fresh ‘n fruity (go IHOP, it’s ya birthday!) and GiGi came to lend him some “straight” cred.

OK, for those of you useless romantics out there (and ya know who ya are), who actually believed that the bombshell and the Nicholson doppleganger were in the throes of a committed, passionate relationship, for those who didn’t realized that he was “acting” and she was “posing”, I’ll tell you why they broke up. . .

They didn’t have a pathetically ridiculous nickname. In this age of Bennifer, Brangelina and Vaniston and Bennifer II, a celebrity couple’s shelf life depends largely on the way their names look and sound fused together. If a couple can’t stop being two distinct, separate functioning identities with their own individual ideas, dreams, plots, plans and diabolical schemes, then truly, they don’t stand a snowballs chance in East Texas (and neither do you, pardner, if you happen to be of a certain milk chocolate persuasion. Keep yer nose clean and beware the Ford F-350!)

The contract expired. Yes, yes. . .call me anti-Cupid but, ‘tis true! When super sexy GiGi burst on the scene, Leo said, fastidiously, “Hmmm. . .let’s see, if I hook up with Gisele, then maybe those pesky gay rumors will just go away. . .? Tobey, whatdaya think, hon?” So, our plucky Leo set about to meet the Victoria’s Secret gem. Obviously, GiGi knew he was on the DL, even if he looked nothing like J.L. King, and probably politely informed him where to get off. In Portuguese. But, Leo was probably nothing if not tenacious and clever. He present GiGi with one thing that would warm her heart and melt her resolve: a contract! “Oh Leo,” GiGi probably exclaimed, in a Brazilian accent thinker than duche de leche. “You have me at ‘for consideration of’. . .!”**

Tobey Maguire. I can’t remember what movie these two charming lads stared in together (and I don’t feel like going to the ImbD website to look it up) but, when they did, something magical happened, and now the boys are like Siamese twins, inseparable!
Fer sure, Tobey was probably slightly amused by Leo’s interest in GiGi, at first, after all, Mr. Maguire can appreciate superior eye candy but, make no mistake. Tobey fancies himself coming first in his best bud’s life, and no doubt hipped GiGi to the jive. “If you know what is beneficial for you, you Brazilian whore” the “Seabuscuit” thespian probably said, “you would do good never to dare usurp my position in Leo’s life!”

Gisele’s wavering support. When asked why she went to the 2004 Oscars with Leo DiC, GiGi responded, “I figured I should go and support my man so I went there just for that reason.”. Two things wrong with this seemingly pretty picture, folks. First, if some one has to ask you why you went with your man to perhaps one of the biggest events in his squat, little life, then you know there’s a problem. If the guy’s your man and you’re down for him, the “why” should be obvious. The fact that GiGi reason’s for accompanying Leo had to be explained signal a problem. I mean, cue the Soothsayer and beware the damn Ides of March, okaaay? Second, GiGi said she “figured” she “should” go? What the fudge? If she had to “figure”, meaning she had to sit down and weigh the pros and cons, it is clear that she wasn’t all trip the light fantastic about going. Then she figured she “should” go. . .as in, I don’t want to be off up in there but, I guess I should seeing as I am still under contract and thangs!” Wonder if her arm was bruised when Leo twisted it?

**For you none legal beagles, “consideration” means money. See there, I did learn something at that evil oil and gas empire I used to toil at as a highly dispensable cog!

Alas, thou canst stick a fork in Leo and Gisele. They is done! Rumor has it Leo is chatting up that moon faced KiKi Dunst. Wonder what Jake Gilly thinks about that? On second thought, I probably don’t!

. . .she still like her Big Ben. . .

Yes. . .'tis true. In these chaotic days in which we find ourselves, where Wentworth Miller is an obsession that cannot be stopped, contained or even remotely understood, galaxyMafia must stay true to herself (even that means that no one will give a flying rat's ass about her post. . .'cause it don't mention The Pretty) and stay committed to her (recently denounced) soul mate, that Cadillac-drivin' fugga, Benny A.

Yeah, yeah. . .he's got a baby mama now and he's dragging that ball and chain behind him but, galaxyMafia still remembers the reason she was so fond of Mr. Affleck. . .

The height. . .you had me at 6"3 Ben. . .(sniff). . .you had me at 6"3. . .

AND IF YA DON'T KNOW. . .NOW YA KNOW. . .Question is, do ya care? Probably not but, anyway, without further ado about nothin', galaxyMafia presents her favorite Ben Affleck movies.

#12 - Bounce - A snooze fest staring Ben and his then squeeze Fishstick Paltrow. I don't remember much except this cheesy courtroom scene.

#11 - Paycheck - Silly movie. And probably not the way Phil Dick intended it. That's what happens when you die and your greedy, heartless family sells off all the rights to your intellectual property.

#10 - Forces of Nature - Okay, it's nearly impossible to fudge it up with "Queen of the Romantic Comedy" Sandra Bullock as your co-star but. . .our boy Ben manages to fudge it up, and how. Despite being tall and dashing, romantic comedy does not suit Ben well. . .I suppose it's because we don't buy him as a hopeless romantic. . .or, maybe the fugga can't act. . .whatever.

#9 - Armageddon - Now, I may have spelled that wrong, so sue my ass! Whatever. In this flick, Ben plays an off shore rigger in love with Bruce's Willis' daughter, played by Liv Tyler. In the end, Bruce takes Ben's place and dies for him (I ain't time to expound, you need to rent the damn movie!).

#8 - Pearl Harbor - Now, it's nearly impossible to fudge up a 100 million dollar Jerry Bruckheimer production, right? Well, it's not impossible when your name is Ben Affleck. The story is basically this - Ben fights the Japs, Ben steals best friend Josh Harnett's girl, Josh dies, Ben lives. Ben had sighed a deal for a % of the gross but, there wasn't much of a gross so. . .
Interestingly, Josh Harnett's career is in the toilet, too. Call it the curse of Pearl Harbor. See what happens when you try to fuck with the Japanese???

#7 - Changing Lanes - This was a doozy. Ben and Sam Jackson try to run each other off the damn road. It was supposed to be a cautionary tale about the horrors and sociological effects of road rage. What it really was: a black dude and a white dude caught up in some ignut shit that could have been avoided if one of them would have just used an indicator!

#6 - Jersey Girl - This is the movie Kevin Smith re-shot because Bennifer (Part I) busted up. The best part? In the movie, Ben's little girl screams, "I hate you!". Ben screams back, "I hate you too, you little shit! You and your mother ruined my life and I want it back!" Classic. So classic!

#5 - Sum of All Fears - Ben as Tom Clancy's super agent, Jack Ryan. Clancy claims Ben was the guy he had in mind when he first wrote Ryan in the early 80s. Too bad Ben was only ten years old!!!! Still, Ben speaks Russian!!

#4 - Daredevil - Ben in a red leather suit. Sounds a tad gay but, he pulls it off. This is the movie where he cheated on Jenny 1 (Jennifer Lopez) with Jenny 2 (Jennifer Garner). That fugga was gonna get a damn Jennifer if it killed him, huh?

#3 - Reindeer Games - Ben's an ex-con who pretends to be his cell mate after the cell mate is killed. . .I won't tell the plot but it's double cross, triple cross. . .and the best line? When Ben says, "I want some goddamn hot chocolate. . .and some pecan pie!". I got ya hot chocolate, honey. Pour me into a mug, sip me real slow 'cause otherwise I'll burn ya tongue, okaaay!!

#2 - Boiler Room - Ben's only on for a few minutes but he makes the most of everyone as Jim Young, a trainer for a crooked investent firm. I love it when he tells the new recruits: "If you want vacation, go be a goddamn third grade teacher! Your friends don't like it? Fuck 'em! Fuck them!"

And coming in at #1 - Chasing Amy - You've got Ben trying to convince a lesbian to love him, Ben screaming and crying like a lovesick bitch in the rain, Jason Lee as comic relief! Why, oh why haven't I bought this movie!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

galaxyMafia's

The thing I love most about being an American citizen is our right to free speech. Yes I know conservatives are trying their damnedest to dismantle the Bill of Rights but until I see them burn the United States Constitution and stomp out the flames with their shiny jackboots on the steps of The White House, I’ll continue to say what the hell I want, when I want.

Having said that, there are still times when I get the urge to tell certain people to just shut the hell up! Why you ask? Because they add absolutely nothing to our lives except fodder for water cooler chitchat…and blogs. [Ha!] Say what you will about "Brangelina", but at least they’re keeping their mouths closed. And if by some chance they do decide to open their mouths it’s only to plug their latest schlock fest of a movie (technically “acting” is considered work and part of that work is to promote your product – you!), charity work or their love of adopting ethnic children. It’s boring as hell but at least it serves a purpose and doesn’t make me bleed from the ears! If only the rest of the world would follow suit…

My current list of people whose lips I’d like to permanently zip are:

The View – Shut your cake hole! Meredith Vieira and Elisabeth Hasselbeck, the token “conservative”, don’t really bother me too much. It’s those other three wenches that make me want to cut my own head off! Joy Behar, Star Jones Reynolds and Baba Waawaaa…er; I mean Barbara Walters, are the three most obnoxious, screeching Rhesus monkeys to ever walk the face of the earth! If it isn’t Star flapping her gums about herself and her gay ass husband (Bisexual my ass!) or Joy cracking wise like a middle-aged comedian at a resort in the Catskills (Circa 1958), then it’s Barbara with that droning voice and holier than thou attitude! They never let their guests get a word in edgewise and they often insult them! They’re so caught up in their own supposed fabulousness that they’ve forgotten one important fact – THEY SUCK! The three harridans get an extra slap across the face with a flounder for good measure! Shut Up!

Lindsay Lohan and Jessica Simpson’s Fathers – Quiet you! You have Michael Lohan getting as drunk as Cooter Brown and getting his ass thrown in jail on one side and then you have Joe Simpson on the other, waxing poetic about his daughter’s breasts! While Michael could probably get his shit together with the help of intensive therapy and lots of psychotropic drugs, I fear Joe is a lost cause. When you are quoted in the media rhapsodizing about your daughter’s hot body there is really nothing more that can be down to pull you back from the precipice of hell. Let’s all push him over and be done with it I say. As for Michael, let’s check him into rehab and get the whole Lohan clan into therapy so they can begin trudging down that long, hard road to recovery and…Shutting Up!

And a special preemptive Shut The Hell Up goes out to:

Jessica Simpson/Nick Lachey – Silence! We all know why this marriage is ending; Nick’s ego can’t handle Jessica making more cheddar then he does. It takes a real man to sit back and let his wife bring home the bacon. Instead of sitting there with a sour face you could cook it maybe? If you can’t follow in the illustrious footsteps of Chad Lowe (husband of Hilary Swank) and Ryan Phillippe (husband of Reese Witherspoon) then maybe you don’t deserve to have a wife. Do you know how many men would kill to be in your place? Not only is your wife fine as hell (Just ask her father!) but she makes a shit load of money! What’s to complain about? Besides, marriage is a partnership - not a competition. Each person brings different gifts to the relationship and each person has their time to shine. So Nick, you can either swallow your pride and be supportive of your wife or you can punk out and divorce her. Whatever you do just remember that we don’t want to hear about it! Shut Up!

Shut Up! Shut Up! Shut Up!

Glamour Diva looks forward to the day when she can keep Hill Harper, of CSI:NY fame, in the manner to which he’s become accustomed. - GD

Is he cute? Well...[shrugs shoulders] he ain't pretty but he ain't ugly either. But had I known home skillet was packing all that from the neck down I'd have made more of an effort to see Cellular or The Fantastic Four...Damn! I ain't mad atcha boy...

I am so loving the way he has that trail of hair moving down...down...down his chest until it disappears I know not where. Shudder! - GD

First I must say that while I was delighted to find out that Prison Break would be back in March 2006 as opposed to May, I was extremely disappointed with Monday’s lack luster “Fall Finale”. Now I won’t say that the show wasn’t any good it’s just that after all the build up from Fox and the PB producers I expected marching bands, a three ring circus, pyrotechnics plus an all-star musical extravaganza! What I got was the usual tense, well-written episode. So I guess I wasted my money on those Depends huh?

After the show I called galazyMafia to rehash the episode (once you’ve spent four years deconstructing the media your DNA is forever altered and you are never again able to sit back and simply enjoy TV/movies) and we got to talking about Mr. Miller. As usual I began to rant about the lack of information about him and why he always looks as though he’d rather be somewhere else. I started to wonder if he is as tense, controlling and socially inept as he appears. Seriously, did you catch him on Leno? I swear he looked like he would bolt at any moment! Leno kept touching his arm and patting him; trying to get him to fucking relax!

And all the fidgeting and lent picking and the furtive looks…what was all that about? And don’t get me started on how he read that script. Granted, as a rabid fan I know all there is to know about everything he’s done so far but really now, he didn’t even try to switch things up, not even a little!

So all this wondering naturally led me to imagine what sort of person he is when he is far away from the prying eyes of…well people like me! I imagined a Wentworth that is miles away from the public persona he nurses so well. I imagined a Wentworth without borders so to speak, a Wentworth that is straight ghetto!

Come with me now on a journey into the mind of Glamour Diva as she explores The Secret Life of The Pretty – Ghetto D [Don’t worry if you don’t get the reference, ask someone who likes Master P; they’ll be able to tell you]

Ghetto Went likes music but because he’s over thirty he has a fondness for the classics. He has tender memories of his childhood back in Brooklyn, sitting at the kitchen table, doing his homework, while his Daddy plays his old Four Tops, Gladys Knight and The Pips, Isley Brothers, Aretha Franklin and James Brown LPs.

Favorite Music: Old school R&B and Hip-Hop
Maze featuring Frankie Beverly
Biz Markie
Rufus featuring Chaka Khan
Alexander O’Neil (with or without Cherrelle)
Doug E Fresh
The O’Jays
Lenny Williams
Africa Bambaataa
Stetsasonic
The Dazz Band
Teena Marie
Mtume

Ghetto Went is blessed with a very high metabolism so eating healthy has never been much of a concern. He likes comfort food; the kind his Grandma used to make, with some of his mother’s ethnic favorites thrown in for good measure.

Favorite Food: Whatever has the most fat and calories
Matzo ball soup
Rice and gravy
Homemade macaroni and cheese
Fried chicken
Fried fish
Grits and gravy
Latkes
Barbeque
Gumbo
Collard Greens
Sweet potatoes
Cornbread
Peach cobbler
Okra

Ghetto Went, when not busy sniffin’ out the cheddar for high paying, high profile acting roles, likes to tool around the city in his 2006 Escalade. His SUV has been custom fitted by West Coast Customs of MTV’s Pimp My Ride fame. His spinning, thirty inch rims don’t just spin…they have chimes in them too! But where is Ghetto Went headed in his custom SUV? Why to Glamour Diva’s house of course! He’s picking her up for a date. What will they do on their date?

Favorite Date Activities: The more ghetto the better
Red Lobster for all you can eat scrimp, er…I mean shrimp
Buying a bucket of chicken and a couple of forties then heading back to the house to watch Sports Center
Renting a few DVDs and watching them at his shorty’s house

WOW! What a hot image! Add to that cornrows done up in some interesting design, baggy jeans, Timberlands, and an Ecko hoodie and my goodness I am all a tweeter and a flutter! I can just see him pimp walking up to me with a little smile on his face. Then he leans down a bit (he’s much taller than me) and gives me a huge bear hug as he whispers in my ear, “Wassup baby? I been thinkin’ ‘bout you all damn day! You miss me love?”

Shriek! Shriek! Shriek!

But it’s just a fantasy. Sigh. Our boy is way to serious and stalwart for that…or is he?

I will…ponder…this entry tonight after I’ve showered and settled into bed with a glass of wine and a good vib…er, I mean book! – GD