Here I go again: another damn Vice ‘bout yet another limp-wristed Hollywood hubby. And I use the antigay terminology only because it’s deserved in this sitch.
Fey Ray had it all. Beautiful woman. Gorgeous friends, hangers-on and so forth—all the accompanying high-life accoutrements that strangely just seem to come to heterosexual couples playing house, so rarely the gay ones, save Ellen ‘n’ Portia.
Fey-stud also had such nice teeth (I know, I have a thing with sparkling molars and incisors, so please forgive me). But he also had a penchant for little boys—nothing underage, mind you—something his gal was actually okay with!
Still. It wasn’t enough. A once-in-a-while little fagola fling (even with his baby’s blessings) just wasn’t enough for F.R., so he just had to go and bust things up with his gorgeous honey, so stupid-ola. I say dumbo time ‘cause Fey actually is one of those rare creatures who is bisexual. So many folks say they are just to get more headlines (or cash). Why does Anne Heche come to mind right about now? Never mind, back to Fey.
So, Mr. R. had a regular dude on the side. F.R.’s gal knew all along—and she still tried to keep the relationship going okay between her and her man (what some women will put up with!). Didn’t work. Fey needed his tumescent nooky time too much.
But get this: As soon as Fey busted up with his gal, he also busted up with his guy. Didn’t want people thinking he was gay, or anything.
Oy vey. I think my straight girlfriends are correct: Men—and not just the hetero ones—are dumber than Tom Cruise in love.