Those are pictures from today of pictures that I got from the Internet, from the 1998 movie "Celebrity."
Leonardo DiCaprio has never met me. He does not know what any part of me smells like; hopefully, I'll never have to be in the same building that he's in, so he never will.
The idea that I have lived in a debauched way compared to the people who were the impetus and excuse for my being socially tortured, professionally stymied and in danger of being raped and killed EVERY DAY for more than half a decade is:
A) Insane
B) Disgusting
C) Misogynist to an unbelievable degree
D) All of the above
I wrote that quiz in multiple choice form because it seems to me to be the format that most movie stars probably are the most familiar with from their childhood and teenage years of being tutored on-set for their GEDs before they abandoned their formal educations. No, this is not a nice thing for me to say. Yes, I'm too tired and angry to care.
The number of people with whom he has had sex with far exceeds the number of people with whom I have had sex. If the people with whom he slept didn't gossip viciously about him afterward, it's probably because it would have ended their careers for them to treat him that way. Either they never could have gotten hired again or he would have sued them.
Anything bad that anyone from my past wants to say about me is something that the conglomerate CAN'T WAIT to hear and accepts and publicizes immediately, no questions asked.
Mr. DiCaprio's promiscuity, so much vaster than mine, does not seem to have caused the world not to take him seriously when he wants to talk about something other than sex, or even when all he wants to talk about is sex. Nobody seems to think that he is defined for the rest of his life by sexual slurs casually thrown at him by people who asked him out and to whom he said "No."
Copyright, with noted exceptions, L. Kochman, December 15, 2015 @ 6:42 p.m.
