It was July 4th, 1977. I had been attending a barbecue and fireworks show hosted by Stevie Wonder, and once I left Stevie at the burn unit I decided to go home.
My fifth wife and I had arrived home, we opened the door, and there was weddingdress_ryan, in my living room, in my wife's wedding dress, with my daughter's hamster, Mr. Scraps, wedged up his rectum in a cardboard tube. I could hear poor Mr. Scraps pleading in his little hamster language to be set free. So I called an expert to help.
It was a traumatic night for everyone. Especially Mr. Scraps, who never really recovered, emotionally that is, and a year later committed suicide by leaping into a toilet bowl with a string tied to the handle, and then he flushed himself.
Anyway, Thighsweat Alaska, do you have a question for Richard Gere?