Fran Drescher (and Her Obnoxious Laugh)

May 21, 2012

I have an overwhelming feeling that this post is going to be filled with a lot of judgment.

On your part and mine.

The first celebrity crush I can vividly remember having was on Princess Leia.

Not Carrie Fisher, mind you. It was Princess Leia.

The robe. The buns. The weird hair twists on the side of her head. (HEY-OH! I’m a trickster.)

Anyway, that was around the time I first saw Star Wars, around the age of 7. Soon after that, though, my tastes began to change.

In a way, they devolved somewhat. For a little bit, at least.

I can remember watching a show called The Nanny on Nick-at-Nite with my parents. The show was about a rich man with rich kids who hired a down-to-earth, somewhat ditsy Jersey Girl to watch after the kids and secretly get into a variety of high-jinks around the estate.

Pretty simple story line. After all, it was the early ’90s. We didn’t need none of them vampires and zombie death machines in our TV. No way, no how.

We was just plain ol’ simple folk.

Now… what does The Nanny have to do with crushes on Princess Leia? Glad I prodded you until you asked.

Soon after watching the show, I started to develop a bit of a thing for leading lady, Fran Drescher. She had a long, slender body, legs for days and HUGE…

hair.

She didn’t have the prettiest face, but neither did Leia and that never stopped me from lusting after her.

She was the top candidate for newest unobtainable celebrity crush.

Then, she opened her mouth.

Good God. It sounded like a constipated goose was being sexed and strangled at the same time. Not that I would know anything about that… ::shifty eyes::

Seriously. You could grate fresh Parmesan cheese with that lady’s voice. It’s almost as if God Himself looked down upon Fran and, knowing that He had already cursed her with a Jersey accent, decided in His infinite wisdom to damn her even further by forcing her garbled vomit of Jersey words directly through her clamped, crusted nasal cavities.

And just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, just when my developing brain and genitals began weeping bitter tears of acid at the atrocity of the voice, the fated laugh occurred.

It was enough the split the earth open beneath me and conjure a fiery-hot enema of blistering magma from the bowels of Hell itself.

The pillar of brimstone entered my body forcefully and blazed a trail straight to my soul, taking out my heart, my lungs and my stomach full of Lunchables and Ecto Cooler with it.

The body on screen had brought the hopes (and other parts) up so quickly, and the voice dashed the boner-dreams violently against the tragic rocks of vocal reality.

Luckily, Leia was still around to pick up the pieces.

Help me, Leia Organa. You’re my pre-pubescent boner’s only hope.

ghjr

——————————————————————————–

This is not included in the 500 word limit.

Thanks to Ashton Cutright for always giving me good challenges. They usually allow me to rip into famous people that I don’t much care for.

As an added side note: Fran Drescher has still not done any nude scenes.

Which is a bummer. I’m sure I’d be able to find it online.

And trust me, I’d be thanking God for the mute button on my laptop.

Truly ghjr

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