Gary Busey died today.**(NO, HE DID NOT. I just figured that would be more of a "grabber" opening for a post about that very much (?) alive man's offspring than the actual truth that a twitpic made me think of said spawn.)
Somewhere between ten and two hundred years ago, I lived out in Santa Monica (California...near the ocean). A stone's throw (literally--my roommates and I even had a girl do it one time) from my apartment stood a "Vons" grocery store on the corner of Wilshire Boulevard and Euclid Avenue that I visited regularly. One sunny summer afternoon, I found myself walking into that Vons at the very same moment that a gentleman and his lady-friend were walking out. I stepped aside to let them pass...at which point I all but shit my pants:
That "gentleman" was no gentleman! He was the guy who had tried to kill my beloved Michael J. Fox (and, slightly more recently, my appreciated Jodie Foster)!
But I let him go, anyway, 'cause he was super-scary.
Wonder what he's up to these days.
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