It was nice but now it's gone...
У меня большая иррациональная слабость к признаниям в любви. ) Чем более своеобразны они, тем более мне сносит крышу. Стоит ли говорить, что нелепейшая мания величия Билла, выразившаяся для разнообразия в романтической манере, в мгновение ока расплавила мой мозг? Боже, он неподражаем! Уильям Шатнер - человек, который так далеко заплыл в океаны абсурда, что на другом их краю он нашел новую землю сияющего гения.
"Clearly, the man loves me. Can't get enough of me. He hugs. He kisses, It's embarrassing. Through thirty-some-odd years of stealing his bike, and stealing his lunch, and prank phone-calling, and gag gifts, and ear jokes, and "dull" jokes, and "ugly" jokes, and various bodliy-function gags far too gruesome to elucidate, Leonard's still crazy about me. Don't let the curmudgeonly, vaguely annoyed tone fool you--Leonard's always like that. It's nothing personal. It's really just the tragic aftereffects of prolonged ear-glue sniffing.
Scratch through Leonard's hard, crusty shell, and you'll find... an ever harder, crustier soul. Age can do that thing to a man... but keep diggin', and somewhere amid the Nimoy innards, you'll find that underneath all of the belly-aching, Leonard secretly loves my relentless teasing and practical jokes. He lives for it. He's never actually told me that; in fact, he often says the exact opposite, but through it all, I know the truth. After three decades of abuse, where lesser man would have by now grown tired of my absolutely brilliant little gags, Leonard hangs in there. Oh sure, he shouts at me, swears, pounds his fists into my flesh, fingerpoints, name-calls, threatens to sue, flares his nostrils, and rolls his eyes every time I ambush him with yet another brilliantly hilarious trick, but that's just his way of signaling me that he's savoring every minute of it... I think. In fact, whenever he's really enjoying my comedic gems, there's a little vein just over his left eyebrow that sort of rises up out of his forehead and starts pulsating. It's the cutest thing.
Leonard and I actually spend quite a bit of time together. Though both of us have now apparently deplaned the U.S.S. Enterprise for the last time, we do appear together at the occasional convention. We make personal appearances, we visit socially, and of course I'm often the guy who bails him out of jail. In a nutshell, one way or another, Leonard's always following me around, which is creepy, but makes perfect sense. I mean, it's basic human psychology. People are always attracted to peers who are just slightly smarter than themselves, a bit handsomer, a little funnier, a bit more interesting, a little more talented; so it should come as no surprise that Leonard and I have remained joined at the hip since Day One.
Time out. Sitting here at the keyboard, I am now in the middle of drawing in three deep, cleansing breaths in the hope that they'll exorcise the "Leonard-roasting" demons out of my fingertips. I can't help it. I sit here trying to type nice things about the guy, but my fingers are really twisted... no matter how hard I signal them to poke out compliments, they just keep tormenting their poor, green-blooded victim. Third breath completed now, time to move on.
I love Leonard. Period. He's probably the best friend I ever made in this business. I'm thrilled to know him, and I consider myself truly lucky that somehow, over the years, he's become the Lucy to my Ricky, the Barney Rubble to my Fred Flinstone, the Laverne to my Shirley. Like it or not, in the mind's eye of multiple generations of Americans, we are now, and will forever remain, a strange, inseparable, undivorceable "couple". I couldn't hope to find a smarter, funnier, more interesting Siamese twin. Still, that doesn't mean I can't occasionally torture him." (c) "Get A Life!" by William Shatner
черт знает чей, сомнительный перевод, - на случай, если однажды я окончательно забуду английский
"Clearly, the man loves me. Can't get enough of me. He hugs. He kisses, It's embarrassing. Through thirty-some-odd years of stealing his bike, and stealing his lunch, and prank phone-calling, and gag gifts, and ear jokes, and "dull" jokes, and "ugly" jokes, and various bodliy-function gags far too gruesome to elucidate, Leonard's still crazy about me. Don't let the curmudgeonly, vaguely annoyed tone fool you--Leonard's always like that. It's nothing personal. It's really just the tragic aftereffects of prolonged ear-glue sniffing.
Scratch through Leonard's hard, crusty shell, and you'll find... an ever harder, crustier soul. Age can do that thing to a man... but keep diggin', and somewhere amid the Nimoy innards, you'll find that underneath all of the belly-aching, Leonard secretly loves my relentless teasing and practical jokes. He lives for it. He's never actually told me that; in fact, he often says the exact opposite, but through it all, I know the truth. After three decades of abuse, where lesser man would have by now grown tired of my absolutely brilliant little gags, Leonard hangs in there. Oh sure, he shouts at me, swears, pounds his fists into my flesh, fingerpoints, name-calls, threatens to sue, flares his nostrils, and rolls his eyes every time I ambush him with yet another brilliantly hilarious trick, but that's just his way of signaling me that he's savoring every minute of it... I think. In fact, whenever he's really enjoying my comedic gems, there's a little vein just over his left eyebrow that sort of rises up out of his forehead and starts pulsating. It's the cutest thing.
Leonard and I actually spend quite a bit of time together. Though both of us have now apparently deplaned the U.S.S. Enterprise for the last time, we do appear together at the occasional convention. We make personal appearances, we visit socially, and of course I'm often the guy who bails him out of jail. In a nutshell, one way or another, Leonard's always following me around, which is creepy, but makes perfect sense. I mean, it's basic human psychology. People are always attracted to peers who are just slightly smarter than themselves, a bit handsomer, a little funnier, a bit more interesting, a little more talented; so it should come as no surprise that Leonard and I have remained joined at the hip since Day One.
Time out. Sitting here at the keyboard, I am now in the middle of drawing in three deep, cleansing breaths in the hope that they'll exorcise the "Leonard-roasting" demons out of my fingertips. I can't help it. I sit here trying to type nice things about the guy, but my fingers are really twisted... no matter how hard I signal them to poke out compliments, they just keep tormenting their poor, green-blooded victim. Third breath completed now, time to move on.
I love Leonard. Period. He's probably the best friend I ever made in this business. I'm thrilled to know him, and I consider myself truly lucky that somehow, over the years, he's become the Lucy to my Ricky, the Barney Rubble to my Fred Flinstone, the Laverne to my Shirley. Like it or not, in the mind's eye of multiple generations of Americans, we are now, and will forever remain, a strange, inseparable, undivorceable "couple". I couldn't hope to find a smarter, funnier, more interesting Siamese twin. Still, that doesn't mean I can't occasionally torture him." (c) "Get A Life!" by William Shatner
черт знает чей, сомнительный перевод, - на случай, если однажды я окончательно забуду английский