Will someone please make sure that Scarlett Johansson takes her vitamins

It’s been a tough few days for me. First, Bea Arthur died. Then, yesterday, Dom DeLuise passed away. Two of my most favourite, most reliable and – yes – most overused pop-culture references: gone, just like that. It’s enough to make a man sit back and wonder whether Charlie Sheen has been in for a checkup lately. One can only cope with so much loss at one time.

After a suitable period of mourning (and believe me, I held genuine affection and appreciation for both actors, with whom I grew up), it will be time to move on and somehow, in some way, attempt to replace these titans, who have been staples of my limited repertoire almost since Lindsay Lohan was a promiscuous gleam coming on to everyone who looked in her mother’s eye.

Who shall take the place of Bea Arthur and Dom DeLuise in my columns? Nominations are now open.

For the role long occupied by Bea Arthur, I need an ancient actress, preferably of manly physical stature, that no one would – given the option – currently wish to see naked. This will allow me to reference “a naked so-and-so.” (Upon reflection, perhaps “limited” doesn’t quite do justice to the scope of my repertoire.)

To replace Dom DeLuise, I need a fat guy. But not just a fat guy – I need a fat guy of faded stardom, a fat guy in need of career resuscitation. But, again, mostly I need a fat guy.  This will allow me, the next time North Korea allegedly stages a nuclear test, to say that everyone agrees there’s been a seismic event, but that research continues into whether it was the result of an earthquake, conventional explosives or so-and-so going to get the mail.

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