You don’t need me anymore!

People should know to leave me alone. Not only am I wanted, dangerous, and awe-inspiring, I don’t really care for the throngs of people who crowd around me everywhere I go. I’m tired of paying for security to be around anytime I must leave home or my car.

Yes, I’m encouraged that I have finally reached an age where I’m no longer considered a teen idol. My life was so embarrassing back then, having to run and dodge from teeny-boppers as best I could, and then try to find somewhere to hide from them. I felt like a fox fleeing from fox hounds.

I was doing this even late into my thirties. Until Bobby Sherman and David Cassidy came along and took the cover shots from me. Where I once adorned the fronts and centerfolds of Teen, Seventeen, and those other teeny-bopper spreads. After three interviews with People, a Newsweek cover (or two), I was done!

After the embarrassing interview with Playboy, where they suggested I was drowning or suffocating little girls for pleasure, I chose to flatly turn down a Playgirl photoshoot, I fired my agent, and hung up my public life. I hoped for good!

XXXX- I believed, too, that when I came out of the closet without a celebrity ‘reveal’ party, as seems the rage these days, I might be allowed to step from the celebrity limelight quietly, gracefully, and with little fanfare or notice. True, that somewhat occurred; it was partially the case, but now, after more than a hundred and fifty years of constant fame and recognition, what may have been mostly the factor was time.

And the truth is, I don’t really like people. I never have. I’m not like them. I am happy with what time I can spend alone with my cat. Reyn. Time living and languishing, reveling in my choice, cherishing my new identity. I must still weed out those who may still idolize me, and apologize for certain public errors which have scared off or hurt many more. Still, there is the simple annoyance of being, the inevitability of being me, reluctantly signing another fucxing autogragh. Enough already!

My partner and I have purchased a huge ranch in Montana, where anyone can carry a gun and shoot anyone they want to, and for no reason at all! Sure, it’s cold as hell most of the time, but when it’s nice, it’s really nice. And we can go anywhere we like, anytime. We can pretend to like people whom we don’t care for at all, invite them to the ranch for a few days, then shoot them. Dead.

Those are the perks of being a one-time celebrity with hundreds of contacts and thousands of acres in Wyoming. It’s given me reason, no! It’s given me purpose towards a new life. To switch parties, become a Republican, and garner short-term relationships. Friends to invite to our ranch for a weekend or a week. We can fly them in from Casper to our little airstrip. They can get away from it all, forever. A thousand acres is a lot of dirt.

Think of it in old anime circles, they call it a trap.

-dp-

(30) 10-30-25/ 294/410 Revised 12-3-25