Call Her Mrs. Brittingtons!

It really has been a bad week for my dear friend Britney Spears! And yesterday it culminated with her losing custody to K-Fed? Who could have predicted this outcome? In a gesture of solidarity with the victim, I arrived in L.A. last night to fill the void in Britney's arms. It all would have gone swimmingly if she hadn't kept handing me off to her assistant so she could strip naked. I say! No one needs to see that!!! Later when she was driving me to the DMV so she could apply for a driver's licence, she forgot to put me in a cat carrier. I, of course, grew frantic and removed a large chunk of extensions with my claws. She reciprocated by force feeding me cheetos until my fur turned the colour of her skin.

Egad! Someone spike her frappuccino with Effexor!
Mr. Mittingtons

Mittingtons Traverses Time and Space!!!

Many of my old chums are constantly asking how I manage to be in both New York and Los Angeles simultaneously. The answer is a quite simple matter of quantum physics. You see, a few years back, while shopping at a jumble sale in Baraboo, Wisconsin, I came across a life-sized replica of a London Police Box. The retailer, a surly broad with mother of pearl lipstick and nineteen chins, informed me that she would not accept any less than $5.00 for the thing. I say! People have lost that rubbish-ridding spirit of yesteryear. I stuck to my guns at $2.00 and waited around until dusk. When the thing still hadn't sold the woman furled her furry lips and spat out her chaw with disgust. "Take it! Just take it, you filthy thing!"

I must assume that that her hip width had prohibited her from ever stepping inside of the thing. Once I got it home I opened the door to reveal a large, space-ship-like room. This was no Police Box! It was a genuine Tardis!!! Now I use it to traverse the globe in mere nano-seconds. No wonder I am in such demand!!!

Horace hears a Dr. Who

Rumer Has It...

I say! Since when did I become Hollywood's favorite escort? I was in the middle of a particularly vicious verb conjugation exercise Wednesday night when I received a frazzled phone call from the world's favorite fugly, Rumer Willis. It seems she had woken up from a robuttussin and blondisima fuelled night only to realize she had no one to grace her arm for the next night's festivities. I hesitatingly accepted her invitation. With Rumer, one is never sure where they will be dragged: the grand opening of the new In-And-Out in El Segundo or the table nearest the toilet at Les Deux. Always a grab bag.

To tell you the truth I have no idea where we ended up as I spent the whole time in the bathroom trying to pull my newly blonde mop from my head, strand by strand. Rumer, it seems, loves to match her date. I gave her Jay Leno's number, perhaps they would like to touch chins across the table at Cut.

Now blonde and balding,
Mittingtons

My New Look

My dear old chums, I know you have become enamored with my sublime way of dress, but lately my fashion choices have been making my slightly despondent. A tweed blazer again? Why not just stab me in the eye with a dirty syringe!?! And so it was just my luck this weekend that I happened across the photos from the new Sex and the City shoot. A new look was born! (that glowing mane is courtesy of Paris Hilton's new line of hair extensions and the deft weaving work of Rubio my Ecuadorian hair guru).

Hoping the honking hibiscus will score me an influx of brunch invites,
Horace

Kiefer's DUI makes Fox Frantic!

Deary Me! When the LAPD spied someone making an illegal u-turn late last night they were positive it was Britney Spears. Imagine their surprise when the tinted window rolled down to reveal Jack Bauer himself! Hopefully, for all involved, he was not panty-less.

As a result, yours truly, Mr. Mittingtons the third, received a frantic phone call from Fox execs this morning. Seems the network is worried about its smash hit 24 suffering the blow of what is Mr. Sutherland's 4th DUI charge. I say! If I am not chosen for the part of Jack Bauer I may just move back to L.A. and open a cab company. Obviously there is no competition!

3:42 pm
Lycee Francaise Computer Lab
Special Operative Mittingtons

Lycee Installs Special Side Door for Mittingtons!

Egad, those prying pappys are at it again. Their desperate daily storming of the Lycee Francais has ruffled quite a few feathers on the Upper East Side. In an effort to stave off the press, mon ecole has installed a special door just for yours truly! It even has the benefit of being located in the back alley where a nearby Sbarros illegally dumps its left over dough balls. The pre-school rat buffet is simply marvelous, although I have been forced to carry my own selection of condiments in my school satchel. I draw the line at three-day-old garlic sauce.

Ah mon amis! Mon tete simply swells with knowledge at this venerable institution. And all this time I thought I loathed the French but for their baking!

Au Revoir and Adieu
Monsieur Mittingtons

Mittingtons Mourns Marcel Marceau

May I please request a moment of silence for the master of eternal silence, Marcel Marceau. I don't think I've ever told you about my days on the miming circuit. I say! The world of quiet clownery is a cutthroat enterprise. You really have to watch your back or the competition will sneak up behind you and encase you in an invisible box making one's masterful miming appear as classless clown cliche!

Marcel was different. Marcel was all about camaraderie amongst busking buffoons. He could never quite understand why even mimes abhor mimes.

God Bless.

Mr. Mittingtons Attendez L'Ecole!

Bonjour mes amis et mon old chaps! Ah yes, it has been a harrowing summer vacation indeed. A non-stop "shit show" as the young people call it. I mean really!!! Who in their right mind plans a yachting trip with a cat?!? And then it was yours truly who got the beats when he almost clawed Zahara's eyes out when she tried to insist he go inner-tubing off the side of the boat. In a bonnet no less!

Never fear old chums! Mumsies dropped me off at the prestigious Lycee Francais in Manhattan yesterday. I have never been so happy, encased within the gleaming walls of academia! It is sure to be a glorious year!
Au Revoir,
Horace Mittingtons le Third

Mr. Mittingtons Returns... tomorrow!

Old Chaps and Chums! It is I, Horace Mittingtons! I am right sorry about the lack of gossip blowing through this blog of late! You see, Mumsies, ever worried I might be corrupted by the media, has locked me in a sensory deprivation tank for most of the week. I say! Actually, I can't say, or see, or hear or anything. I have delivered this particular message by tapping morse code on the side of the tank with one outstretched claw... luckily, my dear friend Mr. Pookingtons was by my side and able to transcribe.

Woof to you all,
Mr. Pookingtons

I Wanna Zig a Zig Ahhhhh!

My absolute favorite gaggle of girls is back! Although not quite girls anymore, more like women in their twilight years... but try to see past the wrinkles. Yes the Spice Girls are going back on tour! I would be sitting front row from LA to Buenos Aires were it not for the phone call I received this morning. You see, Melanie Brown a.k.a. Scary Spice, is a little worried she might not be able to get Eddie Murphy to babysit! So I have been called in as her understudy! What a jolly good treat!
Practicing my cartwheels,
Horace Mittingtons the Third