There are only a few celebrities I have touched where I feared for my life. Rapper Ice-T was one of them (for obvious reasons). Boy George was another (for even more obvious reasons). But the one that truly made me wish Marc Jacobs made a brocade Kevlar vest was rapper 50 Cent.
I happened upon Mr. Cent at a Rolling Stone party in Hollywood. The room was filled with previous touch victims, such as then entire cast of Glee, who apparently still haven’t caught wind that their show is a hit and they shouldn’t show up to a Hollywood party in the first hour (page 56 of the Celebrity Handbook). Half Dollar showed up fashionably late, as one does when you are a multi-platinum rapper and Vitamin Water spokesperson (I know! That totally makes sense, because rapping makes you so thirsty). Upon entering the party, 5 Pesos was quickly whisked to a VIP booth (Thankfully not the one that R&B singer Brandy was gyrating on the back of like a Walgreen’s hair extension on a roller coaster).
The first thing you notice about .34 Euros is that he is actually a rather small guy, kinda like a bee-stung Gary Coleman. Now, we all know that 30 Rubles was shot nine times and lived to tell about it, so even though he was Lilliputian and probably leaked when he drank a 64 ounce root beer Slurpee , I was a little scared to get near him. His menacing Nell Carter-sized bodyguard made me even more intimidated to go in for a high quality Celebrity Touch™.
Since we all know that I am not one to back away from a challenge or a Hostess Honey Bun, I was willing to risk my life to get that touch. I quickly (OK, it wasn’t so quick, as I was kinda busy staring at Melissa Rivers’ living PhotoShop face) moved in for the touch. What I needed to do was get into the booth behind where 30 Pence was seated, currently occupied by Lee Dewyze (yeah, I didn’t know who he was either until someone reminded me that he won the ninth season of American Idol, which has basically given him the same celebrity status as the Progressive Insurance lady and the same Bumpit hair style).
I waited until the puffy-faced Lee was distracted by a tired looking waitress with a 45-day-old dye job and cracked nail polish carrying sad-looking skewered meat products. That’s when I backed up and kinda flopped into the other side of the rounded booth – Oops! Did I just trip over your exceptionally low celebrity status and fall into your booth, Lee??? Sorry!!!
Now that I had pulled Lee’s attention away from his glossy chicken teriyaki stick, he gave me that look typically reserved by my mother during Christmas: “You’re not wanted here!” So, I gathered myself and attempted to rise from the splayed position I currently occupied in the plush velvet booth. I strategically reached up to grasp the back seat cushion and in doing so, casually touched 38 Yen on his muscle-bound left shoulder. Celebrity Touch™ secured and I wasn’t riddled by bullets! I was however riddled as to why a burly security guard resembling a sober Zach Galifianakis was, at that moment, asking me to please remove myself from the VIP section. No matter, I had my 50 Cent in my pocket and Melissa River’s face needed further exploration.