The great NPH was lounging at a party. His party. Hundreds of people milled the fantastic lot, shoving themselves into corners and networking with all the greats. And yet, somehow, Harris had kept a bubble of space about his lounge chair. Perhaps it was because he was in his dark study with sunglasses and a tanning board on his lap that people were hesitant to approach him.
Everyone knows that if you throw all of his roles together–Barney and Dr. Horrible specifically–you get a mastermind of such magnitudes you aren’t certain he wouldn’t single-handedly annihilate the world.
Despite this, I sat down beside him and started fiddling with the books on his shelf. “You ought to do that on your yacht.” I told him, pulling down a toy figurine of said boat. He lifted his sunglasses and eyed the toy, and brought it into his lap.
He turned it over in his hands, and nodded thoughtfully, “I imagine so.”
“I imagine you should have thrown this party on your yacht.”
A beginning of a smile pulled his face. A flash of genius wiggling into his eyes. “Yes, yes, yes.” He shot his gaze at me excitedly. “Three beautiful, bikini clad women to surround Miss Poppy on the yacht–YES.”
I wasn’t entirely sure how to take what he had told me. I was a little bewildered on what to do with three large breasted, hipped, bikini clad women while on a celebrity yacht, when I looked up to find said celebrity had vanished. Read the rest of this page »