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. Last Updated: 07/27/2016

GLOBAL EYE




"Sex with Cindy Crawford!"


Down, boy. This is not a special limited one-time offer from The Moscow Times for new subscribers (although the powers-that-be might want to consider the idea). No, it's actually the title of a television documentary to be broadcast on the Disney-owned ABC Network this fall, The Associated Press reports.


Announcing the show last week, Crawford said the documentary will be a hard-hitting examination of how American media uses sexuality to manipulate consumers, enticing them with a barrage of lowdown, sneaky, underhanded tricks -- such as naming hard-hitting documentaries things like "Sex with Cindy Crawford."


"We want ratings," said the exquisitely oblivious Ms. Crawford. The title "kills two birds with one stone. It talks about what we're talking about, but it's also a bit provocative."


She was asked if the documentary's grim truths had caused her to question her own ubiquitous role in the unhealthy intercourse between commerce and desire.


The answer, in short, was no. "I can't single-handedly make the revolution," she said, a sigh of profound Weltschmerz, settling on her amply exposed cleavage.


Bad Words


We turn now to a subject with which the Global Eye is thoroughly familiar (as opposed to sex with Cindy Crawford): bad writing.


For the third straight year, the Eye has inexplicably been bested in the annual Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest for atrocious writing. The honors this year went to San Francisco lawyer Bob Perry, who drew on his disdain for food critics to craft the worst possible opening sentence to an imaginary novel, AP reports. To wit:


"The corpse exuded the irresistible aroma of a piquant, ancho chili glaze enticingly enhanced with a hint of fresh cilantro as it lay before him, coyly garnished by a garland of variegated radicchio and carmelized onions, and impishly drizzled with glistening rivulets of vintage balsamic vinegar and roasted garlic oil; yes, as he surveyed the body of the slain food critic slumped on the floor of the cozy, but nearly empty bistro, a quick inventory of his senses told corpulent Inspector Moreau that this was, in all likelihood, an inside job."


Perry said he was inspired by local food critics. "Being a restaurant critic must be an entry-level position at the local newspapers," he said, rather ungallantly. "I just think it's funny to see a food critic write a 20-word sentence about boiled rice or iceberg lettuce. They always seem to be diving for their thesauruses."


My, what a ridiculous j'accuse of us plain-speaking journalists. Perry is obviously lacking mens sana in corpore sano, nicht war?


Home Front


The would-be ruler of an ethnically pure France seems to be having some trouble establishing domestic order in his own home. National Front f?hrer Jean-Marie ("Pepe Le Pew") Le Pen was publicly rejected by his wife, Jany, this week, after he proposed making her head of the party for next spring's European elections, The Daily Telegraph reports.


Le Pen was stripped of his civil rights two years ago for whupping up on an opponent in a local election. But his wife said she refuses to be his stalking horse in a battle for party primacy. She said she was "astonished" at the proposal, "because he's never spoken to me of this. I learned it from the newspapers. I am a housewife and have no interest in politics."


The blustery Le Pen is fighting to keep control of the party out of the hands of his main rival, the far more telegenic Bruno Meagret -- whose own wife stood in for him when he was barred from running for mayor of Vitrolles. She won -- and has yet to set foot in city hall.


Mme. Le Pen is unbowed. "I can always say 'no' to my husband, he's not a thug," she said, all evidence to the contrary. "But it's certain we'll have some terrible arguments about it."


Le Pen is used to that, however; his first wife, Pierrette, divorced him after 25 years, saying he had beaten her, betrayed her and locked her up. Which is, of course, a precis of his official policy on immigrants.


Queen's Gambit


Mohamed Al Fayed, fresh from his recent pub-crawl through the London tabloids, took his Dodi-Di conspiracy stories to the United States this week, retailing for the ever-credulous American masses his belief that unnamed "people" murdered the princess and her playboy-toy, AP reports.


Fayed was given a national television soapbox by NBC News, a once-serious -- even somber -- journalistic enterprise now given over largely to scandal and spectacle. There, the London-based merchant prince expounded his conviction that Dodi and Di were killed in order to prevent their marriage, which would have given the heir to the British throne an Egyptian stepfather.


However, he denied that he was making his unsubstantiated claims merely to, say, get on national television and make himself more important. "I don't need any more stature," the well-packed magnate said. "I don't look for stature because I'm just an ordinary human being, working class."


Reports that Ken Starr has scheduled a meeting with Fayed to discuss the possible involvement of Bill Clinton in Diana's murder could not be confirmed at presstime. But you'll probably see it on NBC any day now.


Break a Leg


Here's a thought. If you are going to play loosey-goosey with the truth and make false injury claims in order to draw government disability benefits, don't appear on nationally televised soap operas, glowing with rude health.


That's precisely what a part-time Yorkshire actress did last week, appearing in a walk-on part in the soap "Emmerdale." Unfortunately, she walked on without the crutches she told the Yorkshire Benefits Agency she desperately needed for ambulation, The Telegraph reports (while, in an uncharacteristic display of concern over privacy, neglecting to give her name).


Of course, if "Emmerdale" doesn't want to re-hire the duplicitous damsel, her penchant for deception may yet stand her in good stead: We hear Jean-Marie Le Pen is shopping for a new wife who'll front the National Front for him.