In the new Entertainment Weekly, there is a section that mentions Clark Gables Spanish estate,in Beverly Hills is for sale. This is where Morrissey lives, right? Is he leaving the States?

< Is he leaving the States?

Oh please let him be moving Canada. PLEASE!!

*crosses fingers, toes and anything else that's crossable*

which was 'designed' by Clark Gable

> Oh please let him be moving Canada. PLEASE!!

> *crosses fingers, toes and anything else that's crossable*

Clarke was married to Carole Lombard

> In the new Entertainment Weekly, there is a section that mentions Clark
> Gables Spanish estate,in Beverly Hills is for sale. This is where
> Morrissey lives, right? Is he leaving the States?

awww....

well maybe he made so much from the tour that he's now moving into Aaron Spelling's mansion!

> In the new Entertainment Weekly, there is a section that mentions Clark
> Gables Spanish estate,in Beverly Hills is for sale. This is where
> Morrissey lives, right? Is he leaving the States?

Who knows. With all the people standing around outside, who could blame him. His house is in the city of West Hollywood though. Not Beverly Hills. There is a difference.

I don't really care where he lives, as long as he lives, so on that note....... But I am sure Clark Gable had more than just a few houses, so who knows really. Somebody drive by and see if there is a real estate sign out front. But for the love of God, don't get out of the car and scream his name or something.

"I often think that if people really liked me and understood me and appreciated me, they'd ring once and go away. But the people who persist and believe me this happens everyday, well I don't really have anything to say to those people. To me that's not adoration, it's complete rudeness. How would you feel if I stood outside your garden gate and called your name all day?"

As for the last sentence, well, err.......................

> which was 'designed' by Clark Gable

"according to his specifications."

> "I often think that if people really liked me and understood me and
> appreciated me, they'd ring once and go away. But the people who persist
> and believe me this happens everyday, well I don't really have anything to
> say to those people. To me that's not adoration, it's complete rudeness.
> How would you feel if I stood outside your garden gate and called your
> name all day?"

> As for the last sentence, well, err.......................

yes that is really rude. he should come INSIDE and call my name.....

http://arcane.morrissey-solo.com/moz/interviews/1999/times3.jpg

HE's going to have to take down the Picture of the guy with the nipple ring before his house is shown to any prospective buyers.

God -- I'd kill for that fireplace!

> God -- I'd kill for that fireplace!

Yeah, and the computer right there to check out Morrissey-solo.com (and post comments under his screen name Mr. Improper- Bwahahaha)

> Yeah, and the computer right there to check out Morrissey-solo.com (and
> post comments under his screen name Mr. Improper- Bwahahaha)

Wow, his place is as beautiful as he is. AWW.

He must also hide the 10 gallon drum of K-Y Jelly in the bedroom. If he puts an old sheet over it it will look like a sweet little table
that has a 10 gallon drum of KY hiding underneath it.

> HE's going to have to take down the Picture of the guy with the nipple
> ring before his house is shown to any prospective buyers.

this picture deserves a fantasy.

cant you just imagine him writhing around naked on that lovely upholstery,
scattering cushions,
tongue hanging out,
his hands gripping the chair back,
as he grinds back and forth,
back and forth,
back and forth,
beads of sweat running down his chest,
running down his stomach,
running down that path of hair,
that leads all the way from his navel,
down to his...

oh i wish i was his cleaning lady!

Jesus pillow.... I'm all moist now!

GD

> cant you just imagine him writhing around naked on that lovely upholstery,
> scattering cushions,
> tongue hanging out,
> his hands gripping the chair back,
> as he grinds back and forth,
> back and forth,
> back and forth,
> beads of sweat running down his chest,
> running down his stomach,
> running down that path of hair,
> that leads all the way from his navel,
> down to his...

> oh i wish i was his cleaning lady!

black silk dressing gown,
a tray with tea for two.
''oh come on,'' sighs morrissey, ''are you getting up these stairs or what?''
licking his lips:
''i have french fancies you know,
do you like pink or brown ones?
darling,
i have both for you tonight,''
he turns around,
casts off his robe in one fluid gesture,
whispering black silk,
floating to your feet,
as you watch his comely white buttocks,
ascend the stairs and disappear into the darkness...
waiting...
waiting only for you...

you pick it up,
smooth and cool,
and climb the steps,
to claim your mancunian fancy...

i wonder if he ever lights up a big log fire and lounges on the floor in front of it,
drinking cocoa,
and eating toast,
in his denim gear.
gazing up at the big naked steve mc queen poster,
light and shadow flickering across his brow,
wishing he could be so manly,
his hands moving to his belt as his appreciation deepens,
arching his body in the heat of the flames,
neck and head thrown back,
as he undoes his jeans,
straining at the waistband of his calvin kleins,
he feels himself,
alone,
and enjoys the firelight,
as it plays on his pale skin
and caressing fingers grasp his stiffening...

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!
BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!

[phone]

oh.
hello mother,
im just erm.....
yes,
i have eaten dinner...
look, ive got to go,
im...
writing...
writing,
yes,
thats what im doing.
good bye mummy.

*sigh*

but i guess he just potters around in his undies eating icecream and crying over spilt milk.
oh yes,
and he probably likes to slide down his bannisters in the nude wearing a childs tu-tu

oh the joys of a fading star!

> "according to his specifications."
I saw Carole Lombards house on Haunted Hollywood and its haunted by her ghost. Her ghost is seen on the staircase going to the second floor.

> I saw Carole Lombards house on Haunted Hollywood and its haunted by her
> ghost. Her ghost is seen on the staircase going to the second floor.

ah, there you see? morrissey isn't going to sell that place.

PMSL god pillow, I'm laughing yet turned on at the same time! You make these tales so realistic it's frightening!!!

> black silk dressing gown,
> a tray with tea for two.
> ''oh come on,'' sighs morrissey, ''are you getting up these stairs or
> what?''
> licking his lips:
> ''i have french fancies you know,
> do you like pink or brown ones?
> darling,
> i have both for you tonight,''
> he turns around,
> casts off his robe in one fluid gesture,
> whispering black silk,
> floating to your feet,
> as you watch his comely white buttocks,
> ascend the stairs and disappear into the darkness...
> waiting...
> waiting only for you...

> you pick it up,
> smooth and cool,
> and climb the steps,
> to claim your mancunian fancy...

> ah, there you see? morrissey isn't going to sell that place.
Did I miss something? Morrissey likes haunted houses?