Boxing Russell Crowe
Posted: January 26th, 2009 | Author: Mark | Filed under: News | Tags: big ol tire fire, Brendon Walsh, Farrah Fawcett, Jack Lemmon, Mark Stewart, Russell Crowe | 1 Comment »
My landlord, wearing "Golden Shower" from designer Ralph Lauren
When I interviewed Russell Crowe for Rolling Stone in December of 1999, I had just moved into Farrah Fawcett’s poolhouse for the summer. Farrah would come out to the poolhouse and smear paint all over the walls and me, using her naked body as a brush. She wouldn’t have intercourse with me, but she would rub her paint-covered breasts and ass on my dick until I ejaculated. Still, she wouldn’t even kiss me until Russell Crowe insisted on a more intimate setting for our interview.
Lemmon, in a rare moment of levity
A surly Russell Crowe knocked on my poolhouse door at two o’clock in the afternoon. He had already been drinking heavily over lunch at Cisco’s with Jack Lemmon and Brendon Walsh. He was irritated because he had heard from his friend Randy–who had heard from his little sister’s best’s friend’s uncle–that I did not care for him. And that was all I had said. I was asked by a colleague if I was excited about meeting Russell, and I said, “I don’t care for him.” So he was pissed about that. What a baby.
Walsh, in a rare moment of sobriety
Meanwhile, Farrah was at Home Depot stocking up on paint from the Ralph Lauren collection for what she had been calling “Fucking Russell Crowe Day”.
In the poolhouse, I’m asking Russell about his movies and what’s it like to beat up strangers. He’s answering me, but he’s all pissy and giving bullshit answers. So, I started getting more confrontational with him, trying to get his aggro tendencies to flare up. I was asking him questions like, “Yes or no: does your mom know you’re gay?” and “Have you ever had Prince Albert in the can?”
Farrah's poolhouse-papasan not shown
Russell finally boiled over. He lept from his beanbag and pushed my papasan over backwards, then kicked me several times before he shouted, “This answering your question, cockfern?”
I answered, “Hell no, bitch! Get me out of this bamboo deathtrap so we can fight like men instead of this pussy ambush and sissy kicking bullshit.” He pulled me up and was apologizing just as Farrah and the Home Depot guy arrived with about a thousand gallons of paint and the Domino’s guy rang the doorbell.
Chad enjoys videogames and fingering his girlfriend
We stripped down to our boxer briefs and fought three rounds of regulation boxing in my living room. Steve the Home Depot guy refereed and kept things fair. Farrah cheered for Russell and walked around with those big numbers to announce what round was coming up–stark naked, except for a fresh coat of “Seductive Scarlet”. The kid from Domino’s kept ringing the doorbell once per minute, so we kept time with it and boxed until I knocked Russell out in the third round.
No rabbit punches!
As Steve grabbed my arm and declared me the winner, Farrah started rubbing her paint-slathered tits on Russell’s face, trying to revive him, while she blew me. Seeing the direction things were headed, Steve politely excused himself with the old “I think I left the refrigerator running” line. I gave him twenty bucks to pay the Domino’s guy. He left the change on my kitchen table and the pizza in the oven–on “Warm”. Nice guy.
You are a disgusting genius.