Saturday, July 24, 2010

A Goddess at Sunset...

One reads with sorrow the news trickling out of the City of Angels. The indomitable lady whom dear Donna Lethal with very good reason calls Saint Zsa Zsa of Gabor does appear to be enduring a particularly horrid version of that staple of the tabloids, Sad Last Days. Her last decade or so, actually, seems to be turning into a particularly melancholy contrast to the whirlwind of glamour and silliness that preceded it, which really is just a lousy shame.

I'd rather remember her in palmier days, dripping in diamonds, teased out to there, and painted with an insouciance that seems almost Fauve, as convinced of her perfection as she is that the sun will rise in the morning (a time of day she last saw 'round about the time she may or may not have been Miss Hungary).


  1. Husband says not responding, Daughter says responding and doing fine. What the hell is going on here?

    Lethal, get out the nurses uniform - we have an undercover job for you.

  2. I'm so upset she is ending her life this way. That awful "prince." Zsa Zsa Liberation League?

  3. Can't talk, I'm infiltrating the ward disguised as a floral arrangement right now.


    Get well, Zsa Zsa!