Partying like it's 1999!

I don't want to get too immersed in the entertainment world, for fear we'll be labeled as one of those blogs that posts pictures of Britney and Paris in various knickerless states (or so we've heard), but for the sake of our old, presumably incarcerated friend Jorge Carlito Viejo, it was interesting to see that George Clooney has been hitting the town, and the limoncellos, pretty hard with Danny DeVito.

This would have to be the strangest couple to be seen in the city of fake lights since Drew Barrymore wed Tom Green. (I know what you're thinking. "Waitaminute," you're saying; "This comparison is all wrong. Green and Barrymore were married, whereas Devito and Clooney are just platonic pals!" You are assuming of course that Green and Barrymore ever touched each other.)

The most alarming part of the CNN article where Clooney describes the party-harty attitude of these two ageing hipsters, is where Clooney says that all he can remember of the "brutal" night is that he and DeVito were doing shots of limoncello. Not knowing the two gentlemen, I can't say that there will be mobile phone shots of the two dressed heavily in leather and chains, or in a Japanese bathhouse with a randy sumo wrestler, but heaven knows, I'd want to know exactly where I was all night if I were someone whose photo would easily circumnavigate the globe a 1000 million times were I to suddenly turn up in something less than my customary Armani. (I hope they didn't spend much time in the loo, that's all I can add to the subject.) Such pics would possibly be the only thing more embarrassing to Clooney than his short stint on The Facts of Life (if only for the hair).

Anyway, it does get one to thinking what this odd couple would be up to on such a friendly, liqueur-fueled rat pack adventure. Here's a suggested itinerary:

5:00 p.m. - Wake up (Clooney - DeVito being older has already been up since 4:45)

6:00 p.m. - Meet Danny DeVito at Bob's Big Boy for some Big Boy Famous Belgian Waffles and a couple of sides of Brawny Lad.

8:45 p.m. - Hit the clubs. Drink up all the limoncello in the San Fernando Valley, except Rhea's stash in the cellar (3rd level, just past the moat).

10:15 p.m. - Stand on the sidewalk and mock paparazzi by threatening to moon them, then throw empty bottles at them as they prepare to snap pictures. Refer to the National Enquirer photographer as Sheila, even though her name is Gladys.

12:30 a.m. - Ditch paparazzi by spreading a rumour that Britney Spears just pulled into a club down the street in a Hummer, and wearing a mini skirt. Try not to get trampled.

12:45 a.m. - Loudly denounce George W. Bush while "draining the monsters" into the Gloriosas at The Beverly Hills Hotel and Bungalows.

12:55 a.m. - Loudly ask just what the hell a "bungalow" is. Is it drug paraphenalia for short people? Have Danny get really upset over this suggestion.

1:25 a.m. - Crash the stage at The House of Blues for a duet of Slim Pickens favourites.

1:30 a.m. - Loudly denounce House of Blues bouncers fom street. Threaten to take up the issue with co-owner Dan Ackroyd.

1:45 a.m. - Nap on bench on Sunset Boulevard. Drugs: Geritol (DeVito only). Do NOT befriend winos (remind Danny what happened last time).

2:30 a.m. - Prank phone call Brad Pitt pretending to be Jennifer Aniston wanting to get back together.

3:30 a.m. - Dinner: more limoncellos and a side of tofu.

4:30 a.m. - Bluff way into Cedars-Sinai Medical Center pretending to be Dr. Doug Ross and his assistant Igor. Deliver baby and/or perform vasectomy. Pick up nurse (Clooney only).

6:30 a.m. - T.P. Julia Roberts Malibu mansion.

9:00 a.m. - Fall asleep on the Haunted Mansion ride in Disneyland. Have butlers pick us up indiscreetly (Porsches, not the Lamborghinis).

10:00 a.m. - Retire for evening, morning, whatever.