Essay:The Throbbing Gullet of Super Stardom

First published by Ace McWicked in REMIX MAGAZINE QUARTERLY NZ - Summer Edition 2007, though was expanded greatly for the magazine.

The Throbbing Gullet of Super Stardom The closer we got, the more my excitement was building. I could see that this moment was what it was all about. My finest hour. My head swam with lofty appeal as I approached the ramp. We had been queuing for over an hour for this one brief minute. Originally I was not too interested in this event unfolding before me. After a day of work and a terrible tube ride during which I was subjected to the suspicious stares of Germanic looking geriatric I was feeling rather annoyed at the world. But nonetheless I found myself on the ramp, handing my book to one of the burley members of the security entourage to get it signed by the author. Cameras flashed, people ohhed and ahhhhed and there was a shroud of awe permeating through the crowds. My partner in this escapade was swooning, almost tipsy, with love. Her eyes betrayed a star struck excitement with pupils wide, the same look as the first rush during an ecstasy session. Only one man can produce this kind of reaction in a woman. We were about to meet that man. Earlier, when we were further back in line, he strolled down towards us complaining to the masses that all this book signing was tiring and looking every bit as plastic as he does on T.V. He stopped where we were standing and gazed into the eyes of my friend. She couldn’t speak and fidgeted as her eyes meet his. He flashed his mega-watt grin and kept moving. A minute later my girlfriend came running towards me, eyes as wide as saucers and a deep red blush spreading over her face. Clutching my arm she panted breathlessly into my ear, “I touched him, oh my god I touched him, he came past and I just grabbed him, Oh my!” This sort of excitement was catching and I clutched my book close, eagerly awaiting my turn to converse with the most watched T.V star in history. This gentleman is of course, David Hasselhoff. Currently, Hasselhoff is doing a world wide book promotion for his new autobiography ‘Making Waves’. An absolutely dreadful book I might add. Littered with references of talking to god, saving small children from death and even inducing a road accident victim out of their coma long enough to be thanked for being such a good hero and role model. Interspersed between the sentences about his deity like abilities is the self-flagellating persona that has defined Hasselhoff to a generation and he truly believes in his cult like status. How can you not want to meet a man like this? This walking Ken-Doll with greying hair and a spray on tan who appeared, from the moment he walked on stage and draped himself across the bonnet of Kit – The Knightrider Car, to be somewhat drunk on his own sense of omnipotence and whisky. It was a grand moment to be sure and there I was, within 2 feet of him. No longer clutching book but waiting for it to be placed in his hands. My friend was ahead of me; she was staring and unconsciously straightening her skirt. "So how did you find out I was going to be here? Was it on the T.V or the radio?" Hasselhoff asked before looking up and beaming that smile. "It was on the internet" was all she could muster but steadied her gaze at his charming smile as he moved to the next book, mine. I stood in front of him and soaked up the rays emitting from his open shirt, basking in his reflected glory. This is what life is about I thought to myself. "And I found out you were here from her" I said as I motioned to my friend who was stepping over the crowd of fans who had been reduced to melted ice cream by Hasselhoffs mere presence in front of the stage and I noticed she was being careful not to get the gelatinous goo over her high heels. "Is that you’re girlfriend?" He asked, looking down after my departing friend, "She’s cute!" "No, no: I said ‘my girlfriend is over there’ and I pointed in her direction. Her hands clasped over her heart, completely red in the face and grinning from ear to ear. "She’s just my friend" I continued "But she’s the girlfriend of my girlfriends’ twin brother" "Oh" said Hasselhoff again and a look of confusion came upon his face. I repeated my sentence but he was still clueless as to my relationship between my girlfriend and my recently departed friend. I sensed unease and said "don’t worry, you’ll figure it out" and Hasselhoff slammed my book to the table, raised his arms high in the air, whipped his head back and in a booming tone he yelled, "I’ll figure it out on the way to Leeds!" then slammed his hands into mine, laughed loudly and pumped me with a good and proper handshake. My mind was reeling and I barely felt his grasp. For a second, as he yelled with his head right back, I could see right down his throat. Straight past the tonsils. All the way to his stomach. Oh my, I thought. Oh my.

Now, not even 24 hours later, my mind is still rolling over the details witnessed down the throat of David Hasselhoff. Even as my tube to work careened through the dark tunnels of London Underground and whilst a slightly Nordic looking old woman surveyed me with her a suspicious glance the whole way, my mind was elsewhere. I was soaking up the up the California sun and watching David Hasselhoff sped into the water in his Knightrider car in order to save a drowning, blonde beauty from a fate worse than death.