The Wilson Brothers

I was just casually sitting at my desk and staring unfocussedly (that's not a word, is it?) at my little poster for 'The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou' when I remembered something I'd read in a magazine the other day. It was an interview with Hugh Hefner's three wives (there's just no point biting this one, is there?) and at one point the interviewer asks one of the lovely ladies which celebrities are regulars at the mansion parties - they reply 'Owen and Luke Wilson'.



What the fuck!
How disappointing.
I realise that I live in a Wes Anderson world where Owen is Dignan and Luke looks hot in a headband but I'm a weeny bit sad that they're hollywood harlots. I mean, I can imagine wanting to go to a Playboy mansion once, if only to take the piss out of Charlie Sheen try-hards and cruise through the ghetto, festooned with flotation babes, BUT to keep going back.
Ah dear, I'm all disillusioned. I hope Jason Bateman doesn't let me down.