Was it really only 40 years ago that Cory Feldman, Cory Haim, Corey Stratton and myself were the toast of Hollywood? Back then we were known as the 4 Cory's until the Enquirer uncovered the fact that my name wasn't actually Cory Phlegm or that Corey Stratton used an 'e' in his name. That's when everything changed.
The other two Cory's took it really hard and turned to drugs, while Stratton posed for Playboy. I can still remember the front page blurb of that issue. 'Turn to page 35 to see the world's largest vagina'. It was horrible. Corey was devastated and moved to Canada to get away from the media circus that ensued. Last I heard he'd shaved his head and become a crazed blogger, but who knows?
I, myself, donned a Pith helmet and headed to Africa for a 4 month Safari. That was always one of my dreams. Not the Safari, of course, but getting to wear a Pith Helmet. Seriously, where can you wear a Pith Helmet and NOT look stupid but Africa. Soooooo, Africa is where I went. And for the record, I looked fabulous. Could have lived without all the poverty while I tried to eat, or the horribly seasoned Chateau Briand, but I looked fabulous and I think you'll agree, that's worth a little sacrifice.
Africa changed me. Or, more accurately, my muscled guide, Manbooboo changed me. I won't go into detail, but I couldn't sit for 3 weeks after Africa. Or stop smiling for 6. Wooo!
Anyway, on my return I discovered how far the other 3 Cory's had fallen. It was heartbreaking and I very nearly stopped attending all those glittering Hollywood functions - THAT'S how depressed I was. Fortunately it turned out I looked fabulous depressed so it all worked out - I guess God really does open a window when he closes a door (and not just when he farts).
Stratton, I'd learned, had given up on competing in Triathalons and had moved in with a Baked Cheezie Chef of ill repute. He became a hermit or a kermit, or a Dermot Mulroney fan - honestly I wasn't really listening when I was told what happened to him, but I'm sure it was bad. But it was nothing compared to what happened to the other two.
One day they called me. They'd just wrapped 'Dream A Little Dream' and asked me to come to the screening. So I watched. Yikes! When the credits had finished and the lights came on I was almost tempted to grab the needle from Feldman's arm and jab it into my own, but I resisted. Instead I told them that they were Oscar bound (which I should have been for THAT performance!) and left it at that. I had my chauffeur drop them at Michael Jackson's house where, ironically, they really WERE bound, and I went on to a fabulous party for Liza Minnelli and her lesbian husband.
As they fell futher into the abyss of drug abuse and Corey began his illicit love affair with recliners, I sailed on. Movies, hit TV shows, concerts, Broadway - I watched them all. It was a heady time and I soon lost track of my old pals. I had no idea they were all self destructing. I guess I was too tied up in my training to make the Olympic Trampoline Team to notice.
Long story short I succeeded in everything I did (except for getting cut from the Trampoline Team for failing the urine test - should've studied harder) and they, unfortunately, failed at everything. Except for Crack. Gotta hand it to 'em, they really did that well. At least the two in Hollywood did, Corey just kept trying to smoke his backside. Ended up in the hospital with a ruptured disk. So sad, so very, sad. Even the 2 Cory's stopped taking his calls around this time.
Fast forward to a couple weeks and several goat placenta injections ago. I was just waking up in the 10,000 sq ft master bedroom of my Swiss Chalet (you'll love their chicken) when one of my manservants informed me that Cory Haim had died. My first thought was "NO! NO! These down pillows are the wrong feather count!" But then I remembered who Cory was (he was in Stand By Me, yes? Wait, the fat one or the cute one? Oh well, ONE of them died and that's all that matters) and I wept inconsolably into my rich and opulent feather bed. After taking some beautiful pictures of me weeping, my manservant dutifully sent the photos off to the media and I got up and had a sumptuous brunch before calling the Peachland Institute for the Criminally Insane to leave a brief (and sad) message for Stratton. Then I knew I had to stay strong. I couldn't let this defeat me. I couldn't let this overshadow my successes through the years. No. I was going shopping with my neighbor Shania Twain, come hell or high water! FYI we found these really kicky boots that were to die for! I ended up buying them cause they looked WAY better on me than on her. Suck it bitch!
But I digress. Good bye dear old friend, whichever one you are. You will be remembered for ever. Which reminds me, I haven't worn those boots yet! Well, tonight's the night. And though the 4 Cory's are gone, I'm gonna dedicate my 'strut' to Cory Feldman, gone too soon. Haim? Oh, right. Cory Haim, gone too soon. But regardless of who I lost, these boots were made for walking. I'll post pics later!