Posted in the Toronto Sun November 11/10
Johnny Depp superfan Louise Nesbitt with her car, named Jack, and her favourite pillow. (MIKE STROBEL/Toronto Sun)
Johnny Depp’s missus has nixed his shower scene with that home-wrecking hussy, Angelina Jolie.
Vanessa Paradis, 37, feels threatened by the man-stealing tart, reports England’s The Daily Mail.
“That skank,” mutters Louise Nesbitt, baby blues flashing.
Jeez, Louise, that’s no way to talk about Angelina.
“No, I mean Vanessa.
“I like to clip out unflattering photos of her from the tabloids. She’s that, yuck, waif-y Kate Moss type.”
“You know, they’re not even married.”
Meow!
I forgot I’m talking to the one, the only, the real, the true Mrs. Depp, though Mr. Depp does not know it.
If only he could meet this laughing, blonde customs broker from Kitchener.
“Lookie here, maties,” he’d drawl, like Keith Richards on Prozac, tossing his locks. “She’s a real pearl.”
A pearl possessed.
At home, Johnny stares from her kitchen clock, her living room wall and, in charcoal, from above her dresser.
As Captain Jack Sparrow, he holds her jewellery, including a bracelet of charms from his movies,
At work, he gazes from both her monitors and reclines, shirt open, on her cubicle wall.
On his 47th birthday, June 9, she brought in a chocolate cake.
Colleagues are used to her standing up with such announcements as: “Which actor made the most money last year? Take a guess.”
Possessed, all right. Obsessed?
“Sure,” shrugs Louise, 47, a single mom. Depp’s autograph is tattooed on her right forearm. It looks a jumble, but it’s accurate. She checked beforehand.
“Better to be obsessed with Johnny Depp than with vodka or illicit drugs.”
Or with hoarding rooms-full of junk, like the twin brothers I visited a day earlier.
This is neater.
In the parking lot glowers Louise’s orangish Mitsubishi Eclipse, licence plate MRS DEPP.
“Got Depp?” wonders a window sticker. The car is named Jack.
A Depp doll bobbles on the front dash.
Friends are always buying her pictures and doodads.
Not long ago, one spotted Depp staring from an item at an adult novelty shop. Can’t tell you what. Rhymes with lock king.
Nooo! Really? You going to buy it?
“As soon as I can get to the store. Though I don’t know how a guy would feel about putting it on.”
At least it’s not Brad Pitt. That’d be real intimidating.
Louise glances at her Pirates of the Caribbean watch as we head for coffee.
At 3 p.m., she gets her daily Depp Alert from Google.
Customers and co-workers know to leave her be for a while.
Last January, the office was hushed by shock and sympathy. Johnny dead? No, except on Twitter.
“I knew it was a hoax,” says Louise.
Wednesday’s Depp Alert includes word of his planned film version of the cultish old TV series Dark Shadows.
But the shower scene in The Tourist is hotter.
The Mail says Vanessa pressured Johnny, who finally told producers to axe the sex because it cheapened the flick.
“I can see him doing that,” says Louise. “I mean, I know him.”
So tell me. What do you see in this guy? Aside from the island in the Bahamas and billion-dollar pecs.
“He marches to his own drummer. He values his children. He doesn’t try to impress — and that’s what impresses me most.”
Love him?
“Sure, you could say that. I’m devoted to him. I’m loyal.”
From afar. She’s never laid eyes on the weird, scruffy, dark-eyed dude. She’s written to Oprah and Ellen, hoping for an introduction, as they sometimes do on their shows.
But when she heard Depp might be at the Toronto International Film Festival, she chickened out.
“I was afraid of what I might do,” she winks.
“If I ever see Johnny Depp, I’ll ask, can I lick him?”
Better hurry, Louise.
Or Angelina will get her licks in first.
Johnny Depp superfan Louise Nesbitt with her car, named Jack, and her favourite pillow. (MIKE STROBEL/Toronto Sun)
Johnny Depp’s missus has nixed his shower scene with that home-wrecking hussy, Angelina Jolie.
Vanessa Paradis, 37, feels threatened by the man-stealing tart, reports England’s The Daily Mail.
“That skank,” mutters Louise Nesbitt, baby blues flashing.
Jeez, Louise, that’s no way to talk about Angelina.
“No, I mean Vanessa.
“I like to clip out unflattering photos of her from the tabloids. She’s that, yuck, waif-y Kate Moss type.”
“You know, they’re not even married.”
Meow!
I forgot I’m talking to the one, the only, the real, the true Mrs. Depp, though Mr. Depp does not know it.
If only he could meet this laughing, blonde customs broker from Kitchener.
“Lookie here, maties,” he’d drawl, like Keith Richards on Prozac, tossing his locks. “She’s a real pearl.”
A pearl possessed.
At home, Johnny stares from her kitchen clock, her living room wall and, in charcoal, from above her dresser.
As Captain Jack Sparrow, he holds her jewellery, including a bracelet of charms from his movies,
At work, he gazes from both her monitors and reclines, shirt open, on her cubicle wall.
On his 47th birthday, June 9, she brought in a chocolate cake.
Colleagues are used to her standing up with such announcements as: “Which actor made the most money last year? Take a guess.”
Possessed, all right. Obsessed?
“Sure,” shrugs Louise, 47, a single mom. Depp’s autograph is tattooed on her right forearm. It looks a jumble, but it’s accurate. She checked beforehand.
“Better to be obsessed with Johnny Depp than with vodka or illicit drugs.”
Or with hoarding rooms-full of junk, like the twin brothers I visited a day earlier.
This is neater.
In the parking lot glowers Louise’s orangish Mitsubishi Eclipse, licence plate MRS DEPP.
“Got Depp?” wonders a window sticker. The car is named Jack.
A Depp doll bobbles on the front dash.
Friends are always buying her pictures and doodads.
Not long ago, one spotted Depp staring from an item at an adult novelty shop. Can’t tell you what. Rhymes with lock king.
Nooo! Really? You going to buy it?
“As soon as I can get to the store. Though I don’t know how a guy would feel about putting it on.”
At least it’s not Brad Pitt. That’d be real intimidating.
Louise glances at her Pirates of the Caribbean watch as we head for coffee.
At 3 p.m., she gets her daily Depp Alert from Google.
Customers and co-workers know to leave her be for a while.
Last January, the office was hushed by shock and sympathy. Johnny dead? No, except on Twitter.
“I knew it was a hoax,” says Louise.
Wednesday’s Depp Alert includes word of his planned film version of the cultish old TV series Dark Shadows.
But the shower scene in The Tourist is hotter.
The Mail says Vanessa pressured Johnny, who finally told producers to axe the sex because it cheapened the flick.
“I can see him doing that,” says Louise. “I mean, I know him.”
So tell me. What do you see in this guy? Aside from the island in the Bahamas and billion-dollar pecs.
“He marches to his own drummer. He values his children. He doesn’t try to impress — and that’s what impresses me most.”
Love him?
“Sure, you could say that. I’m devoted to him. I’m loyal.”
From afar. She’s never laid eyes on the weird, scruffy, dark-eyed dude. She’s written to Oprah and Ellen, hoping for an introduction, as they sometimes do on their shows.
But when she heard Depp might be at the Toronto International Film Festival, she chickened out.
“I was afraid of what I might do,” she winks.
“If I ever see Johnny Depp, I’ll ask, can I lick him?”
Better hurry, Louise.
Or Angelina will get her licks in first.