He was lucky.
Lucky to be considered a star despite starring in one bomb after another. Lucky to be considered hot even with all that gray body hair. Lucky to be employable even though he was still giving the same performance he'd given for the last 23 years. Lucky to have an agent still working on his own coming out process and not too interested in the details of the Clooney's own life. Lucky to be the son of a beauty pageant queen and a numbat.
And lucky to be a mutant diurnal. Life would be so much more difficult if he were nocturnal, just look at how the press hounded Nick Jonas.
Nothing like the taste of termites and, so sue him, the Clooney loved it best packed in an anal cavity. Savory snack.
It required a lot of work. He'd have to locate the vessel, of course.
And the marination process could take days so he'd usually lure a 20-year-old male back to his place a week or two ahead of his planned snack.
"Daddy wants to show you his Ocean's 11."
That was his general pick up line.
The greyer he got, the more box office flops he had, the less that line worked.
So he had to put a little more enthusiasm into his pick ups and what was once accomplished in a wink, nod and crook of his finger now might take 45 minutes to seal the deal.
Well Tony Randall warned him life was never easy for an aging Hollywood stud. So true. So true.
Once he got the young males back to his lair, it wasn't too difficult to get them into the sling. He'd use a ball gag quickly, pack them with termites and some lemon sours to cut the sweetness. Let them stew for a week to nine days, and then go to town.
After his expandable tongue finished devouring every last termite, he didn't have to kill the men. He didn't have to.
He got the expandable tongue from his numbat father. But his killing instinct came from his beauty queen mother. After killing them, he'd toss the corpses into the pig stye out back and allow his pot-bellied pig to feed on the evidence.
And no one was any wiser.
Yet.
