Alec Baldwin. My life. My love. My supersized stud muffin. Why did this happen?
One minute you’re riding your bicycle the wrong way on a one-way street, just like any true New Yorker — hey, traffic laws are for sissies, girls and the gay men that you loathe, aren’t they, Alec? Dear, sweet Alec.
But the next thing we know, you’re a cursing, gelatinous mess decked out in two pairs of handcuffs and a snarl. The indignity! The cuffs were slapped on your wrists by — get this — an itty-bitty female cop!
Oh, Alec.
While people see you as a bully and a narcissistic, whiny brat, they clearly don’t understand you as I do. They don’t know how you suffer for your art, for your ultra-liberal politics, for your God-given right to pick on lesser human beings.
Oh, Alec.
The cops had the gall to treat you just like anyone else. I know you’re not just anybody. You’re Alec Baldwin! Former star of TV’s “30 Rock,’’ once a pitchman for Capitol One Bank, and always a gay-basher extraordinaire!
And they didn’t recognize you. You!
I guess you just had to do it. You cursed at the cops who had the nerve to ask you for identification. Don’t they know who you are? “I don’t have ID. Just give me the f–king summons!”
You were hauled off to a station house, where you self-righteously complained to a desk supervisor, “How old are these officers?” You followed that with the battle cry of the toxic celeb — “They don’t even know who I am?”
You were charged with riding the wrong way on a one-way street and with disorderly conduct — because you created a sputtering sideshow for people gathering on the street. Hey, some folks would pay good money to see that kind of performance! Then you were released, and allowed to ride home on your little bike.
Oh, Alec. I can understand why you later wielded Twitter like a club.
“New York City is a mismanaged carnival of stupidity that is desperate for revenue and anxious to criminalize behavior once thought benign,” you wrote. You moaned about photographers staking out your East Village apartment. Imagine! “ONCE AGAIN terrified my daughter and nearly hit her with a camera.”
“The police did nothing,” you added.
Alec. I understand why you tweeted in June that a British journalist was a “toxic little queen’’ for writing, erroneously, that your wife, Hilaria, was tweeting during the funeral of actor James Gandolfini. You were trying to help the guy! You just had to physically attack a photographer who had the temerity to shoot you walking on a public street with Hilaria, now 30, days after she gave birth to your daughter Carmen. You were never charged with a crime.
And, of course, you called a photographer a “c–k-sucking fag’’ in November. But you claimed that you called him a fathead! For that, your MSNBC talk show, “Up Late with Alec Baldwin,’’ was canceled?
And it’s been far too long since you stalked me on Twitter.
“Andrea Peyser, you are as bad a writer as you are filled with self-hatred,’’ Alec wrote in one glorious tweet. He really cares!
But now who will love Alec? I guess I’m not that brave anymore. He’s all yours, Hilaria.