Well, folks: it appears that Hugh finally realized he's not merely Hollyweird's most bankable leading man. He's also a ROCK STAR. We at Unauthorized fail to comprehend how Hugh snapped. We always felt that anchors in Mr. Grant's life guaranteed he would weather undelimited access to swanky nightclubs with more grace than our home-grown stars. Why? Well, since you asked: He's British. His gr'friend and manager, Elizabeth Hurley, loves him so much, she made him her top-priority product before Estee Lauder made her theirs. He's older than R. Phoenix, J. Depp and K. Cobain and should know better. He's got dimples. He'd been developing a fantastic amount of character from his villianization by the British press, who periodically declare him "The Man We Hate the Most" when not trashing Emma Thompson and Kenneth Branaugh. Despite our failure to empathize, however, we do admit awe at Hugh's ability to alienate his fans. His Incident involved an African-American femme du soir. Unfortunately, no Hollywood types had cast Hugh with a Ru-Paulesque diva in a Pretty Woman reprise. We were dreadfully unprepared. His conduct spawned comments like, "Classy, Hugh!" from pale, suburban girls on the street from whom the press sought analysis. To conclude, we admire Mr. Grant's kahunas in flaunting the shopping mall morals of our nation. We also kneel by Hugh's virtual side and mourn his loss of higher authorities (leaving a vacuum for a British man, who by reputation believes in several authorities). We hope the purchase of a comfortable Sealy mattress and four-poster frame eases his domestic woes. We hope that Hurley's remuneration approaches or surpasses that of the chick who married Rick Okasik, because she deserves it. We hope Hurley's facility in promoting her lover surpasses Nancy Reagan's, because Hugh deserves it. And we hope if Hugh ventures into the wilds of Pennsylvania and opts to reexamine society's strictures with a commoner, he'll consider the TUHGP outpost as a possible truck stop.

I put together this page because I'm sick of everyone else having their niche of togetherness, linking them to their own psychotic subset of the world and banishing their existential birthrights of isolation. The Britney Spears Fan Page, for instance (featuring photos and descriptions of six moveable plastic Britney dolls), made me jealous. But it was Church of the Gerbil that really fired my pistons and made this page possible. Unfortunately, I don't know Hugh's birthday or even the number and variety of gerbils he might own, so don't think I expect complete acknowledgement as a Fan.

Erm. Are you still reading this crap? I mean ... this is the disclaimer. Okay, let's make this useful. If you have any photos of Mr. Grant lying around, send them to me, electronically or analogly.           slacker@hughophiles.net I won't ask what you were doing with them. And I might even put them here for the world to ignore. By the way, if you notice any suspicious new chocolate stains on images you sent, I had nothing to do with it. And no, I won't take photos of Andie unless she's being squashed under Gerard Depardieu or something similarly unpleasant. BTW, thank you to the AOL angel who sent me Baby Hugh and the sound file. You know who you are.