It’s been two years since Rob Lowe has been on the site, but then again, that’s his own fault for not masturbating in front of the help more. Anyway, he’s sharing excerpts of his autobiography with Vanity Fair which include poignant puns about his friendship with Charlie Sheen (Actual quote: “We competed to see who could play harder, then show up for work and still kick ass… The verdict: Charlie by a nose.”) and working with a young, upstart by the name of Tom Cruise:
“He’s open, friendly, funny, and has an almost robotic, bloodless focus and an intensity that I’ve never encountered before.” In New York for the second round of auditions, Lowe finds that Cruise is “already showing traits that will make him famous; he’s zeroed in like a laser.” “We check into the Plaza Hotel. I am taken aback at the luxury and spectacle of the lobby…. The front desk tells us we will be sharing rooms,” Lowe writes of the actors’ arrival in the Big Apple. “In a flash, Cruise is on the phone to his agent, Paula Wagner. ‘Paula, they are making us share,’ he says…. The rest of us are staggering around like happy goofs….. ‘O.K., then. Thank you very much,’ he says like a 50-year-old businessman getting off the phone with his stockbroker. ‘Paula says it’s fine.’”
Lowe remembers hanging out with Cruise and the other actors in a gymnasium on set, when Patrick Swayze—who, Lowe writes, “makes Tom Cruise look lobotomized”—“begins to teach us a standing backflip…. When it comes to flips, I’m a pussy. I don’t flip. I don’t even dive into a pool—straight cannonball for me…. No, thanks. Cruise, not surprisingly, is all over it. ‘How about this!’ he says, almost pulling it off without even being spotted. He wipes out, but tries it again immediately.”
Rob would later go on to describe Patrick Swayze in almost mythical, homoerotic detail which, honestly, is the only way you can describe such a man. You don’t just say, “Oh, yeah, Patrick Swayze was great to work with.” You’re literally compelled to write, “His rock hard washboard abs hypnotized me into a heightened state of consciousness. At one point, I was certain his flowing hair was the very hair of Samson himself, golden like the erection I was now showing him in the afternoon light. It was so erect, I barely noticed when he roundhouse’d me into the side of barn severing my spine. I love you, Patrick…”
Phew. Did it get hot in here all of a sudden? *removes shirt, wrings out sweat* Watch out for the steam. It just pours right off of me. “Sexualitis,” the doctors call it.
Photos: Getty, Splash News
