Where is Love?

Miss Bender is not typically one to deal in celebrity gossip, but should not let this particular AOL headline pass.

Mark Lester says he is sure he is Paris Jackson's biological father.

If I could rub my hands together right now, I would.

Let's start at the beginning, because Mark Lester as Oliver Twist is a completely haunted child. Arm in arm with Jack Wild, future king of Puppet Land, speaking their other-worldy British accents, they were bound to run into Michael Jackson somewhere where Portobello meets the Yellow Brick Road.

Is that a talking flute in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?

We have missed quite an opportunity to record Ebony and Ivory again.

Know who lost best Picture to Oliver!? (I'm not that excited; Oliver! has an ! in it): "Funny Girl""The Lion in Winter""Rachel, Rachel,""Romeo and Juliet." Ok, a somewhat weak year, but Lion in Winter? ouch.

So somewhere at Boy Soprano camp, or a Tiger Beat retreat, Mark and Michael met.

Sleepover? No one will say. But in my personal version of Spice Channel, Mark and Michael have a topless pillow fight to the musical stylings of Donnie Osmond while Radames Pera makes prank phone calls. Willie Aames will stop by for Bible Study in the morning. All join hands and sing wah-hoo-doray in their boy soprano voices.

But of course now they are creepy old boy-men in their 50s trading their sperm (just like old times. siiigh) And Mark says Paris is his. This only leaves Lance Kerwin to father Prince Michael and Blanket must belong to Ricky Segall -- aka Cousin Oliver Partridge.

We have discussed before how pretty boys do not age well, especially if they peaked during the feathered years when all programming came with a soundtrack and striped stovepipe pants. They should certainly pro-create, if for no other reason than the Dorian Gray effect.

Those pukka shells can't wear themselves.