Lets be fair. Its not unusual for people normal, everyday people to admire or even love someone famous. After all, different people find that different things speak to them on a personal level. For some of us, its movies for others, music. Where the simple, brainless poetry of pop music might leave one cold, it can leave another exhilarated (of course, so can too much Tizer, but there you go). And of course, we all express our appreciation for the input that these heroes of ours have had in our lives in different ways: as many ways as there are for us to express our individuality. True, some of us are perhaps a little more laissez-faire than others when moderating those impulses. Some of us, in fact, think that moderate is a four-letter word (they probably spell it mdr8, in their ongoing Orwellian attempts to do to the English language what the Ark did to the Nazis at the end of Raiders), and have no social filters whatsoever. And then there are those of us who are seven pints of crazy in a one pint glass, sitting on the roof naked and gibbering that the moon is winking at them. Its okay to express your admiration, but some boundaries are necessary to ensure that no one feels the need to have you committed (for example: sending a tweet or an email, as a fan to a celebrity, is absolutely acceptable: writing them a letter in your own menstrual blood and decorating it with your pubic hair is not). This article is dedicated to the human brainwrongs amongst us that crashed straight through those boundaries as if they were made of wet spaghetti.