My brother's butt touched Harrison Ford's butt at some party a few nights ago in NYC. Andrew turned back-to-back with Indiana Jones as they approached each other in a walkway so as not to have the shrieky, awkward, face-to-face celebrity encounter my brother saw Han Solo having all night long. He won't stop talking about it. (My brother, of course. Not Detective Captain John Book.)
And, as a friend at a message board pointed out (thanks, Jett Rink!), every time you touch someone's butt, you're touching everyone's butt they've touched.
That means my butt has touched Harrison Ford's butt, and therefore Anne Heche's butt, and therefore Ellen Degeneres' butt, and therefore Portia De Rossi's butt, and therefore Calista Flockhart's butt...and therefore Harrison Ford's butt.
That means, as I've always suspected, there were three blonde lesbians and one skinny fake lawyer standing between me and Jack Ryan.
Did I just take the long way around in a game of Six Degrees of Celebrity Butt?