What? What?!? WHAT!?!?!? O, tragedy of tragedies! O, vulture of despair! Take thy wretched beak from my soul! Terror of terror! Who’s the Boss of my heart now? Would that life were a dream and this nightmare untrue. Alyssa Milano is married? Nooooooo!

Any loyal readers of this column will know that, for ages, a certain actress’ name has come up time and again in pretty much every edition of the “Reel Dirt.” She’s someone all of America loves, especially one man in particular. But apparently, that man is not me. I thought it was, and maybe it is. But apparently, it’s David Bugliari.

You could tell me my pet rabbit Reginald was in the stew I just ate, and I wouldn’t be any more upset than I am now. Ye gods! How unfair the world is! How cruel! What a revoltin’ development.

And who IS this man that has taken my angel away? What brackish rogue has absconded with the woman who, in any JUST reality, would have been my one and only? Was it a top Hollywood leading man whose movies rake in hundreds of millions at the box office? Some wealthy mogul whose companies’ profits dwarf the GNPs of small countries? Was it the king of a small country?!? No, no, and no!

It was some dude. That’s right, just some dude! Sure, he’s an agent in Hollywood, but all in all, he’s just some dude.

And that’s the damnable misery of it all. There’s nothing special about him. He’s not a great man in history. He’s not magical. There’s very little difference between him and me! He’s just “some dude”!

Hell, I am “some dude”! I could have been her “some dude”!

David Bugliari. Sounds like he’s a burglar. Alas, he must be. He has stolen my Alyssa!

Well, that’s it. I’m putting a bounty on his head. I’m putting everything I have into a worldwide hunt for this lout. I’m putting up all the money I have. So what if it’s only $11?! This sucker needs to go down!

I guess I should talk about movies and TV shows now. And TV shows that are being made into movies. And vice versa. But my heart’s not into it. Oh well, I’m sure there’s plenty in the bidness to talk about.

Movies. James Cameron, whom you may remember from such indie films as Terminator 2: Judgment Day and a small side project entitled Titanic, is bringing out a big film full of explosions and highfalutin sci-fi notions of escapism, heroism, schism, hypocorism, and probably fascism and plenty of other -isms. The name of the film is Avatar.

Before you can develop that confused look on your face, this has nothing to do with the Avatar: The Last Airbender movie that M. Night Shalamarsbar is directing. Cameron’s work is an original work of the noble triumph of the human spirit. M. Night’s film is to feature Morgan Freeman as an old Chinese guy.

Y’know, I’ve made up stuff for this article before, but so far, I’m telling the truth. Mainly.

That last bit, about Morgan Freeman … Well, the Morgan Freeman bit was true at one point. But he’s since been divested of the project. I guess we’ll just have to watch the cartoon that the movie is based on and wish we could hear him talking about penguins or driving Miss Daisy.

Oh, and Cameron yoinked the rights to the name Avatar. So, M. Night’s movie will just be The Last Airbender. It’s not like it makes less sense this way, but it still makes you wonder about the twist.

I think maybe he’s seen a few too many Yakov Smirnoff performances. Signs: “In Soviet Russia, water takes away life!”; Sixth Sense: “In Soviet Russia, the dead people do the counseling!”; The Last Airbender: “In Soviet Russia, air bends you!” I don’t know exactly what that means, but I’m sure it’ll make sense after you see the movie.

Well, after making fun of M. Night Shyamalan (yes, that’s how you spell it), I feel better. I’m officially calling off my manhunt for David Boggerelli.

I love Alyssa. And if Sting has taught me anything aside from tantric sex (though not directly, in case you were wondering) and that it’s okay for teachers to have inappropriate relationships with their students, it’s that, if you love someone, you need to set them free. Free, free. Set them free.

Good luck in your new life, Alyssa. I promise I won’t comb through your garbage anymore. I won’t stalk you from afar with a Telephoto lens, and I won’t eavesdrop on your phone conversations. I’m keeping the camera in the shower, though … Okay, just kidding … maybe.

See you next month. If you find out I’m in jail, or was shot hopping a fence in a suburb of Los Angeles, you’ll know why. Just pass my sentiments on to Alyssa. And if she’s not available, Tony Danza.