Reading Time: 3 minutesGary Busey Pleads Guilty? This Plotline Just Won’t Quit.
Gary Busey, ladies and gentlemen. The man, the myth, the walking “what if your unfiltered uncle found a camera and never returned it.” This week, the 81-year-old actor, who’s been running a decades-long performance art piece called “What Happens When You Just… Don’t Stop?” made headlines again. Spoiler alert: it’s not for a career renaissance.
The latest installment of The Gary Diaries takes us back to August 2022 at Monster-Mania Con in Cherry Hill, New Jersey. Yes, Monster-Mania, where horror enthusiasts and b-list celebs collide in a beautifully chaotic fusion of fake blood and questionable decision-making. What could go wrong? Oh, just Gary Busey being Gary Busey.
Here’s the recap you didn’t know you needed. Picture it: a horror movie convention where fans dressed as zombies and vampires are calmly discussing prosthetics. Enter Busey, a hurricane of unpredictability and regrettable life choices. By the end of the weekend, he’s collected four sizzling charges, including criminal sexual contact and harassment. Yes, four. If there were an Olympic event for bungling public appearances, Gary’s hauling home gold every time.
Fast-forward to this week. Instead of gracing a courtroom in person, because why do that when you can Zoom in from your Malibu lair? Gary pleaded guilty. Not emphatically, not dramatically… just plain ol’ “Yeah, it happened.” His lawyer, Blair Zwillman (who undoubtedly has “Patience of a Saint” etched on his business cards), quickly assured everyone things were “downgraded” to a disorderly persons offense. Think of it as a parking ticket, but for touching someone’s butt without permission.
Yes, the charge? “Touched the buttocks of a female over the clothing.” Which, weirdly enough, sounds like a rejected title for one of his old movie scripts. To be clear, this isn’t light stuff. But in Busey-world, everything feels like a scene he’s winging without a script. And that script? Probably just sticky notes with the words “cause chaos” smudged on them.
For context, Zwillman delicately reminded the court that his client has been through, well, a lot. A motorcycle accident in 1988 left him with a traumatic brain injury, which possibly explains… all of this. Not that it excuses it, but if you throw in “81 years old” and “still living on unspent Celebrity Rehab royalties,” you start to see where the train went off the rails.
Naturally, Gary hasn’t taken this entirely seriously. Post-incident, he told TMZ it was all made up, dropping gems like, “Nothing happened. Nothing. It was all lies.” Because, of course, someone out there wants to fabricate a Gary Busey fan fiction revenge plot. Makes total sense, Gary.
Monster-Mania Con, understandably, had a different take. Back in 2022, they kindly escorted him off the premises when “complaints” turned into “unavoidable consequences.” You know you’ve peaked as a human carnival attraction when horror fans at an event called Monster-Mania find your behavior too much to handle. Imagine getting kicked out of a place where dressing as an undead axe murderer is just a casual Saturday. If that doesn’t scream “rethink your choices,” I don’t know what does.
It’s easy to forget that Busey actually started his career with an Oscar nomination. Remember 1978’s The Buddy Holly Story? Yeah, neither does he. Since then, his career has slowly morphed into playing himself, whether it’s in actual movies or just life. From Celebrity Apprentice to random off-Broadway productions where he played, no joke, God, Gary’s post-Buddy Holly portfolio is like flipping through an abstract collage of regrettable choices.
What’s next for our favorite Hollywood plot twist? According to his lawyer, no plans to revisit Jersey anytime soon. (New Jersey collectively breathes a sigh of relief.) Until then, Busey remains in Malibu, where we can safely assume he’s practicing his best “misunderstood genius” monologue, waiting for the next headline-grabbing moment to appear in his inbox.
Gary, my guy, maybe skip the horror conventions for a while. Also, just a tip? Keep your hands to yourself. It’s not rocket science. Or brain surgery. (Wait.)
Here’s to hoping Malibu has decent WiFi for whatever wild Zoom court session happens next.
