Forget big, rich, VIP, stars get clumsy and klutzy just like the rest of us.

Biden says “poor kids are just as bright as white kids”. Forget his foot, he puts his whole leg in his mouth. Remember when Jennifer Lawrence fell down walking up the stairs to collect her Oscar? And Meryl Streep, who’d just won another Best Actress award, left her statuette in the Ladies can? President George Bush the elder? January 8, 1992? In Tokyo? Whoopsing onto the lap of Japan’s Prime Minister Kiichi Mizawa? Oy. Not good.

It wasn’t better in the old days. Back in TV’s black-and-white screen babyhood, the top comic — nobody bigger or hotter — was Milton Berle. Then, as the host of NBC radio’s “Monitor”, I’m interviewing him. To the listening world he says, “My whole life are my grandkids Stella and Arthur.” The studio phone rings. Wife Ruth. Upset. Insane. Crazy. Those were NOT the names of his grandkids.

Civilization’s “God Bless America” singer Kate Smith. In concert. A thousand attendees. Two thousand eyes watching. Alone, center stage, a deep breath, a high note, an effusive gesture. Spreads arms wide, out, both sides of her body … and accidentally hooks a thumb onto her long opera-length pearls. Shove the C-over-C note. All the audience heard was the plinkety-plink-plink of pearl by pearl on that hard wooden floor.

Warren Beatty’s Academy Award screwup when, not knowing his assets from a hole in the ground, he awarded the statuette to the wrong person? How about Emma Watson telling Jimmy Fallon she loved his Halloween shtick only to discover the Halloween thing was Kimmel.

Listen, it not only happens to the best of us — it happens to the least of us. Me interviewing Michael Caine. Live. On air. He, as always, wonderful, helpful, informative, fun. Mid-conversation I blanked out. He never knew it — but I could not remember what to call him. I scratched my dusty brain — is it Martin? Mervin? Maxwell? What? I managed to save myself. I finally came up with calling him “honey”.

Janet Jackson’s so-called malfunction? On TV? Live? During the Super Bowl? Standing with nice Mr. Timberlake? And not scheduled to make an appearance? Her boob just mysteriously suddenly bobbed out?

Fergie? Do not people remember when her rarely-seen bladder suddenly made an unannounced appearance onstage?

Kids eyeing roles, not toys

Meanwhile, fie on Barbies. And Ken dolls. Little girls of seven are now playing with Tonys. Next season’s Hugh Jackman musical, a revival of “The Music Man” and with no theater yet assigned, is already interviewing kids from agents, schools, dance classes, even managers. Tots are crossing the continent on their own dime, arriving with stage-mommies, guardians, teachers from all over the U.S. for Broadway auditions. So how do they get hired? A dance captain does a one/two/three pirouette. If the kid can just follow she’s the next midget Pavlova.

Sometimes one name’s enough

Blaine Trump, former wife of the President’s brother, stopped using a credit card. She explained: “I paid for lunch in LA and the server said, ‘If I’d known your last name was Trump, I wouldn’t have served you.’ Friendly with the first family, when now asked for her last name she just says, “Blaine. I’m just Blaine.”

New specially carved plaque presented to Chairman Adam BullSchiff: “Forget what it takes to raise a village. It takes a whole house to raise an idiot.”

Muttered Not Only in New York, kids, not only in New York.