Friday, November 18, 2005

Fake Advice To Celebrities Who Didn't Ask For It, Vol. III

QUESTION:
Dear Kathy,

We're in love! It's official! Thank God for the C-List social scene. If not for the fact that the velvet ropes are hanging kind of low these days, how else would a girl begat from England's finest gold-legging-incubated disco sperm, meet a boy from the dangerous, Laguna Beach side of the tracks? It's like Pretty in Pink, except by "pink" we mean "coke stupor." It's love!

We just announced our engagement yesterday and already the haters are getting on our case. They say it won't last. How can we prove them wrong without having release our home videos in mini-series form on UPN?

Signed,
Konfused In the Mind & Totally About Love (And Notoriety)


ANSWER:
Dear KIM and TALAN,

They're just jealous. All those unfamous fatty gossip columnists are totally dying because you are young, you are beautiful (especially you, Kim, they are so jealous that you definitely don't look like the Cousin Oliver in an all-rat version of the Brady Bunch), and you have found what appears to be a romance that transcends the ages. Who among us, the non-listers, can claim to have found our soulmate in the back of Paris Hilton's car during a drunken car crashed caused by a Greek billionaire driving with a jacket over his head?

None. We do not know your love. We cannot know your love.

We go to sleep weeping into our Martha Stewart pillowcases that we will never know the comfort of waking up with a streak of Talan's spray on tan smeared across our abdomen, of knowing that we will never eat a family dinner with Kim, Rod, and whichever model is pretending to enjoy his geriatric penis in her emaciated vagina. For us, love will never reach these heights.

So to you I say mazel tov; head to Vegas and marry the shit out of each other. The country will mourn the loss of two of the dating pool's finest specimens. Live, love, prosper, and most importantly, get pregnant as soon as possible. Fucked up babies are the Louis Vuitton tote.

Best,
Kathy

QUESTION:
Dear Kathy,

I have recently been dubbed GQ's "Woman of the Year." Can I get a what what?

Signed,
"Mrs. Smith"

ANSWER:
Dear Jennifer,

No you may not. I'm not saying I'm not a member of Team Jennifer, but I am willing to put my foot down and say that there are probably people who did more to merit Woman of the Year status than a lady that got broken up with and then retreated to her Malibu mansion to do press. Maybe GQ could've thrown a bone Rosa Parks's way? It would've been a nice posthumous gesture.

Though she doesn't look as good in a bikini. (Especially now).

Best,
Kathy

2 Comments:

Blogger DMo said...

For reals. I don't get this whole Jennifer crap. Is she even working right now?

4:16 PM  
Blogger What'sHerFace said...

Hey, look who's not dead! Jen's in some movies, I think, but so what? That's the equivalent of showing up at the office for anyone else.

Happy Thanksgiving!

11:13 AM  

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