Do you ever get depressed when reporting some of the sleazier and sadder bits of Hollywood gossip? Like when you discover that a previously admired actress turns out to be, say, Fake à la Ferocity? Seems like your job could be emotionally draining. Does it ever get to you, and if so, how do you deal?
No. Never. But if I do find myself even approaching feeling something remotely close to self-pity, I just ask myself, ‘What would Angie do?’ ‘Screw Brad!’ I answer back, and then suddenly, for some reason, I feel all better.
I can't believe you called Jennifer Aniston "Maniston" in your latest Truth, Lies & Ted. That's so low. I think she's lovely and hot. Much hotter than Angelina, who has huge man hands and veiny arms and feet. Why don't you call her "Mangelina," huh?
Dear Mannish Much:
I think Jen’s hot too, calm down. Obviously, Angelina has huger everything in that family, but I fear Brad loves it that way.
Is Crotch Uh-Lastic Tom Hanks?
Dear Det. Unzipped:
Nope. Way, way off, honpie. Think far more up and coming, in every way.
I, for one, like your yellow background and love the reasons why you picked it. I love how you report things, big and small (uh, really, no pun intended) without resorting to hateful schmeering of a person's feelings. Peeps in Hollywood don't like whatcha got to say? Well, jeez, I wonder why? I also love your kiss-my-ass pose!
Dear Bum Smoocher:
Thanks, babe, but kissing wasn’t exactly what I had in mind!
Luv ya, is Crotch Uh-Lastic Robert Downey Jr.?
Dear Crotch Shot:
Love ya back, no. Think younger, but just as horny and dirty.
I hate your new layout which is now like Perez Hilton and TMZ. I am at work and don't have time to look for things like Blind Vice Friday.
Dear All Work, No Play:
Well, then do it at home, babe. Don’t blame me for getting docked when half the stars in this town want to get dicked.
Yowza! What happened? Tell me true! Used to love the s--t you pulled with your column—the in-jokes, the interns, fabulousness!—but now your column is so…ordinary. It could easily pass for crap from the 'blogosphere.' So unworthy. So unlike you. Give me back my fabulous, fabulous faux-chinned boy.
Dear Plastic Pisser:
The chin’s mine, just like the exact same s--t that’s in this column. Only the packaging’s been altered, sweets, not the brain. Live a little, allow change.