por Ted Casablanca | Traducido por | jue., 3 abr. 2008 4:56 PM
Fey Oiled-Tush is a very rich man. He’s also a very desperate man, as so many celebrated Hollywood players ultimately are. After all, doesn’t success just beget the desire for more success—rather than satisfaction? Always. Just ask Michael Eisner, Mike Ovitz, Meg Ryan and assorted other colossal check cashers who once thought the green would never stop coming, only to see the influx dwindle considerably. But this Vice ain’t about power, it’s about fag-hag ass kissing, sorry.
Margarita Screwed-'Em-All is a reigning queen of Tinseltown. And even though she doesn’t go out much, she sure as hell did at one time—always with one of her myriad lovers/husbands/pets. (Paris was so not the first to make a pooch a photo-op accoutrement, Margarita beat her on that score ages ago.) Instead, M-babe stays home at her art-filled mansion (which is a little on the tacky side, I must say, unless you prefer brass deer next to your masterpieces and that sort of overpriced mishmash style). However, she loves to receive. Particularly the gays.
True, she’s doing it less nowadays, but still, a flaming fagola—along with fewer and fewer members of Screwed-Em’-All’s own fam—still makes it up past M.S.’s fancy gates. And Fey, utterly distraught by the current downturn of his previously magical movie touch and sorely needing a pick-me-up, was dying to be one of them recently. Don’t think FOT mentioned anything about bringing the wife-unit when he—and not one of his minions—rang up Margarita’s secretary to request an audience. “Get him to buy me those jewels I liked,” Ms. S barked, via her assistant, back to Fey, message being no rocks, no tush pecking.
So Mr. Oiled-Tush, armed with the location of the baubles that tickled Margarita so, actually went and picked out a piece from the overpriced jeweler. Had it delivered pronto to Margarita, who, after tearing open the box which contained a sweet little piece, screamed: “One! He only got me one?”
Indeed, Fey had made the lethal error of purchasing not an assortment of expensive sparklers for Margarita to choose from—but only one already-selected lonely little lovely. Not good. Result being, there was no audience.
And the gift was not returned, bitch you very much. Poor Fey. What will he do for his mood-altering now, I wonder? Start up with the boys again?