The Horror! The Whore-or!

Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


It's Bastille Day, normally a day to remember Liberty, Equality, Sorority! It's a day to read, or watch, Charles Dickens's A Tale of Two Cities.


And yet today, my darling Javier Bardem ...


...chose to throw away his liberty, and to get mm --- to get marr --- to get married!


WHY? He knows it's me he loves. Well, by "he knows" I mean I know and he'll learn it, the hard way, if necessary. Why else has he spent so much time on international phone lines engaged in XXX-rated obscene phone calls with me? Because he craves me!



Okay, I was the one always phoning him, and his little running joke each time he recognized my voice was always: "How did you get this number?", as though he knew nothing of the enormous amount of time and effort I put in to getting his new number each time he changes it. (To keep the joke alive, he always changes his number again after each time I call him. What a jokester!)



He may have won an Oscar for No Country for Old Men, but he was fine with having some Cunt Free From Old Ladies. (He's seen here demonstrating exactly how you get ahead and win awards in Hollywood.) And I'm not the only old lady Javier has had the hots for. We all saw him making out with his mom at The Oscars. I liked him a lot better when he was with old us than with this --- this --- person he's shackled himself to despite his almost being madly love with me, once he stops pretending to be afraid of me.




I blame Woody Allen! He made them both star in some movie together that I didn't see. (Who goes to Woody Allen movies any more? That is so 1978.) Without that stupid Barcelona movie, that creature might never have sunk her claws into my man. Just because he didn't yet know he was in love with me, and pretended to think of me as some crazed, elderly stalker he couldn't distance himself far enough away from was no excuse! Only a stupid bitch like her would take those restraining orders he repeatedly filed against me seriously. They were just part of our running gag where he pretends to be repulsed by and terrified of me. It's really very funny, and it's not like I kept him tied up in my basement that entire weekend anyway. After all, he wouldn't have been able to chew his way out of those straps if I hadn't used edible restraints in the first place, now would he?.


And yet here he's gone and broken my heart by marrying that cow. Why couldn't Tom Cruise have jumped about Oprah's furniture over her during their romance? I'd be happier, Katie Holmes would be better off, it's not like I'd ever be desperate enough to want Tom Cruise (Ew.), and Oprah's furniture was already threadbare.



How the bovine Latin creature ever got a reputation as a beauty, I will never comprehend. Think how horrified he'll be when he finally sobers up (something I always wisely avoid doing for this very reason - among others) and gets a good look at her!



Oh well. I'll just have to drown my troubles flogging Big Brother 12 over at The Huffington Post. Am I in lust with any of the houseguests yet? Well, let's just say I'll be drowning my sorrows in my imaginary romance with Lane Elenberg, which is not the hometown of Ellen DeGeneris. This guy has biceps bigger than my living room, coupled with a brain the size of Mel Gibson's decency. The perfect man.



I mean, look at the size of his shoulders! I'm not normally a fan of tattoos the size of the Sistine frescoes, but with a canvas the size of his shoulders, one understands why the tattooist would work in Cinerama. Anyway, check out my weekly columns on Big Brother 12, and I'll be back here when, well, when I feel like it.



Cheers darlings!