ATTENTION: JESSICA SIMPSON’S DOG WAS KILLED BY A COYOTE, AND SHE’S NOT DEALING WITH IT VERY WELL. APPARENTLY, WE ARE SUPPOSED TO FEEL REALLY BAD FOR HER.
I read this while standing in line at the supermarket. It was on the cover of Us Weekly. I’m not sure what’s worse; that the dead dog is the straw that broke the anorexic camel’s back, or that Us Weekly thinks that this is newsworthy. Let’s start with the dead dog thing.
Apparently, she can’t lose weight. Yeah, you can see the problem here. She is obviously unhealthily obese, not smoking hot at all. Wait, I think I got those flipped. She is obviously smoking hot, not unhealthily obese. Yeah, that makes more sense to me. Is she shoveling down deep dish pizza and chasing it with buckets of Crisco? I doubt it. And she can’t stop crying. Yeah, well, I don’t really have an answer for that one. Pretend you’re Peter Pan and think happy thoughts, I guess. Jesus, I lost pets too; hell, I had to give up my favorite dog when I was 13. I got over it, and here’s the kicker: it only took a couple of days. Tell me an adult has more emotional capabilities than a 13-year old. Please. Fuck, recently I buried my best friend from growing up. Maybe it was easier on me because he didn’t get killed by a coyote. No, he just fell down some stairs sleepwalking, leaving behind a wonderful wife and child. If that’s not a reason to go into a self-destructive, downward spiral, I don’t know what is. I don’t doubt this is hard on the poor girl; I would suggest drying her eyes on a one-hundred dollar bill. Damn. Just damn.
Now, I point my verbal rifle at Us Weekly. Are you people fucking serious? Find something better to report on. Honestly, isn’t there some celebrity somewhere who killed a hooker somewhere that you can bother? At least that would be somewhat entertaining to me. Jesus Christ, how badly must it suck to work for you? Do your intestines open up a little more each time you cash a paycheck? Just the thought of possibly earning one cent from you people makes me want to gouge my eyes out with a rusty spoon. If there is one thing I hate more than the bitchy, little complaints of celebrities, it’s the people who work their asses off to report their bitchy, little annoyances. Use your magazines for the only possible use that they will ever come to: use them as kindling to burn your building the fuck down. For good measure, drive stakes through the hearts of the board of directors, in order to ensure their undead excuses for souls do not survive the inferno.
Yeah, the Us Weekly thing pisses me off the most. Congrats, assholes. You are the biggest pain in my ass at the moment. Well done.
