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It’s been so long since I’ve been gone
Another day might be too long for me
Traveling around I’ve had my fill
Of broken dreams and dirty deals
Continue reading Home At Last
Filed under: All the Wrong Career Moves, Coming Home, Crazians, Famous-For-Nothings, NYC, So she DOES have a talent!, Strip Clubs, Stripper Poles, Strippers, Tila Tequila, Tila Tequila Is Batshit, Weird Celebrity Behavior, Where is Rock Bottom?, You Can't Go Home Again
You never know, as garbage-feeding bloggers, whether or not you’ll get fucked by the wrong famous-for-nothing going sober or the world’s worst couple getting divorced. Will you run out of sordid news fodder? What might you have to complain about? Will your blogging career be downgraded to a month-long series of clever Facebook status updates and a few choice tweets? Oh lordy, the stress!
So it’s always good to know that the world will soon be hit by a fruitful period of shame, therefore guaranteeing you good work for months and months to come (dare I say it–years?).
Imagine my relief, friends, when I saw this breaking news today:
Phew. Phew, phew, phew. 2010 is going to be a busy year for DISGRASIAN!
Star Magazine reporter Kate Major (pictured above) apparently resigned from her post today, noting a conflict of interest in working for the rag because she’s dating Jon Gosselin.
Meanwhile, Gosselin’s girlfriend from, uh, two weeks ago, Hailey Glassman, is still holed up in his NYC apartment–shocked and saddened to hear she’s been replaced.
MEANWHILE, Gosselin’s wife Kate is with the eight sperm sprouts (or “children,” if you prefer), who probably now spend most of their time wondering why Daddy smells like smoke, lives in the City, wears an earring and doesn’t love them anymore.
Excuse me, but what the hell does this guy have that’s so alluring? Baggage, a reality career, a wicked beer gut, mid-life issues, a receding hair line, marshmallow face, and a closet full of Ed Hardy? Oh… YAY. What a catch.
All I’m saying is, Jon Gosselin better have a 13-inch, rotund penis–or all of these chicks are absolutely certifiable.
I can just picture the conversation you had with your agent last hiatus, after Veronica Mars got canceled and you, rightfully so, were fuh-reakin’ out over the Next Step.
AGENT: K-Bell, your mascara is running, sweetie. Listen to me. We’ve figured out a whole new direction for you.
KRISTEN: I should be in Maxim again?
KRISTEN: Really? Think people will buy that?
AGENT: Sure, why not? People have had enough of this cute, sweet, underdog stuff. Besides, you need to exercise those Tisch School of the Arts chops.
So you listened to your agent, signed on to be the bitchy narrator of Gossip Girl, our favorite show about mutes, and then agreed to be evil, electrifying Elle on Heroezzz, our favorite show about castratos. But guess what? I’m not buyin’ it. Kristen Bell, Bad Girl is you in drag.
And I like rooting for you. You were so scrappy and spunky and sassy on V. Mars–all the words we’d ascribe to midget girls like you with big personalities. Diana started talking like Veronica, in noirish one-liners and zingers. And the one time I saw you up close, I was actually rendered speechless (not unlike the time I saw Lorenzo Lamas in the bread aisle of the grocery store, but that’s another story). You have, I noticed that fateful day, tiny, adorable feet.
I’m not feeling the new you. Frankly, you suck as a Bad Girl. Every time you make a frowny face, the seams show. You’ve convinced me only that you’re an actor desperate not to be pigeonholed rather than a good actor. I’m afraid you’ve even jumped your own shark.
I’d rather see you in Penthouse flashing your bits, honestly, than suffer all this 1-D sneering and snarking. Use that pretty blonde head of yours to make better choices.
still your friend but barely,