Friday, July 28, 2006

The Mama-s and the Papa-s

I wish Britney Spears would fall off her platforms again. Or something.

Today's my day to post on Mamarazzi, and let me tell you, being a Mamarazzi contributor isn't nearly as glamorous, fun-filled, and champagne-swigging as you'd think. Every time I upload my Friday post, I feel the same way I feel when I walk out of the dentist's office. "Woo hoo! Six more days before I need to do THAT again."

Then, around Wednesday morning, I begin to become concerned about what the hell I'm going to post on Friday. "Oh, that's OK; I have plenty of time," I assure myself.

Before you know it, I'm scouring all the internet gossip sites, hoping that Britney has dropped a baby, Donald Trump has gotten divorced again, or Pam Anderson's tits have (having miraculously changed size again) floated out of her wedding dress, and are believed to have been assumed into heaven. And people are gathering and praying the Rosary where her tits were last seen.

No such luck this morning. All I found that was really smoking-hot, freshly-breaking news is a rumor that Halle Berry might be pregnant. Based, no doubt, on an unflattering paparazzi photograph taken while she was doing a backbend at an early morning Yoga session following a night where she drank four beers and ate an entire garbage pizza.

I mean, please. So Halle's belly is a little bloated. It happens to all of us. (All of us except Nicole Ritche, Paris Hilton, the Olson twins, Kate Hudson--fill in the lollipop head of your choice.)

Honestly, I'm so tired of the paparazzi and their rumors. Yes, I depend on their horrible photographs for my career as a Mamarazzi writer ... (I did mention that I write for that supremely snarky site, did I not?) But it's gotten to the point where you can't let your stomach muscles relax for a second--not even when you're on the toilet; the paparazzi are finding pregnancies everywhere. I'm waiting for them to announce that Oprah is pregnant. Hillary Clinton? Pregnant. Brooke Astor? Who is 104 years old? Pregnant. Me? Pregnant. You? Pregnant. Even if you're a man. YOU'RE PREGNANT, you just don't realize it yet.

So anyway, today I had to post about the weird, creepy wax figure Madame Tussaud made of Sholie Pitt. Or whatever her name is. Check it out. But please, be gentle with me. Sometimes I just can't seem to come up with the funny. But it's OK. I'm going to pray to Pamela Anderson's tits to heal me.


  1. I had thought about emailing you today's NYT acticle on Brooke Astor. Quite an interesting family backstory.


  2. Congratulations. You have finally found someone I consider deformed.



Gentle Readers:

For the time being, I've turned off comment moderation. Please don't spam; it's not nice.

xxx, Poppy.