Look, we all know that when you were a smokin' hot redhead, you wound up saddled with a space-alien believin', tin-foil wearin', Thetan-monkey on his back, psycho-fag midget. Personally, I figured that it must be at least a little stressful hanging out with that nutjob, never mind spending nights wielding the Official Scientology Auditing Probe while he screamed John Travolta's name. But I understand how this sort of thing is, Nicole. Compromise, and the politics of fame, and all that.
After all, you were a Hollywood Power Couple and richer than God. Combine that with the fact that you never actually had to touch the little freakshow unless you happened to be in front of the press or a movie camera or sometimes after a vigorous Auditing when he needed one 'a them Thetans rubbed out -- well, it probably wasn't REALLY all that bad.
In any event, I let it pass. As everyone knows, blazing redheads can do whatever they want, and I'm there for them. Or at least here for them.
But then you went blonde. Bimbo-Barbie blonde. It was a freaking disaster, Nicole. As a direct result, you wound up Urbanized with an alky pseudo-cowboy crooner who has only a passing relationship with a razor blade and who, in his effort to appear to be a manly man, manages to instead look like a slightly less diseased version of the street tramp who keeps trying to clean my windshield with muddy newspaper.
And when it was finally clear he had you, rather than cleaning up his act, insisting you let your hair go back to red and living the rest of his life thanking God he gets to boff you any time he likes, he instead dumps you about an hour after the ceremony in order to get his sorry ass dried out. Freakin' amazing.
Apparently he didn't realize he had problem until the words "I do" came out of his mouth. In fact, as I recall the ceremony (thanks for the invite, BTW), it went something like:
Preacher: "....so long as you both shall live."C'mon, tell the truth, hon. Is this REALLY better than your previous life with Dwarf Boy the Space Ranger? Well, it would about have to be, wouldn' t it? No, wait. I don't really know. With either lifestyle, I can only congratulate you for being strong enough to NOT stick a pistol in your mouth.
Urban: "I do."
Preacher: "And do you, Nicole...."Urban: "Hang on. I just discovered I'm an cocaine-addicted, alcoholic sack of shit, and must therefore take this opportunity to repair my damaged self. Funny I never noticed any of this before I was guaranteed to get on the front page, make a huge PR splash, and ruin ALL of our lives, but there ya' have it. Whaddaya reckon were the odds of that coincidence, eh?"
Nicole: "Whoa, what? What the HELL are you talking about?"
Urban: "Don't snap at ME Missy. I suppose you want me to get my shit together BEFORE we wind up married and on the front page of every tabloid in the known universe and with you responsible for at least half my rehab tab?"
Nicole: "Too fucking right. I absolutely do."
Preacher: "Excellent. I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride. And/or one or more of the bridesmaids. And puke in the flower arrangement while mumbling weepy, incoherent apologies to everyone."
In any event, I blame the conversion to "blonde" for all of your troubles.
All that I know is that when you turned up Barbie-Bimbo'ed,I died a little inside. I haven't seen a single one of your movies since you decided to join the Brain Trust.
Come back Nicole, baby, rejoin the ranks of stone-fox redheads that keep Mark and me entertained long into the lonely nights. Come back - all will be forgiven.
A warning, though: I'm afraid time is limited...we all know what eventually happens to them what steps into the brain-freeze maze of blonde bimbodom. Save yourself Nicole! I'm here for ya! Please don't keep going the way you are. Sooner or later you're gonna look in the mirror and realize what you've done to yourself:
Love ya' forever, kiddo -- or at least the part of you that's still redhead...
- AD -
P.S. Uhmm..well that wasn't exactly what I meant. "The part of you that's still redhead" meant more on a spiritual level, not so much the part you haven't gotten around to dyeing...oh, hell with it. Never mind, I can go either way here.
- AD -
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Side Notes:
1. To get one of the pix for above, I did a Google image search for "Barbie Head". Wow. There are some seriously disturbed individuals out there, did you know that? And, in case you weren't aware of it, "head" doesn't necessarily mean "the part of yor body above your neck." Perhaps you thought stealing the head off your sister's Barbie and feeding it to the dog was the worst you could do? Or that the word "fetish" had to do with women's shoes or some such? Well, let me just tell you, you haven't got a freakin' clue.
2. I was originally gonna write for a few moments about Paris Hilton, but discovered that I'm out of latex gloves. Paris is in kind of a different category, sorta like handling plutonium. She's such a toxic skank that even touching a keyboard with intent to impart any information about her will likely subject your fingertips to some horrible wasting crotch rot.
In Our Next Episode: You looked, didn't you? You actually went onto Google and put in "Barbie Head". You sick bastard.
Looks like Paris got punched.
ReplyDeleteBTW - Thanks.