me and DJTM just got done watching oprah. of course we would NEVER usually watch that show because we’re nearly almost always still asleep at that hour of the afternoon, but we set the alarm because of the guests — my ex-rehab cohort, pussy panty waste disgraced author james frey, and that bitch who got me arrested for the second time this month, his editor, nan taleese.
although i don’t feel like i need to waste precious minutes of my life typing it since it is now commonly understood as fact, they both totally SUCK.
i don’t like this whole emphasis being put on the truth now and it’s all their fault. and if those two assholes had never gotten caught for that perpetration of a book OF ALL THINGS then the truthiness would still be relevant, y’know?
so the moral of this whole james frey debacle is that truthiness is much cuter than truth. you just can’t get caught or called out on it or you’ll look like an opportunistic poseur.
you will never in a million years guess who i ran into at telepan.
nan taleese. nan ta-fucking-leese. can you fucking believe it? wait a minute, biotch, do you even know who nan taleese is? unless you have been living under a rock, of course you totally know who she is. she’s james fucking frey’s agent, yo. i know, right? like what an amazing opportunity for me to get involved in all this james frey controversy and like implement my clever plans to steer the tidal wave of publicity surrounding it towards me and my own career.
i was halfway through my $15.50 side of cauliflower and DJTM had just passed out in his nicoise salad with watercress. it was really gross. as he was lying there, there was this weird stuff coming out of his mouth or the garlic lemon poppyseed aioli dressing was just really close to his mouth and looked like it was coming out of it. whit had left the table under the auspices of going to the bathroom but was most likely chasing this aging model he’s been trying to make into my my next soon to be ex-stepmom. i don’t know what she’s playing hard to get for, she’s not going to do much better than whit.
anyways, i’m getting progressively more drunk and bored and was about to nudge DJTM awake so he could entertain me when i saw nan. she’s freaky lookin’ huh? what do you think her surgeon has done to her to make her look like a fetal alcohol syndrome victim rabbit hybrid? how could he do that to her and still be board certified?
so i go over to her table to tell her about my plan to restore james frey’s credibility and, in turn, boost my own publicity. but nan, bitch that she is, wouldn’t even give me the time of day. almost as soon as i start sharing my plan to turn the publicity wave back in her favor, she fucking tells me to contact her assistant and makes this weird expression at me that i guess was supposed to be some kind of polite fuckin’ don’t call me, i’ll call you grimace. so i totally grabbed her water glass out of her hand and went to smack her over the head with it, screaming all the while that i didn’t take that kind of shit from james frey so why did she think i was going to take it from her. but before i could bring the glass down, for the second friggin’ time this month, i was restrained by the wait staff.
then the police were called and i was shipped off to the slammer, blah blah blah.
DJTM and whit just picked me up and now we’re going home. i can’t believe that once again the highlight of the festivities is car-blogging. i really do have to come up with another name for that. especially if i’m going to spend so much time doing it.
boy oh boy, starryshiners, has this been a whack ass day or WHAT?
let me answer that for you:
it totally fucking has.
when last i typed at you, i was all searching my own personal memories of my time in rehab with disgraced writer, james frey. as you may recall, i was totally lamenting the lack of any anecdotes that portray him as a badass as i was hoping to gain some much needed publicity for myself by coming to his defense.
after realizing the conundrum i was in, i got totally depressed and took some extra prescription medication along with some recreational drugs that i won’t identify because they might incriminate me. then i started drinking and calling DJTM repeatedly and incessantly to get him to come home from his recording session.
when he finally got home, he brought fucking whit (my dad) with him and they insisted on doing an intervention on me. i was all, oh come on! this is like grade school all over again, dad! and this time there’ll be no james frey to beat up in rehab! whit got all emotional and exasperated and finally i was all, daddy, would you just have a drink and can we puhleeze talk about something else? i have that single malt you like so much, etc.
so finally he relents and has a couple cocktails and mellows out and is all where’re we going for dinner? of course DJTM was drinking the whole time, along with trips to the bathroom to do some other substance that he wasn’t sharing enough with me and that i, again, won’t identify on the grounds that it might incriminate him and me by association.
we called the car service and as i blog this to you, we’re all in the car on our way to telepan. they’ve got the best cauliflower in midtown there. all is right with the world at the moment. ive got my daddy and DJTM at my side. i’m going to be eating a $15.50 dish of cauliflower within the hour and i’m totally blogging in the car. i totally love blogging in the car. i think there should be a word for it. it should be like pod-casting but like car-blogging. except obviously it should be called something else.