October 30, 2009
I’ve had it up to here with Brooke Shields. I really never liked her or her bad career choices anyway. First of all she played a hooker and was naked in some movie when she was 12. TWELVE! Obviously, that was at least partially due to some seriously bad parenting on her mother’s part, but I am pretty certain that I had enough attitude at 12 to tell my parents to suck it if they told me to do something like that. Then came that damn “Blue Lagoon”…the ridiculous movie in which she is stuck on some island with that annoying curly-haired boy. Basically the plot is this: they are on a ship that sinks and they end up on an island and they hit puberty and she gets her period and he discovers the joy of spanking it and she almost dies and they discover the sex and she has a baby and they get rescued and they eat some berries and they die in a boat. Finally (You may think I remember too much detail about this movie, and I do. Terrible movies and terrible music seem to sear themselves into my brain). Then, she was in all those dumb Calvin Klein commercials telling everyone that she goes commando, which in my opinion is disgusting, not to mention incredibly uncomfortable. Then she wrote some book where she bitched about her crazy drunk of a mom and told everyone she was a virgin. A 12-year-old, naked prostitute, no-underwear-wearing virgin? Sure, Brooke. Sure. Then she dated Michael Jackson, which really needs no further explanation. Then she was on a really dumb sitcom that made Kathi Griffin (whom I love) way more annoying than usual. AND NOW, through the magic of television, she is harassing me on a daily basis, which makes me rethink my great love of technology. I mean, seriously!
I have recently seen her in commercials for at least 4 products. She has gone from 12 year old movie prostitute to 40-something year old product pimp. The first time she popped up in my living room, she was telling me I don’t drink enough milk. She had the nerve to tell me that when I’m an old lady I’m probably gonna have a big old hump back and break a hip before my bones finally just turn to dust. Next , she came on to tell me that my teeth were all yellow and I need to use that damn Colgate toothpaste, or basically, people are gonna be talking behind my back about my ugly smile and my gingivitis. Then, just when I thought she was gone, she came back totally uninvited, to tell me that if I got knocked up my husband would buy me a new Volkswagen. Ya know what? I highly doubt that his response to an unplanned pregnancy would be “Hop in the car! We’re gonna go out and buy you a new VW!” He’d probably blame me for being a space cadet and forgetting to take my pill, and get worried about affording another baby and the fact that babies make me bitchy when they are all up in my face all day, then I’d get tired of hearing him go on and on and on and I’d have to spork him in the taint to get him to shut up. Then, just when it seemed like The Brookster had maybe finally gone away, and I was starting to get over that eyebrow overload and relax in front of my TV for the first time in months, she came back AGAIN! This time she was telling my that my eyelashes are pathetic and puny, and that basically, I should be too ashamed by my manish eyes to even consider going out in public, and that the only cure for this hideous deformity is to use something called Latisse, although if you listen to her and use Latisse, you may get sores in your eyes, lose the ability to cry, or go blind. But she almost convinced me that the risks are worth it to have long and luxurious lashes. Who cares if I’m walking out into traffic or bumping into walls as long as my lashes look rockin’!
The insanity needs to stop! I haven’t been this afraid to turn on my TV since I saw “The Ring” and I was positive that long-haired, wet dead girl was gonna crawl out of the screen and kill me. To be honest, I think I would actually prefer that creepy girl to being bombarded by Brooke. At least the dead girl isn’t trying to make me feel bad about myself, or trying to make me throw away my underwear and get pregnant. At least she will just kill me quick and end my suffering. Brooke, on the other hand, wants to toy with my self-esteem and slowly drive me insane. Come on creepy, wet, dead girl…come and get me! Take me to the bottom of that cold, dark well. It will be the happiest I’ve been in months, just as long as there’s no cable TV down there, and I get to keep my underwear on.
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