The Hero Inside Me
I was itching to let Peter Petrelli absorb some of my special power (he's got Jungle Fever!), but the discovery of his appearance in a music video by that
insufferable, pig-faced, anti-licious Fergie is less than ideal. He even smooches her! On the lips! On those sticky lips—that, that lippy goop of hers that you can't get away from, try as you might!
Don't let the sparkly gloss fool you. She's got crazy glue mixed in with that fancy Shiseido goop. She got epoxy in there to try and trap her mens, and under all the layers of gloss and glue and goop is where you start to see the sores and the pustules blurbling up from beneath all that pig face cake and I believe that nastiness could be called HERPES. Am I right? Because that ain't right. There are several people right here watching me type this, by the way.
So, let me ask you— when your agent calls and says, "Fergie really wants you to play her love interest in the video for her new single, 'Big Girls Don't Cry,'" how could you possibly say anything other than, "Oh, HELL, no! Not even if that DSL bitch whore paid me!" Well, maybe first you'd ask, How much. BUT STILL!
Well, I'm disappointed, obvs. But, you know— Hollyweird youth today, what are you gonna do. I wonder how long it will take our savior of The Cheerleader to have a skank date with La Lohan. Can that, if it can't be avoided, be too far off? (What, Li Lo is pushing forty, right? It's pretty much a race against time at this point.) Speaking of La Lohan, I read an article about her today that was really not to be believed, and I wanted to share it with all of you - because sharing is caring - but I don't know a good way to do that right now because it's four in the morning and I'm a woman under the influence ...FULL DISCLOSURE!!!!... The ghosts are helping me with the typing. So, more on Lohan later, is what I'm saying.
Okay, so here's the aforementioned video damage. You've been warned. I was puking in my mouth a lot, but I had to watch the whole thing because he takes his shirt off near the end.
In conclusion, my hero looks like a zero. I guess it's back to the ghetto where my man Ryan is waiting for me to return for a bottle of Jack (one for each of us), a grope (two for him, three for me), and perhaps, reading to each other until we pass out in one another's arms at daybreak. Yeah, that sounds really good right now. His "girlfriend," or whatever, Rachel McAdams, (sorry - internets couldn't find me a photo! I think it broke!) is never around. So sad. Oh, and I guess there's still that very secret until now affair between me and Jim from Dunder Mifflin, which kind of rules. It's been, like, so secret that he doesn't really know about it. So, anyway, despite Fergie's heinous hold on my hero, I pretty much got a lot of stuff in the works, as you can see. I'm not worried about the situation. I'm pretty happy with it.
