Here in the titillated but not aroused offices of The Curmudgeon, we enjoy seeing two women together in “that” way but not in a cat fight. I don’t know why this appeals to so many men. The cat fights, I mean, but I don’t know why the other thing turns men on either. I read once that men’s desire to see to attractive females in “compromising positions” together is so universal, that it exists even in the primitive tribes of faraway lands. So prevalent in fact, that it could be considered a harbinger of whether or not a man is straight or gay. In other words, if you don’t like seeing two sexy gals get it on, you ain’t straight. I’m just sayin’.
So it is with some amusement that I report the following “cat fight” story involving Paris Hilton, who wouldn’t turn me on under any circumstances, even if I was from a primitive tribe in a faraway land. I read the story first at contactmusic.com, but it may have been initially reported by the AP, or Pop Eater, or Time, or the New England Journal of Medicine as far as I know, since the story is everywhere, because let’s face it, this is news. Never mind that Iran just announced they are weaponizing their plutonium – this is news, damn it! Hold the press-on nails!
So the story – which I haven’t really followed, I swear – is that Paris went around with her ass in the air telling anyone who would listen that Doug Reinhardt was her “future husband,.” This Reinhardt guy was at the Darkroom Bar with his brother and Kendahl Beal was there with her friend. They sort of knew each other, so the group of them were catching up and watching the Laker’s Game. They weren’t even really flirting (and so what if they were?). It was just nice, quiet afternoon in a bar doing shots and watching basketball. But it was not to be.
Paris has spies. They called her and told her whatever it is these dumb asses tell one another, probably something about her man out with this b**** in public. Oh, the nerve. Nobody does that to Paris Hilton. According to the New York Post’s PageSix, she stormed into Los Angeles’ Darkroom bar on Tuesday night (Jun09) and attacked the beauty queen with – are you sitting down? – snacks. Hey, I never said it was pretty. Yep, snacks. Oh, the humanity! She was picking up ice and fruit and flinging it. Police officially have called the event a “snack attack.” No word on the survival of the peanuts and goldfish crackers.
Paris dumped him publicly through her publicist shortly after. Now that’s class. I want a publicist to do all my dirty work too. I wonder if hers wipes her as well. I know a couple of girls I’m kinda sweet on. I’m gonna have my publicist call their publicist and see if they want to get together for some…uh….snacks.
Whoa, whoa, Paris! Are you gonna eat that banana?