July 11, 2010

SOCIETY WATCH: WHY DON'T WE JUST CALL THEM WHAT THEY REALLY ARE? THE NU WHORES OF HOLLYWOOD

Celebrity obsessives know these details thanks to a reporter who said she witnessed Spears' wardrobe swap and supplied her account to a British tabloid, creating a worldwide gossip sensation. "I was in the bathroom when they exchanged clothes," the reporter recalled. "I was by the bar and heard everything the bartender said about it: 'She loved my bra and wanted to switch with me.' I was like, 'This is brilliant!' "

A statuesque former model who now works for a major American celebrity magazine, the woman spoke on condition she not to be identified for fear of blowing her cover as a so-called "club girl," a glamorous breed of covert reporters who infiltrate Hollywood's VIP sanctums to write celebrity exposés for the tabloids.

A well-established yet seldom-discussed fixture of A-list Angeleno nightlife, they have good looks and air-kissy access beyond the velvet rope that enable them to eavesdrop on celebrities, send surreptitious text messages and snap iPhone photos in pursuit of gossip gold. "I always say, it's living like a call girl without the sex," former club girl Suzy McCoppin said.

Dripping wet credit cards. Drugs. Sex? Only if it helps their career, not their pussy. This article by the LA Times is one of the most disgusting accounts of the parasites that have buried themselves deep into popular culture. They have always been there, of course. I am not advocating that there used to be a "decent" time at any time or place in the world's history, but at least real whores are honest. Real porn stars are honest.

Yes. I respect porn stars more than these "girls".

These "women" who actually consider themselves "journalists".

They are not. They are whores. If you swiped a credit card through their pussies, their eyes would light up with a price.  And there's always a price. For a celebrity thinking with their dick or their pussy, inviting these pieces of exclusive credit card eye candy into their circles, into their bedrooms (or more likely, the dingy rest room in a dingy LA night club)... deserves to get the media's version of herpes, let me be perfectly clear about that.

But that doesn't excuse this behaviour. And for what? So that somebody somewhere knows that some actor snorted coke of the tits of one of them? Yay!

Their editors are pimps. Enablers. Sitting at computer systems, media masturbation, furious typing on sticky keyboards, vomiting this pop culture trash into our direction. And people lap it up. People have now been conditioned to lap up mental vomit.

Reality.

Reality TV.

TV exchanging reality for feverish drug and pussy dreams.

Ladies and gentlemen, the Nu Whores!

Give them a hand!

Just don't forget to wash it afterwards.

Because you know where they've been.