I think we can all agree that anymore the vag-flashing celebutard phenomenon appeals only to Perez Hilton, the GoFugYourself.com girls and paparazzi. Nicole Ritchie, Paris Hilton...even my fourteen year old twin nieces could give a rat's ass about these haggard convicts. These slags are so obviously without worth that 'washed-up' can't describe what they'll be next year because to be 'washed-up' you have to be treading water to begin with. Remember Paris Hilton's post-incarceration born-again week? That moment was so absurd pop-culture pundits couldn't bring themselves to snark online about it...to comment at all would have been so lame and obvious and just plain redundant that all snark privileges would have been instantly revoked by the Gods of Twat: Gawker.com. Lindsay Lohan, Britney Spears, other assorted Disney bitches and their useless little sisters (e.g. The Duffs), Zac Effron...their fates have all been foretold. If they play their cards right, they're all gonna grow up to be Courtney Love.
Courtney. Love.
The name alone gives me gooseflesh. I feel like the letters COURTNEYLOVE are an anagram for ROMAN CASTEVET. She's the sloppy drunk at the party who staggers by you en route to the bathroom and slurs "There's too many of 'em. I can't kill the world" into your ear. Howler monkeys berserk at the sight of her as do armies of recovering Seattle-area rrrrriot grrrrrrrls.
Fatty Arbuckle bred Paula Fox and hatched Linda Carroll who lay with Tex Watson and then begat the feral scourge that is the Courtney Love Cobain.
If you're in any way pro-Love check out these dismal five minutes up close and personal with this carelessly preserved husk of a woman and then reconsider:
Jesus. Because I've spent much of the last five years of my New York City existence spinning for inebriates in bars, that clip leaves me wracked with spasms of deja vu. How many times have I found myself cornered, bleary-eyed and blinking at some ghastly, fame-whore of a Gay leaning into me and braying names of people I've never heard of, all in the effort of selling to me the idea that s/he has a legitimate
presence in the public eye. Courtney doesn't just introduce her friend as 'Kimberly' but as 'Kimberly Stewart', as if broadcasting the fact that her Coachella companion is Rod Stewart's daughter will somehow give her some infotainment cache'.
Courtney Love took the road better off not traveled. At one time, I bought into her decadent California pop-rock goddess pose. Hole's 'Celebrity Skin' is a glorious update of the whole 70's Eagles/Fleetwood Mac L.A. noir aesthetic.
It demanded a series of sequels but instead she hooked up with the Jim Steinman of chick-rock (Linda Perry) and has opted to shill a wretched, screechy radio-friendly caricature of herself. I hated 'America's Sweetheart' (CL has confessed that she's not a fan either...probably because its chart performance was underwhelming)and I'll no doubt hate her long-delayed follow-up 'Nobody's Daughter'.
She's the Joe Pesci of rock n' roll which is sad because she could've been a contender instead of a mook, which is what she is.
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