Celebrity Creepfest

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I am writing this story quickly because I want to go to the beach. Which beach, you ask? A secret beach where absolutely no celebrities are allowed. That is because this week has done nothing but reinforce my belief that celebs are nothing but a bunch of frightening, terrible freaks.

First up we have Elle Magazine's interview with Terrence Howard. Terrence who? That was my response too, so I looked him up on IMDB. His cherubic, mustachioed countenance rose to fame via such vehicles as the highly overrated Crash and Oprah's TV movie. Up until now, I really couldn't have given a crap what Terrence Howard had to say about us women, our clothing, or our bathroom habits. But now I think he actually wants to kill us. Check out these gems:

TH: I like women who look like me. Generally, you're ­attracted to women who look like you, because the most beautiful thing in nature is your own reflection.
ELLE: So…you like a lady with a pencil moustache?

A little weird but not downright awful, right? I mean, what self-respecting narcissist would date someone who didn't make it a little bit easier to imagine he's having gay sex with himself every night?
Then we have this:

TH: Now I'm completely chaste through a relationship unless I get married. I don't believe in premarital sex. It enabled me to date three or four women at the same time, because as long as I wasn't having sex with them, I could always just walk away.
ELLE: So are there many women out there wondering, "Why didn't Terrence ever have sex with me?"
TH: Yeah, but early on, I'd explain to them, "If we have sex, it's going to kill this thing." There were some who pushed for sex, and sometimes they won. Afterward, I would feel ­unclean, like I'd compromised my own values. So I would have to let them go because they didn't help me be a stronger person.

So let me get this straight...you don't believe in premarital sex. That's fine, I know plenty of sane people who are saving themselves for marriage (actually one sane one and a lot of loonies, but whatever). But you practice celibacy so you can be a pimp...wtf? And then if the female "wins" and you have sex with her anyway, you dump the whore for making you feel "unclean"? That's kind of fucked up.
And speaking of unclean:

ELLE: What one item could you find in a woman's house that would prove that you weren't compatible?
TH: Toilet paper—and no baby wipes—in her bathroom.
ELLE: Wait. I don't think I understand.
TH: If they're using dry paper, they aren't washing all of themselves. It's just unclean. So if I go inside a woman's house and see the toilet paper there, I'll explain this. And if she doesn't make the adjustment to baby wipes, I'll know she's not completely clean.

Um, this is America, mister. They're called baby wipes cause we use them on babies--individuals not yet old enough to wipe themselves. Reminds me of Sal's crazy French friend Remi in On the Road, ranting about our failure to use bidets..."the American, he is always walking around with a dirty azzhole!" Why don't you just go back to France, Terrence Commie?
Let's get this straight: You blame women for having sex with you, not cleaning their bums frequently enough, and not looking enough like Terrence Howard. You are either closeted, insane, or came from the '50s on a time machine because you really wanted to be in Mr. Holland's Opus (a movie about musicals).

Then we have the creeptastic reptilian cuteness that is The Olsen Twins (TM). We all know twins are creepy. There was a pair of them at my school who wore the same clothes, took the same classes, shared a bedroom, and collectively called a guy "their boyfriend." They creeped the hell out of me, and they weren't even WASPy, hollow-eyed, children of the corn. But check out this here picture of Ashley-Kate. She somehow manages to combine that dreaded corn-child stare with a hairstyle that reminds me of my scary aunt with all the cats. And she claims to be telepathic:

"Our bond is really beyond words. I know when she's hurting, I know when she's going through something. I know when she's happy - whether I'm with her or not, I know."

You hear that, Ashley? She knows. Best not go gaming on her dudes.

One more tidbit that I think is hilarious, if not terribly creepy, is Universal's placement of a giant billboard for The Bourne Ultimatum on the side of Matt Damon's building. I can just imagine the Team America version of him wandering confusedly around lower Manhattan, seeing the large likeness of his beautiful self, then happily shouting in his best Timmy voice, "Matt Damon! Matt Damon!" and waddling inside. Unfortunately, the billboard is everywhere, so anyone who lives in one of the affected buildings had best be on the lookout for stray Matt Damons.

That's all I can stomach for now...I'm blowing this joint. And if you are a scary, telepathic, woman-hating celebrity, don't even try to find me, cause I'm going to a nice, safe, secret, celebrity-free beach. I'm onto you.

web address: http://suicidegirls.com/news/celeb/22085/Celebrity-Creepfest/