Joan Rivers needs to build a bridge…


…to get over herself. The banks are overflowing. I smell dampness and we all want to go home.

When someone like Adam Hills hates you, YOU’RE BEING A DICK. He’s usually too nice for this shit, ya know?
Exhibit A: right off this (don’t be scared. It can’t hurt you, not from here).
Note: Adam Hills is not British, but the phrase ‘British TV Show Host’ makes grammatical sense because the TV show is British. And he loves it over there anyway, so I don’t think he’d mind. HE’S NICE LIKE THAT.

Sure, every person has talked smack about someone they don’t like. Don’t lie, you’re among friends. At least once, come on. At first, it feels good to say certain things out loud, especially if you’re surrounded by those who agree. I’ve always believed that almost nothing brings people together like common hate for someone or something else. And that kinda behaviour can mean any number of things.

I write what I hate, then I look at it later, just to find that it’s only the recognition of my own handwriting letting me know that it’s not a page ripped out from the Angst Files (courtesy of Agents Looks-Older and Gully), but my own ill-conceived rantings. Which makes me feel like I’m a child again after writing a letter to MY REAL PARENTS because these ROBOTS don’t understand me, man, they think my art’s a joke… kitchen condiments are as noble a medium as any… THIS MESS REFLECTS HOW I FEEL. UGH. Self-consciousness kicks in and that shit ends up in the wastepaper basket. Torn into pieces so the trash removal people don’t see. There. Now I’m a grown-up. Yes. Moving on.

False accusations hurt. Not even Crayola Purple Mountain’s Majesty does it justice, god damn it. (

[edit: Not actually adopted. Someone once told me that foster children don’t interrupt round-world vacations by, you know, becoming a fetus and eventually a human. Nope. I’ve been told they’re a bit more timely and considerate than that. Which is probably nice in its own way. They’ve started travelling again, which is also nice.]

Maybe it’s because that person has something you don’t and you’re thinking it means you don’t deserve it, which you take as an insult. Maybe they do the opposite of what you stand for and you’re threatened by their influence on others. Maybe you’ve been hurt by that person and you’re sick of seeing them acting like everything’s fine. Or maybe it’s a stranger doing things you’ve never been able to get away with, and you’re feeling unfairly hard-done-by. But why is this?

Every possible situation I can think of that includes gossip for gossip’s sake is able to boiled down to insecurity. Steamy self-hate. Clammy, undignified projection. Classic, but bland.

I find myself wondering if people can hear themselves judging others on things that don’t hurt anyone else. If they can really just listen to themselves for a minute or two (or fifteen if the coffee’s already gone cold, thanks for that… you were saying…?), then could they hear what I hear?

  • Calling a model’s bisexual status an “excuse for being a whore” = just plain ignorant.
  • Calling a fellow actress and comedian’s body a “crime against nudity” = UH WHUT. HOW.
  • Calling your own writers “schmucks” and “idiots” = Dame Blame-Game strikes again.
  • Accusing a popular actress of “tripping over her own arrogance” whilst collecting an award = peanut butter and jealousy.

I’ve done the math, Mrs. Molinsky (if that is even your real name, you cackling, plastic bint), and I kinda feel bad now. All the unfunny Joan Rivers picto-quotes about diamonds, money, looks and status faded into the background as soon as I saw one of them: “I knew I was an unwanted baby when I saw that my bath toys were a toaster and a radio.”

I know she was trying to be funny when she said that, but I didn’t laugh, this time for a different reason. I mean, everyone’s got a self-deprecating side to them, even the most confident-looking people. But when a grown woman releases a book named ‘I Hate Everyone, Starting With Me’ with a dead-dolly-glare picture of herself (or maybe it’s a waxwork; it’s hard to tell these days) above the title, then you know she’s one of the Hurt Ones.

But is being a bitch a good cover for flagging self-confidence? Not really.
Is it better to rip someone out rather than bolster your own morals? Not in the long run.
Will your constant disrespect of others gain respect from anyone else? Not from anybody worthy of respecting.
Will another facial injection make you feel more whole? NOPES TO INFINITY.

Some Monsters are Magnetic. How else do you get other people behind the Fashion Police desk?
Easy. Certain alloys attract each other, most notably Bullshite and MadRantium. Now THAT’S how magnets work, Botox Frown Posse. (

Gossip and shit-talking… Sometimes it means that those you once called ‘friends’ can end up assembling like mismatched Lego for you to step on next time you’re out and about. Sometimes you’re the mutineer, slinging mud until something sticks. But it always means you’re judging yourself by proxy. I hear you using someone else’s name, but I’m listening to how you feel about yourself. I know nobody really needs my pity, but here it is.




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