I told myself I would write a post every Monday. A fine idea until Monday rolls around and I need to find something interesting to say. What if I don't feel like being interesting? If my name was Paris Kardashian, my namesake would automatically make me interesting. I could be as dull as a butterknife yet Gawker would print my name thirty-seven times in one week. Snoop Dog would invite me to his barbecues.
And I'd go.
Not that securing invites to celebrity barbecues has ever been my aim. Although watching Jay Z throw Justin Bieber in the pool would be hilarious. And using the bathroom after Mariah Carey to find she doesn't wash her hands might be worth ten thousand dollars to TMZ.
Not that selling dirt on celebrities is my aim, either. Although ten thousand dollars grants a lot of my wishes. And once wishes are granted, doesn't it make it easier to kick open the immoral door to secretly take photos of Jennifer Aniston wearing nothing but her bikini bottoms--I imagine Snoop Dog's barbecues get intensely wild--for millions?
You bet it does.
If only I had a more interesting name.
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