Supermodel Diahrrea

By: Chaz Matthews Mood: other Date: 11/20/2007 11:05:43 Music: John Fogerty- Revival/Immortal-Sons Of Northern Darkness

So, old Greasy Chazzer met a real live celebrity last night. The highest paid supermodel in the world. Giselle. I guess this is how one spells her name.

Apparently, this chick, who I have almost but not quite actually heard of, is a Victorias' Secret model, half Brazillian, and dates Patriots' football star/giant goofus Tom Brady, who I also sort of met/saw, but who gives a giant Aardvark turd in the desert.

I was working, late night, at the store. Not too many customers, I was holding a bucket of icy filthy water, frowning intensely, and muttering to myself. The usual.

In walk these two kids. Just normal looking priveledged boston college age shitheels who I have to wait on (with gritted teeth and corpse-like fake smile) on a daily basis. They stop behind me and start making out, with gross lipsmacking noises and everything. I shoot them a hateful grimace and walk away with my dripping bucket of icy filth.

Then the girl, who is tall but otherwise utterly unremarkable, asks me where the ginger is. I show her, as her equally tall but unremarkable boyfriend eyes me warily. I think to myself, "I hate BU students." They go away, and when they do, I am happy again, back to muttering and frowning.

Ten minutes creep by, and a co -worker runs up to me, drool lathering from her chin, and says "Tom Brady is here again, and this time he brought Giselle!" Then she farted and ran away, clutching at herself hideously.

So, you know, celebs come to my store all the time. Red Sox, other sports monkeys, Joe Perry, Steven Tyler, Amanda Palmer from Dresden Dolls, uh...I dunno who else but I'm not the celeb watching type. If Billy Childish or John Fogerty walked in I'd pee myself and faint like a little girl. Of course, no one else would know who they were, probably. So my reaction would probably be attributed to my ever increasing craziness.

So, anyway, back to Giselle and Tom whatever his name is. I figure, ah, let's check out the freaks, eh? I walk behind a gaggle of gibbering, drooling, self fondling co-workers who are trying to non-chalantly stalk the couple while giggling and snorting loudly amongst themselves.

They point to a couple in the salad dressing aisle. What ho? That ho! It's the Ho I'd shown the ginger only minutes before, and her simian, slack jawed, knuckle dragging boyfriend!

Well, well. The highest paid supermodel in the world, ever, and her sports star paramour. Eh. I looked at 'em for a minute and went back to my department, muttering to myself about more important matters.

After that I guess they were making out loudly in the checkout lane. So I'm told. After they left the store, pretty much all my co-workers huddled in the cheese department and giggled and drooled over their celeb close encounter, for like 25 minutes.

I'm thinking, listen, this chick, she has no ass, number one. She is a stick. Number two, she is no prettier than half a million orange-tanned BU or BC or Northeastern U girls that come in the store to make my life a living heck on a regular basis. Number 3, this is a Brasillian girl? I've got a Brasillian girl, and I can tell you, they are not white, tall and stick insect thin. At least, jeez, they shouldn't be! You think Brasil, you think the curvy voluptuous Latina, don't you? Or maybe even the exotic Blacktina!!!! All nekkid and oiled up on a beach in Rio! Yeeeah! Yeaah man, yeaah!

Anyway , that skinny ho needs to gimme all her money and go the fuck back to BU where she belongs. Not impressed. Violently non-plussed.

In other news, i'm trying to stay positive about my developing band situation. First rehearsal, which took days and days to schedule, was cancelled due to illness. Now its gonna take days and days to schedule another one.

This is why I have avoided being in a band for so long, you know?

Oh, also, I met Wanda Jackson! Who, at 70 something years old, is still much more interesting than Giselle! She was a little unsteady and seemed frail, but man did she rock the shit outta that lil' club in Somerville! Yeah, Wanda Jackson! I'll post the pic of me and her if it comes out and Damian gives it to me.

Anyway, in breaking news, Creedence is the best band ever, John Fogerty is a demi-god, Wanda Jackson rules, and supermodels and sports stars are shit.