Oh Gwyneth, Gwyneth, Gwyneth. Why, may I say to thee, respectfully, are you such a terrible cunt?
Yet again this week, Gwyneth has been pictured out in her tenth pair of 7-inch, hot-off-the-designer’s-crotch, ‘please look at me you fuckers’ heels. Girlfriend is everywhere right now. She is the pap’s bitch. And this is presumably because she has a movie called Iron Man or Iron Lung or Iron sodding Side or something to flog.
Of course, should anyone choose to take a picture of this public figure when she’s not plugging her multi-million pound movie, she’ll go apeshit on yo ass… ‘I want privacy! Please!’ she’ll suddenly bark as she goes out to buy lots of bags with the money we’ve given her by going to watch her in Ironside. ‘I’m off duty now!’ she’ll cry. No you’re not love. I’m afraid with some jobs, the simple fact is you’re just never off duty.
It’s why doctors can’t say ‘Leave me alone’ when someone keels over and needs a heart massage on a plane. It’s why lawyers get calls at 3am from clients waking up with a dead hooker. And it’s why you, my darling, can’t invite us to this party and then send us home when it suits you.