Friday, May 17, 2013
It's been rumored, as it was when she originally conducted the voluntary surgery, that Angelina Jolie has (once again) waffled on something that simply cannot be flipped as readily as an iHop pancake.
The source (NOT Perez Hilton) claims a man and a woman, with 23 children en tow, who looked suspiciously like a homeless Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie -- if they raided Western Costumes "Fashionista Skid Row" department, as well as the local Mercedes Benz dealership.... in addition to the local orphanage -- entered a popular Hollywood prosthetics company this week, asking about "fake flesh that feels real and can hold milk". Perplexed, the manager directed the couple and their Benetton army to a dairy farm just outside of Los Angeles. Miffed, the couple and their 22 children marched off, boarded their semi, and departed in haste (according to the source, one of them blurted "oooo, cowsies mommy Angie" and was summarily scarified for the sake of the ruse).
The rig, dubbed "The Freedom Barge" by the tabloids due to the large quantity of adopted foreign children who ride it, later appeared at Rick Baker's Monster Make-Up House. Behind closed doors, as their 21 children purged their energy playing street hockey with fake body parts, negotiations (again, allegedly) turned heated as Baker repeatedly pointed and gawked at the "homeless woman who looked just like Angelina Jolie's" chest area, as the "homeless man who looked just like Brad Pitt" barked in retaliation. Meanwhile, the "20 homeless kids who look just like homeless kids" took sides and placed bets. Soon, the army was on its way -- and again, empty chested.
A double mastectomy is a serious commitment, born of many hours, days, or perhaps weeks of dedicated thought process and expert consultation. Or, in the case of the Hollywood elite, over a power nosh at Soho House and a midday bender. What might be construed as a brilliant idea on Monday may, like so many overly-managed Hollywood flops, morph into a massive miscalculation by Friday. It seems Ms. Jolie's advisory board very well could have consisted of a rail-thin feminist, an alimony-stricken plastic surgeon, a narcissistic publicist, a Monsanto executive (since they're inherently evil, no matter what... allegedly), and the Goddess Gwendolicious Neebong, famed Thai fortune telling cross-dresser to the stars, whose hatred for any kind of milk product is infamous.
As the legend continues.
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Wednesday, May 8, 2013
A public service announcement all reading should heed. Never, and I repeat... NEEEVVVVEEERRR conduct any business with a self-described spiritual goddess/self help guru/ lifestyle evangelist WITHOUT:
a) A realistic budget based upon realistic information derived from her real world, as opposed to her fanciful, perfect world she shall "receive" after completing her online "Discover Your Inner Business Beauty" 10 week session.
b) A realistic deposit based upon said realistic budget derived from before-mentioned real world information not culled from neither her online "discover myself" classes nor her goddess group gurus whom she turns to for "metaphysical support and understanding".
c) The very real possibilit she'll bolt from the assignment simply due to the her "feminine warrior" instincts and nothing more.
d) A train wreck clause, which basically justifies full billing if she suddenly pulls out of an agreed deal for reasons such as "the stars spoke to me" or "this is hard work and my aura is at risk."
I should have known better. The moment I walked into her place, I should have known better. Instantly, the ABC rule (Always Be Closing) should have launched into full tilt boogie. "Secure the project! Secure the money!" must be your inner mantra. The Vegan lifestyle. The trinkets and yoga paraphernalia. The words which construct her sentences. Her excited inclusion within several online "women only" business sessions that promote feminine power, self-love and self-worth in addition to teaching how to balance an accounts receivable ledger. The candles. The colors. It all spelled one thing, and one thing only...
You see, it's not about the online business sessions, nor the yoga, nor is it the way she goes about saying things. Individually, nothing evil nor unjust can result from any of these lifestyle choices. Yet, cumulatively, they paint a portrait of a closet case narcissist quite prevalent amongst the walking and breathing of Los Angeles. The "It's All About Me" collective of spiritual fucktards who'll walk away from commitments for the solitary reason that it suits them at that particular moment, since they "live in the moment. Never mind the conduct of proper business. Pay no attention to logic and reason. They play the instrument of life with the fingers of emotion, and if they wake up tomorrow to their wheatgrass juice, organic oatmeal, and Tibetan chants -- and suddenly "feel" the necessity to 86 their business agreement with you, then so be it.
They need no reason, since it's all about them and what THEY want. Really? Fine...
Good bye and good riddance.
Playing with this deck of razor blades hoping I might not get sliced is completely on me. But, the money would have been nice. The year (in addition to 2012) has not been too terribly kind on my pocketbook, so I unthinkingly dove head first into the work to rejuvenate my ambition. She seemed nice at the time, and the project had a possibility of extending well past the character design stages.
Again, on me. The reality of the situation is simple: Nobody in the health coach, self-help arena has any money! Check that... they do. After all, that $1500 online course on "Discovering Your Secret Feminine Soldier of Love and Prosperity" doesn't pay for itself. And yes, it's pay-in-advance and non-refundable.
Perhaps that's the secret! Become a self-described guru, charge everybody exorbitant online fees up front, and offer them in return a template package I've sold a thousand times before that has never worked.
Or, walk away from the headache altogether and write it off as a loss.