Oh, Yves Saint Laurent died.
I'm actually in Paris right now and some runner boy sent by Pierre Berge came running up to me a few hours ago. "Mister Lagerfeld? Mister Lagerfeld?"
"What is it boy, who sent you?"
"Pierre Berge sir. He says to tell you Yves Saint Laurent is dead."
So that was that. No joke, hmm? I really am the best now (not that I wasn't before).
Yves is actually sitting in my kitchen sipping a hot cup of cocco. I tell him it'll make him fat but he won't listen. It was a pretty good faking, all things considered. The TV's on and we're watching all the reports about his life. "Revolutionized fashion" blah blah blah.
It's pretty funny. Yves is like "what are they going to say about you when you die?"
Oh, I don't intend on dying Yves, I say. It seems pretty boring.