I seem to get a lot of fanmail these days. Not just the normal kind, either. I attract the nutjobs! But at least they're beautiful nutjobs. I haven't had any pervs lately, which is disappointing. So if you want to send me pervy email, feel free to. The address is firstname.lastname@example.org. If you want to send me "modelling pictures", please do not. If I had any more models I'd feel like that geeky kid who spends all his days in his room covered by a duvet making models of planes and such.
THIS NEXT PART CONTAINS AFFECTION, LOOK OUT KID:
I'd also like to wish "happy new year" to all my readers. Yes, even you. A "thank you" (I have manners. Or at least for people I like), to Jane, my daughter that I discovered this year. Thank Chanel she wasn't demode, ugly, or possessing no taste! (bad taste I can stand, I live with Yves, after all-- her taste, of course; is as good as yours truly.). To Tavi, my niece. To Nico, my architect who is also a very good supplier of underwear models for Anna and I. To Julie Anne; who knows the sun's not yellow (I love you). To Karoline and her hat-wearing Margiela sunglasses-churning boyfriend. To Nea, who isn't in the alley at all. To Xenia, who's the only doll that doesn't scare me. To Cecil B. DeMille, who actually has nothing to do with this at all. To Jeunesse, who made my carols all-the-much-sweeter. To Belle, who is a pirate with some shoes. To Anna, who showed me the true glory of a spiked warm diet Coke. To Nana, who isn't 65. To Alber, who is really quite a teddy bear. To Rei, who uh....well, she's Rei. Zohra, who is quite possibly a niece. Or a muse. Or something, hmm? I guess, there's one for you too Yves. Oh my little silver gloves, this is going to take too long. Anyway, you all know who you are. Vidal, Ms. Butterfly, Deline, etc etc etc. All the commentators, really-- especially the regulars. I would like to not thank Mr. Marc Jacobs. That Babrie doll you sent of yourself was not funny. It was creepy, and this coming from me; a man who has tea with his KarlBear every tuesday, and 11.00AM.
It's cliche to thank "the fans", so I won't. But you may continue reading.
Let's all get to the main course now...it's not like I'm nice or anything. Feel the high collar. FEAR IT.
(By the way, there's a new ipod up. It's mostly noise-music, with the odd other thrown in)
SECTION CONTAINING AFFECTION IS NOW OVER, YOU MAY CONTINUE:
So today I got the email below in my inbox.
I contact you to be my foreign partner presenting you as the next of kin/beneficiary of US$25 000 000(Twenty Five Million Dollars) belonging to a deceased who died along with his entire family in 2003 during their vacation journey and was a customer to the Bank of Africa (BOA) Ouagadougou Branch, Burkina Faso, where i work as one of the Accounts officers.
I have worked out all necessary modalities to enable us carry out the fund claim under legitimate arrangements and i have resolved to 35%(your share), 5% (probable expenses during the transaction) and 60% (my share).
More details when i receive your positive response.
Thanks and God bless.
This is what I wrote back:
I didn't know Africa had a bank? I thought they just used other people's banks, kind of like that person who borrows you clothes and never gives it back. I've had that happen quite often in my time, hmm? So, does Africa actually have a bank or does the bank just consist of silly things like food and such?
Anyway, this family died on vacation? How horrible! This is why you don't vacation, actually. You might get killed and then an already Rich Guy like me might become the beneficiary! Anyway, any sort of holiday is boring. Did you know that right now, millions of people in the world-- yes, I kid you not, millions of people are out there celebrating the new year thing. I don't know how the world works in Africa, but here in Europe there's "years" and the start of every year is an excuse to get drunk, basically. Which leaves me all home alone. Well, Alber's playing some videogame-- "Katamari" or something; and I've got Bob Dylan's "Blood on the Tracks" on. But I'm basically alone. Well. There's screaming fans outside, but they're not really humans. They're more like-- sub-humans. They feed on lipstick and high collars. Or is that too stereotypical some people? Very well: let's say they feed on schizophrenics and..models with breast cancer. (Not that models these days really have breasts, so they have gone without for quite some while, hmm?)
But they're most certainly not Real People. I could sneeze and they'd suddenly fall over, because they're like cardboard cut-outs. Not that I would sneeze.
The answer to your question, by the way, is no.
Good day to you,
Karl Lagerfeld, esquire