I've been a bit busy lately, and thus I haven't updated this place as much. Not that I care too much, as I talk to the people who're important to me every day, hmm? I really don't. I don't care at all. I care so little that the weight of my caring of my lack of updating of this blog is less that the fetuses that Prada's using these days.
I've decided to have my assistants to start selecting who gets to be my "friend" on facebook. I'm sick of having ugly people on my page. So, there is now a rigid selection criteria. It is like the clubs, hm? It is like what Chanel is- we don't just let anybody in. It's a luxury to have me as your "friend", even though I wouldn't know you from an Alaskan miner's mother. It is luxury! It is an extension of Chanel! It is modern!
Anyway, the intrusion of reality mentioned in the header is here. I had to go to some meeting with some people-- they want to sell Chanel online. Obviously, we do not sell Chanel online. How are we meant to monitor the people that buy the goods? It was hell when Donatella bought something from a Chanel Boutique without my permission. So Uncle had to be political and stop the bad men from selling Chanel to demode people. Well, it was a woman I spoke to. She looked a bit like a bank-woman; you know, the power-woman of the 80's that somehow still exists.
Me: "You are aware that Thatcher is not in power anymore, hm?"
Power-suit lady: "Well, Dorles over at the bank said it was very nice on me."
Me: "If you're acting in a play set in the 80's, maybe.."
Power-suit lady: "Now, aren't we meant to be discussing this political thing?"
Me: "Can you please take off the suit. Remove the suit. Take it off your person."
Power-suit lady: "That's sexual harassment!"
Me: "No, it's just simply ugly."
Reader: "And you're gay!"
Me: "Cliched line. I've used it too many times. Anyway, the audience knows I'm gay."
Reader: "I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU! PLEASE CATER TO ME! DELIVER THE PUNCH LINE, GODDAMMIT."
Me: [walks away, muttering "demode, demode..."]