Live in Bars and Danced on Tables

Most of you will have seen Anna's bit on 60 minutes by now. If your name is Cathy "Ohio" Horyn, you are probably flabbergasted by the fact that Mr. 60 Minutes dared call me a vampire; or the fact that he suggested John Galliano needs a better tailor. I imagine Cathy sitting at home, eating yet another one of her chicken pot-pies and wearing her hockey hats and lumberjack jackets- writing her post with a dirty pencil and yelling at the neighbours: "WHY AREN'T YOU LIKE MY SYCOPHANTIC COMMENTORS?" she screams, going back to her CRT computer screen to eat her 2nd chicken pot-pie of the day and read her commentors (all of whom are in their 40's and out of work). I do wonder whether Cathy possess a sense of humor, or that too, like her fashion sense, is long gone. It's the truth that I'm a vampire- I told everybody that in the 70's and they thought I was joking.

If you are the possibly-once-alright fashionista dot com, you would've written a post in where you call the delightful (if in need of skincare) Mr. 60 Minutes "snarky". Children, let's have a think about what it means when an industry where to be snarky is valued as highly as being able to breath- let us think about what it means when a fashion site calls somebody out on being snarky. Just let that sink in for a bit. Mm. This is what happens when you get college girls with frizzy hair writing posts, hmm?

The other thing making all the news stands at the moment is a book written by a so-called former assistant of mine. He was never an assistant of mine- assistants of mine do not survive once they are fired. They're like some endangered animal that's under protection by the horrible environmentalists, that if they are released they cannot survive in the wild. My assistants do not survive in the wild; simply because I kill them first. Given that we're on a National Geographic kind of slant here, we'll say that I eat them, as a large worm with eyes might. Of course, I do not really eat them. I just decapitate them. I stole one of those Chanel guillotines this artist created, and I use that. The artist sent a telegraph to me regarding the fact that it the guillotine in question is "art" and "not for use". I replied saying it's a demonstration of art ending life. That's rather philosophical, isn't it? "Art ending life." Someone should write a thesis on that.

Let me tell you this, Fashion people: nothing in this book is true. For one, I drink diet Coke, not Pepsi. What sort of book gets an important plot-point like this wrong, hmm? Can you really imagine I, Karl Otto Lagerfeld, drinking Pepsi? It defies the imagination, frankly. This fraud of a writer alleges other things- I'm egotistic, I have no understanding of the human mind; I designed the H&M collection in two and half days. I designed it in half an hour, not two and a half days. What sort of slob do they think I am? As for my ego, I think my nieces and daughter will testify that I am not egotistic in the slightest. Yes, I am brilliant and the greatest genius ever; yes, I, by myself- moi and only moi- revived Chanel; yes, I designed every collection worth a damn ever. That's no reason to call me an egotist. I'm just brilliant.