“She’s a fat cow.”
“You mean that in the – you know – mataspherical sense?”
“I mean that in the fat cow sense.”
“Hey, Larissa.”
“Hey Andreanna.”
“Hey Georgetina.”
“Hey, Andreanna.”
“You think she’s a fat cow?”
“Oh, absolutely. She’s the quintessence of fat cowness.”
“Hunh?”
“Do you want to know who we’re talking about?”
“Do I have to?”
“I think it would help – you know, put things in context and shit.”
“I’m allergic to context. It gives me hives.”
“No, honey, you’re thinking of Tampex.”
“I am?”
“Oh, I think so.”
“Tampex – context – who has the time to worry about such…trivia?”
“Wafah Dufour.”
“What? Well! You don’t have to take that attitude with me, bitch!”
“What?”
“Wha fo ya do it for? It’s none of your damn business what I did it for.”
“No, that’s the fat cow’s name.”
“What is?”
“Wafah Dufour.”
“Wha I do what for? Oh, you know what, that doesn’t even matter. Honey, you say that one more time and I’m gonna slap you into next week!”
“THAT’S…HER…NAME!”
“WHAT?”
“WAFAH!”
“That’s a name?”
“I think it’s Italian.”
“No – it’s Swiss. I’m sure of it.”
“Anyway, she’s getting a reality show.”
“What, that fat cow?”
“Oh, it gets better.”
“Do tell.”
“She’s the niece of Osama bin Laden.”
“Who?”
“Osama bin Laden.”
“Like I said: who?”
“Well, you know…Osama, uhh, Osama bin Laden.”
“Girl, this conversation is gonna take forever if you insist upon making me repeat myself.”
“Osama bin Laden. You know, he’s a famous…uhh…Georgie, help me out, here.”
“He’s a hit man for a Middle Eastern oil company.”
“What?”
“Where the hell did you hear that?”
“Some of us watch CNN…”
“Well…anyway…he’s famous. He’s in the newspapers all the time, and, whenever he releases a tape, it makes headlines, like, everywhere!”
“What’s on these tapes?”
“…”
“Georgie, you wanna answer that?”
“How would I know? I stopped listening to music when Wham! broke up.”
“You watch CNN.”
“Well, it’s not exactly MTV Europe, is it?”
“True.”
“Good point.”
“So, the point, Andie, is that this Wafah Dufour bitch got her reality show because of connections, didn’t she? I mean, here I am, I been walking the catwalk for six years – since before I got my first period –”
“You tell it, girl!”
“I mean, I’ve already been in rehab three times –”
“Four.”
“Betty Ford don’t count – I was never properly signed in before I was – before I released myself. Can I tell my story, please?”
“Sorry.”
“I’ve been on the cover of Vanity Fair and had breast implants – I mean, I’ve done everything they tell you you need to do to succeed in this business, but do I get a reality show?”
“Do you want one?”
“THAT’S NOT THE POINT! The point is that if some bitch what never even’s been rumoured to be having an affair with Rod Stewart can get her reality show, I SHOULD HAVE ONE, TOO!”
“You had an affair with Rod Stewart?”
“Eww!”
“Rumoured. It was rumoured that I had an affair with Rod Stewart.”
“Seriously, did you really have an affair with Rod Stewart?”
“My publicist has advised me not to publicly comment on that case while it’s still being tried in the press lest that I incriminate myself – AND COULD WE TRY TO STICK TO THE POINT, HERE? PLEASE?”
“Uhh…and that would be…?”
“Uhh…right. Right! Wafah Dufour ge –”
SLAP!
“Oww! What was that for?”
“I told you.”
“THAT’S HER NAME!”
“Whose name?”
“Right. What are we gonna do about this?”
“No point in doing anything to her – everybody can see that she’s a fat cow with no talent who doesn’t deserve her own reality show.”
“Agreed.”
“What about her uncle? Casaba –”
“Osama.”
“Whatever. Maybe we can start a rumour about him.”
“Like what? That he’s a druggie? That he’s bisexual? That he likes little boys? It’s not like any of that stuff is unheard of in the Swiss music industry…”
“What if we say he’s involved in terrorist activity?”
“Call Osama bin Laden a terrorist?”
“Not in so many words – well, except, yeah, maybe in those exact words.”
“For being the connection that helped his niece get her own TV show?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s a little…harsh, isn’t it?”
“You think life is fair?”