Off The Record

"Ya know, if there's one thing I hate worse'n the Paps, its the so-called real journalist reporter-types who think that they're too foo-foo, too 'legit' to be Paps. Cuz they're really just as bad. Sure, they ain't the ones followin' me 'round and snapping photos and takin' vids while I get my [Expletive Deleted] Fraps or buy some new boots or what-the-[Expletive Deleted]-ever I do. But they're the ones payin' the Paps to do what they do. They're the ones shovin' the vids down people's throats."

She pauses, takes a long drag on a thin, red cigarillo and then sighs.

"Real people don't care about Hollywood. They don't give a [Expletive Deleted] if Angie an' Brad are knockin' boots in the trailer or if some starlet is up the duff with her married producer's baby. Sure, a few thousand fat housefraus with nothing but FoodTV and the internet might be droolin' as they wait to watch Brit-Brit Pike being dragged to the loony-bin. But real people? They don't [Expletive Deleted] care. I mean, they got real stuff to worry about, right? Bills and taxes and whatnot. I mean, they make like 10.00 an hour or like, what? Fifty-grand a year? [Expletive Deleted] me! I make more than that just sitting here talking to you.

I mean, don't get me wrong, okay? Like - I know its unfair for them. I mean, I got paid about eight million bucks for filming that last movie, you know? Five weeks of work, eight big ones. I mean, for walking around in designer outfits and stillettos and crying on cue, they give me eight million smackers. [Expletive Deleted], dude. It just ain't a fair world, right? But [Expletive Deleted], if the dumbasses of America wanna keep paying 11 bucks to watch my [Expletive Deleted]-ass movies, then I'll keep cranking them out. Right?"

She laughs and then stops again. She takes a sip from her Vivaldi Purified Crystalline Glacier Water (which retails at $9.50 per bottle) and frowns.

"Er... That last part is off-the-record, right?"