Paris Hilton did not appear to me in a dream, but I see that Nicole Richie was just popped for a DUI.
Now for more in me, me, me!
I am pondering an issue with my ethicist. It seems my diamonds are most likely made of little African children. No, really, I looked it up. It doesn’t look good in the origin department. I haven’t been wearing them for months and months anyway. I was thinking of selling them to be rid of them, but then that seems like profiting again from someone else’s misfortune, although I could donate the money to some theoretically worthy cause. On the other hand, reselling potentially keeps newer ones from being purchased. Yet it continues to validate cultural demand. And then that damn movie that’s coming out is just making me trendy, and I hate that! And just about anything we purchase manages to despoil the earth, unless we’re David, so I’d have to replace all my jewelry with recycled gum wrappers. What to do?
And how will people know not to say “Hey mami, bless you for that ass!” to me when I’m out and about, unfettered by conventional matrimonial signals? Oh, right, it doesn’t matter. They’ll say it anyway. Ethically, I am OK with that, because I work hard for my ass.