I'm not much one to chatter or gossip about the latest celebrity news. In fact, it's hard for me to imagine anything more soul-sickening than spending your day mongering gossip and exposing the small faults of people that we, as a culture, hold in esteem; pettiness begets sadness, and I for one choose to look at the greatness around us - what some call "God's gifts" and what I call "breasts". But really, that is just a joke at my own expense. I do not mean to be a prude or a man of pretension.
Occassionally, however, a celebrity story will break through my mind's semi-permeable orb of perpetual wonder - a somewhat mucousy membrane that prevents frivolity and self-righteous schadenfruede. Today I read that Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes are expecting a child, and I sincerely feel a deep sadness for this young woman, not much older than I, who is choosing to have her first child with Mr. Cruise. For who now, after the evidence is in and the jury has ruled; after it can be certainly ascertained that Mr. Cruise is not a homosexual and the couple has had sex at least once - I ask you: what brave man will dare ever stick his prized phallus in her now-putrid, violated and unwholesome hole of love?
I repeat. The evidence is in and Mr. Cruise is not a homosexual. He has, in fact, impregnated Katie Holmes.
Do you remember how our souls were shaken when we discovered the atrocities that occured in Rwanda? We said, "Never again." But then Darfur happened and we were shamed. We said, "Never again." Yet here we are, shamed once more, shamed by the fact that we could have done something - anything but watch the all-too-real drama unfold before us on our television screens like hapless sacks of stinky shit - but we did nothing. Our hands are dirty, friends.
But as dirty as our hands are, we are the cleanest virgin silk next to Ms. Holmes. You have done yourself no favors, Katie. You have asked the serpent man with his pickled member to plant his thetan seed deep within your loins. No number of Narconon sessions will remove those toxins from your body; no auditing will clear the memory of his small, toothy body over yours.
It is true, yes, we are ashamed. But shame comes only from an absence of pride. Shame tells one that he has failed; it corrects him, fortifies him. You have no shame, Ms. Holmes. You have no shame because you have no pride. You are less than us. We pity you not because we hope for you a better life but rather because you are beneath us. Do I feel poorly when the mites and termites are killed by the exterminator? No, I don't. I'm happy that my house is clean and free of grubs.
You are a grub. You are insignificant. I spit on you. Wait - no I don't. I don't spit on you because I don't care. I don't even know who you are. Katie who? Tom Cruise huh?
Never again. Never again.