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September 3, 2007 | by  | in Opinion |
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Idiot’s guide to Celebrity

Hey my intellectually impaired friends, hope all your studies and life pursuits are going well, and that your holiday was pleasant. Now that it’s crunch time, not breakfast, but coming pretty close to exam time, I should write you a refresher column for exams. But to be honest, I’m not going to, because something else is weighing on my mind. The other night in town a group of young men approached me and my companions. They seemed friendly enough at first and I assumed they just wanted to shoot the breeze.

I quickly discovered, through their alcohol heavy smokescreen that these silly young men were seeking not drugs, but fame. You must understand, idiot, I am a celebrity – celebrity status leaks from my pores, filling the air with a pleasant pine scent. As I walk through a crowded street people stop and stare, sometimes instinctively thrusting pens and paper under my nose hoping for my John Hancock. Some of you may think that you wouldn’t do that because you don’t know what I look like… believe me, you know.

So this column is dedicated to a group of young hooligans on Courtenay Place this past Friday night. I know most/all of you must have been there, but this column isn’t dedicated to everyone, so get over it.

A celebrity is a type of person. Like a plumber or a student, a celebrity does many of the same things you do. They enjoy eating, sleeping and having a laugh. It’s just when they do it, they do it better. They eat the richest chocolate gateau, or caviar smeared baguette, and foods you can’t even spell. They sleep in magnificent beds that seem ridiculous to the commoner who sleeps in the hay. Ever heard of the princess and the pea? What was that, like 40 mattresses? Why? Because she was a celebrity. And just like you, celebrities like to have a good time. That’s why all the celebrities you see in the movies start off as just normal people, whom extraordinary things happen to. Who knew that a once-small Fresh Prince of Bel Air would manage to save the world from an earth-shattering alien invasion. That special day landed him a spot in a secret organisation specialising in aliens. He later moved on to work with robots, all the while sustaining a successful boxing career and dating service. Now you must admit – that truly is the pursuit of happiness.

Most celebrities are movie stars and musicians. But there are other kinds of celebrities too; too many kinds to list. Writers are the best kind of celebrity. We, like the vampire, stalk the streets at night. You are drawn to us, you need us, but you don’t know why. We have a power over the normal human being that will get us into the finest restaurants and hot spots. Simply put, the writer is immortal. Of course, you idiots will never be writers or movie stars, so I shall tell you of ‘The Idiot’s Celebrity’. These celebrities are famous for no real reason. They are put on this earth for people like you to look up to and say, “hey, this person’s dumber than me! If they is a celebrity, maybe I can be too!” And you sure can! Here’s how.

If you’re a regulation hottie then this should be pretty simple. Get dressed up real nice and go to all the wicked bars in town on a regular basis so people start to recognise you. You probably already do this; good stuff. Then once you’ve established your own personal brand, AKA, people know you, then lose the plot. Throw away the script of life. I recommend a tried and tested method. Get drunk and drive around making sure you have some cocaine in your car. But not too much, as that could lead to unwanted jail time. Drink driving is all the rage. And because you’ve reached celebrity status, just by being hot and getting plastered, you’ll barely do any prison time at all. Nicole Ritchie did 82 minutes. That’s like counting to 60 82 times. Or 82 60 times, whichever is quicker.

However, celebrity isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, my friends. Sometimes we get lonely just like you; well, not like you. We lack real friendship, and love. We have so much love to give, if the world only knew. Anyway, the point of my column is, if you want to harass me in town, at least buy me a beer or something!

Yours faithfully,
Denny Lamb

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