DURST: Selling Your Soul
Yes, supermodels are selling their eggs. What's everybody flipping out about? You don't want a supermodel egg, don't buy a supermodel egg you blithering idiot. Its not like they're on the cover of the Sharper Image Holiday catalogue or a strategic game piece in a McDonald's Happy Meal Giveaway. Refuse to go to the Web site and refuse to inject bulimia into your bloodline. Yes, it is that simple. George Carlin and Dennis Miller both sold their integrity for the sake of some bullshit ripoff 10-10 number. There's the frickin crime. Not Dennis Miller so much. He's been playing patty cake with lifesize M & M's for a while now, so at least we're dealing with a guy cognizant he's neck deep in corporate kissy butt. Not quite the same credibility gap Bobcat Goldthwaite hanglides above while lambasting talentless wannabees sucking on various tarnished dignity tailpipes after himself making a talking horse movie. Oh, I get it, therein lies your validation. Yeah, right, nice tv show. But Carlin? The only man left who says stuff all of us believe but only he has the balls to say? The guy who kicked a cop so he'd be thrown in the same squad car as a handcuffed Lenny Bruce? I guess eventually, we all sell our eggs. All depends on what you're willing to hold out for. Might as well set the standard while you're young and beautiful. Me, sure sure, I'd sell out in a New York second. Wouldn't take much either. Condo in Kona. Any bidders? Can't have the whole soul, though. Just bits and pieces of it at a time, until its nibbled away like a piece of nine grain bread pecked at by ravenous crows next to a dumpster behind the "Everything Is 99¢" store at the mall. All I ask is you leave me a little crust to dream on. Will Durst still likes the soft, gooey Wonderbread middle.