Desperate Spinsters

I read women's magazines. They help me poo. At the moment, I can't read these magazines without seeing Jennifer Aniston on the cover. You know the type of  mag I'm referring to; tomes like 'Heat' and 'Now', written in the main by gay men and barren, childless and bitter forty-something women. It is perhaps due to the latter that there is such a fascination with Ms. Aniston at the moment. Here is a woman who for all intents and purposes epitomises bland. She starred in one of the most banal and cliquey sitcoms this world is ever likely to see, which somehow ran for a decade. The only reason she became popular is because of the 'Rachel' haircut she sported for the duration of the show, which was actually designed to hide her vast jaw. She has since distinguished herself in various bland romantic comedies, in which she takes the radical step of playing Rachel all over again, but with a different name. It's hardly Monster's Ball, is it.

So perhaps there was an element of surprise in her marriage to Brad Pitt; the one-time subversive star of several decent indie films, getting hitched to the all-American (once that troublesome Greek nose was removed) and wholesome Jennifer Aniston. She spent a lot of her time whining as the spoilt Rachel from friends, and it soon became evident that she wasn't actually acting per se, just honing an innate talent she probably discovered when moaning at her rich daddy for another dose of rhinoplasty. After a few years, the couple split, fuelled by the rumours that Aniston didn't want to have a baby, and that Pitt had been boning his less boring and more attractive co-star, Angelina Jolie. The divorce was finalised, and Pitt hooked up with Jolie. End of story, you'd think. Two people who were not suited to each other get divorced. It wasn't a bad innings for a Hollywood marriage, after all.

But rather than keeping the last shred of her dignity intact, Jennifer gave interviews to anyone who would listen about what a big meanie Brad Pitt is. I won't directly quote, as I can't be arsed, but suffice to say she bitched about Pitt and Jolie’s liaisons, and how it hurt to see him with Jolie's kids - the very kids (ok well not the exact kids, that would be odd) that Jennifer Aniston refused to have, on the grounds it would sideline her 'career'. How boring. That's the kind of topic you bore your single and bitter thirty-something mates with, not the rest of us. The multi-millionairess continues to regale magazines with stories of her impossibly hard life. If Charles Dickens were alive today, no doubt he'd champion her miserable existence in a collection of novels.

Now the woman with the smallest forehead and biggest chin in showbiz is fighting back, desperately squeezing into any dress recommended for 16 year olds. Pretending to see various eligible bachelors left, right and centre. Hanging of Gerald Butler's forearm like a performing monkey. But I fear she will forever find herself on the shelf because she is obviously a boring hag, which she sees fit to enforce with every subsequent magazine interview. ZZZ.

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