I'll admit it. I've become a little obsessed with Anne Hathaway's boobs. I blame, wholeheartedly, the likes of Jaime
but what can you do? I'm an adult and can make my own decisions.. even if they are to waste time avoiding work and looking up celebrity photos on the internet.
Blame is little more than misplaced guilt. If I had a publicist and they told me to wander around without a bra on if I felt I wanted more adult roles, if I wanted to shed off some early-career baby-fat, if I wanted to be more respected.. well, then, I guess maybe I wouldn't say no either.
Regardless, if it all went sour, I'd certainly try not to blame anyone but myself for we're, ultimately, the rulers of our own destiny. Forget the consultants and advisers, dear princess, forget the jester; you are your own hilarity now.
Meanwhile, I myself am laughing as well. Whose the true jester in this giant court? Why I am, I am the jester true to this giant court. Dance, pretty boy, dance,
they say and so I pick up my feet and bounce around, reacting to their every whim..
.. downloading pictures of pretty little celebrities with see-through clothing, pretty little elves and dwarfs and goblins so far away in a different land that they are paper thin at best, like gossamer floating on the wind.Dance, pretty boy, dance!
I can't say no. I laugh back at them. Nobody likes to see the sad tears of a clown. Nobody likes a jaded jester. And so I do, I dance, I don my gay apparel, I dip and weave and whirl about; I dance.