Jessica Simpson: A Few Unknowledgeable Words for the Chanteuse on Her 32nd Birthday
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Do not attempt to adjust your computer screen, iPad, tablet, Android, iPhone or whatever the hell it is you're looking at right now. What you're reading is correct. I am writing about Jessica Simpson.
This is one of the few public admissions of how low and beyond self-respect I will go for the 13 dollars (Canadian) that I will receive for this fluffy post on which you'll be certain to call me out.
Let's start at the beginning, like all good things. I have no idea about the entity known as Jessica Simpson save for the lip-synching faux pas her sister committed on SNL, the fact that she was married to some Jersey Shore looking, boy-band being, Ed Hardy-wearing douche named Nick Lachey, and that a lot of people really like her.
According to People magazine, from what I remember from the checkout lanes, she had a kid. Am I here to rag on the lady on her 32nd birthday? Fuck no! She clearly has a talent level that I'll never achieve, snarky as I might try to posit this, but like I said already, I'm selling out for Canadian dollars (which, if you ever wondered, is the currency that the sheriffs here pay us in).
But I'll be honest, usually the bosses want visuals with these pieces, and that would require a certain amount of knowledge on the subject matter to narrow the search down to some choice cuts, but since I have no freaking idea as to how to steer this particular ship, you and I, kind reader, will go on a journey of J. Simpson discovery.
Or, more than likely, you'll point out how off the mark I am.
I can already feel all fifteen of my Facebook and Twitter followers cringing. To hell with them, the real victory here (not for me, but for my bosses), is not likening this to some "plump musicians I wanna get with" type of deal. Number one, I'm no picnic and this girl has never looked bad, even when the tabloids failed to realize what a pregnancy entails.
Because the tabloids did pick on her, did they not? I know better than to tussle with a broad from Texas. Sometimes I wish dudes got hormonal and three times their size when they pass stones... Solely because I've been told that that is an equivalent feeling. Oh well. Here we go. Hold my hand, please.
"I Think I'm In Love with You"
Ok, but we've never met and I'm pretty, pretty sure that I am not your type. My man cave would have Black Flag flyers on the wall. And whiskey and cocaine residue.