Die Die Die.

It's not often that I visit the bookstore and want to scratch my eyes out. It's not often that I am greeted by a sight so hideous that it makes me want to crawl into a hole where light and this book can't ever find me. Nicole Richie has written a novel - no not an autobiography but a fucking novel. She is sitting there on the shelf right next to Margaret Atwood and Rohinton Mistry. I think this may be strong evidence that there is in fact no God.

The title is "The Truth About Diamonds" - clearly this is going to be a story for the common man. Tell me Nicole what is the truth about YOUR diamonds? The truth about mine is that they are so small that I can't even seem them. Neat huh?

The cover is the stuff of childrens nightmares - hey everyone this is what a tanned version of death in a tiara looks like! Look at those collar bones and her pointy shoulder - now I'm not one to make fun of a girl that is too skinny.... haha got you! Look at how disgustingly emaciated this excuse for a "Hollywood Star" has become. What happened to the days where she had one ass to two of Paris'? Then we could respect her.

The synopsis of the book reads like this:

In her electrifying first novel, Nicole Richie tells the sensational story of Chloe Parker, a rock royalty princess and a card-carrying member of Hollywood's inner circle. At the age of seven, Chloe was adopted by a music superstar and his wife, transforming her life from rags to riches. What followed was a wild childhood distinguished by parties with movie stars and rock idols, run-ins with the press and the police, and a subsequent stint in rehab.

Hmm... sound familiar? Boy what a leap this story is going to be for her. She must have really had a hard time putting herself into the shoes of spoiled, pampered skeleton in drag.

"Rounding out the group and wedged in the booth right next to me was Lanford Watts - tall, blond, boyishly handsome, and uncharacteristically sweet for a billionaire." - Wow Nicole all the billionaires that I meet are such assholes!

"When you grow up in Bel Air and shop only in expensive boutiques on Rodeo and Robertson, you develop a kind of allergy to anything unprettyy - clothes, cars... even people." - Um... did you read that? This is what the rich think. Uplifting ain't it?

In light of that statement I refer you to the following photo (for some unknown reason there is a section of Nicole in glamour shots in the middle of the book - hands up, who among you wouldn't have predicted that Nicole was a narcissist? I was shocked too...I think this thing is about as unpretty as you can get. Did you hear that? That was the sound of my retinas detaching themselves and plumetting to their deaths.

"He started hanging around Jesse Metcalfe, acting like they knew each other. It was like an episode of Desperate Clubkids" - Like, I love how you like write about things we can all relate to - it's just so awesome!

This is the back cover - oh yes, not even I can make this shit up. Look it's a crack whore sugar plum fairy! Can someone please explain this to me? I just don't get it.

And I don't want to hear any comments about how you like Nicole and you think she's cool - if you do it, I will mock you openly. And then I will send someone to your house to find you and beat you with a sack full of doorknobs.