As you can imagine, I'm clutching my Malibu Barbie -- and her super mellow best-friend Malibu PJ -- just a little more tightly this morning. A reality show world without my favorite Mattel designer is too cruel to contemplate.
But I am thankful for one thing. I feel blessed that my mom had enough confidence to discipline me when I was young. This has, I've now decided, spared me the grownup ordeals of a neck tat and heroin addiction. Seriously. Could Jeffrey be any more fucked up? And is there anything more tiresome than someone who uses their own sad personal history as an excuse to be a jerk? The world is full of Jeffreys and it's not compelling or even fresh to see them on TV. What would be great is to see Jeffrey fail spectacularly. I'd feel bad for his mother but the Greeks understood the importance of catharsis.
Looking on the bright side: yay! Robert Best is reunited with Barbie!