This morning, several people are in desperate need of a smackdown. And I'm just the girl to deal them out.
First on the agenda: This fan, who alleged that Joe Pesci punched him in the mouth after said fan snapped an unauthorized photo of the actor. Read that again: Joe Pesci. Punched. Mouth. What, did he pull out a library stool in the middle of the parking lot? A word of advice, buddy: next time, try something along the lines of, "My GOD! Joe Pesci just punched me in the gall bladder!"
Next! Sienna Miller informs her adoring public that, despite their near-incessant demands, she will never design her own line of clothing. Why? Because, as she reminds us, she is an actress. An actress. A serious actress, damn it! Let's get Sienna to ink this pledge before she starts trying to remember the names of any actual, tangible movies in which she appears. Every time Sienna's permitted to assume the responsibility of dressing herself, she goes out looking like an Upper East Side crackwhore; the type who's sleeping on a park bench outside the Guggenheim, yet has access to the castoffs of hundreds of society matrons, which she layers for warmth without regard for her personal appearance. This troubled world does not need Crackwhore Chic foisted on hordes of vulnerable, unsuspecting young women.
Next! Kevin Federline, who was photographed with his arm around a young lady who is not Britney. Let me rephrase that: a young lady who is not Britney who appears to be wearing a long-sleeved sweatshirt dress over denim leggings. And seems to have incorporated an actual bird's nest into her hairstyle. Listen up, Kevin. You wrote your meal ticket. Don't be trying to take your tray to a new cafeteria.
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