Is Angelina Jolie an Ice Queen Mom?

Cashier: Ma’am, are you buying that?

Shannon: Me? What? This Star magazine? Oh, no no, I don’t read gossip magazines. I’m a college graduate; English Literature with a minor in Nuclear Disarmament.

Shannon’s Internal Monologue: (“Angelina Jolie has a Nanny who tells all” … Can you believe what some people will do for money? … they just sell their souls … look at this … she says Angie’s mom Marcheline went into a “deep, debilitating depression” after John cheated on her and left the family … poor Angelina, no wonder she turned to cutting, heroin and Billie Bob Thornton, a known manorexic, antique-furniture-ophobe … I wonder if she pencils her eyebrows in black and beats Maddox, Pax, Knox, Shiloh, Z and Madeleine with hangers?)

Cashier:  So, you’re not getting the magazine?

Shannon: Certainly not. I read Simone DeBeauvoir for Christsakes. I wipe my ass with first edition pages of Sartre! I gargle Siddhartha and coat my hemorrhoids liberally with Brecht!

SIM: (Look at that poor woman Daniel Craig dumped … Satsuki, who appears to be of Eurasian parentage … look at the hollows under her almond eyes…and he ditched her for Rachel Weisz who I never would’ve pegged as a Man-Nabber … but look at the legs on her … she must travel by exer-cycle … and have a weight bar over her toilet for when she squats …)

Cashier: Ma’am everything’s rung up, are you getting the magazine or what?

Guy In Line Behind Shannon: Get it or don’t get it, just make up your mind, Virginia Woolf!

Shannon: I’d no sooner purchase this tripe than Sylvia Plath would pull her head out of the oven and return to the life of a cuckholdress!

SIM:(Look at that! Eva Longoria has a little baby muffin top … there it is, circled in red just above her True Religion jeans and Hanky Panky low-rise thong … ack, that is a terrible bathing suit … Anne Hathaway’s boobs are totally pointing in opposite directions …)

Check-Out Line Rabble: (ad lib) Someone slap her, she’s gone into a
Shcadenfreude coma! I say we just prise that rag out of her addict’s grip, knock her down and pelt her with copies of Harlequin Romances from the pyramid display. Is that … is she drooling?

SIM:(those poor women, can’t the paparazzi just leave them in peace? … everyone knows overhead sunlight is unforgiving … who reads this crap?  It just panders to the Lowest Common Denominator … pure, unadulterated twaddle …)

Cashier: Lady, you in or you out?

Shannon: Absolutely out! I’ve got Rilke tattooed on my left breast, Scott Fitzgerald on my right! Only my husband knows where I tattooed Henry Miller!

ISM: (Stop the presses … is that Gwyneth?… my nemesis?  … what’s that on her starkly white, freakishly toned thighs? … could it that be … cellulite? … Sweet Jesus it is! Just look at the cheddah on Gwyneth!)

Shannon to Cashier:I’ll pay whatever you’re asking!

Cashier:Your dignity, character and every fiber of your being.

Shannon: Throw in the Us Weekly (Who’s Jake Gyllenhal making it with now?  It better not be Gwyneth), a National Enquirer (Is Kirstie getting fat again?), a People Latina (Has J. Lo married number four yet?) and you’ve got a deal!

---

---