This is the sort of thing that is going to get completely out of hand in about three or four news cycles:
This morning on the Access Hollywood Live program, co-host Billy Bush, the human embodiment of a Teddy Ruxpin doll, said that Mila Kunis will not be going on her Marine Corps Ball date. Oh no!
Over the weekend Kunis agreed to be Sgt. Scott Moore's date to the Marine Corps Ball after he asked her out on YouTube, and everyone was excited and warm of heart. But now sinister old Billy Bush says that Kunis is filming two movies around that time in November, so she can't jet off to Maryland to fulfill her treasured promise. Hmmmmm. I bet they'll find a way though, right? That would be incredibly bad PR to back out at this point, wouldn't it? I mean, the guy was so excited. His mom was going to help him pick out a corsage and there was a limo and everything and they were supposed to go to Jake Murphy's house afterward 'cause his parents are at Lake Winnipesaukee for the weekend. It was gonna be awesome!
Yes, it's a sweet story, but when we get to the point where Charlie Sheen is going to someone's prom and where someone is asking Teri Hatcher to drop everything and appear at their company Christmas party after driving around Dubuque in a snow storm, wake me up so I can go back to paying attention.
There are so many tangents that a story like this can go. What if they fall in love? What if he shoots his battalion commander by accident? What if she ends up with a terrible case of the hives? What if he can't find the right pair of shoes to go with his top hat and cane? What if her hair falls out because of a chemical reaction to the East Coast? What if the limo they ride in gets stuck under a stolen rental truck? What will happen when people realize that stories like this exist only to help the celebrity media maintain their web site traffic statistics?
I don't know, either. But if I was a hot young Hollywood starlet, I'd be utterly creeped out if I woke up tomorrow and found out that some sad sack wanted me to go to a cotillion or a sock hop or a corporate retreat somewhere not in California or New York.
And for the guy who wrote me and said, "he'll probably end up fucking her," I would say, "we'll all probably end up fucking her one day because there isn't any privacy or decency left in the world anymore."
I mean, yeah. You could ask an iconic, beautiful celebrity to go to your thing with you, but why not ask someone you know who might want to connect with you on a personal level? Why not live and enjoy a moment of reality instead of some unsustainable fantasy? If you can't appreciate and engage with someone who's right there and in your life and in your surroundings, just get out. Go. Fly off to some other part of the world and do whatever you want. Because I can guarantee you there is probably a young woman or a slightly not quite young woman who is in this guy's life or who knows him or whatever who isn't going to get to go to this thing with him because she's not as hot and as famous as Mila Kunis.
And, really. Who is? And why does she need to be?
Love the one you're with, baby. Love the one you're with. It's that simple.
If celebrity is such a wonderful thing, why'd I call it a disaster and make a blog out of it? Right?