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Postmodern Village
est. 1999
e-mail * terms * privacy
celebrity collapse camp
by Francine DuBois

Maybe you should just wear pants, they told me as I got out of my Enzo,
Taking away my coconut macaroons and Red Bull. It's not that we're tired of you,
Just your naughty bits
. And thus the healing begins, or so they say.

Exhaustion, when applied to celebrities, can mean drug abuse,
Unsightly cellulite, a desire to escape LA or an emotional breakdown.
In my case, it's a little of everything. That smog is something else.

It's always nice to have a different set of yes men and women
Surround you instead of the usual bodyguard and stalking
Paparazzi. Here they try to be nuturing in a way our mothers weren't.

We are forced to eat grass and aren't allowed to smoke it,
Get acid applied to our faces instead of dropping it,
And the staff still stares at me when, in my Southern drawl,

I ask for a Coke with a straw. This can't be the end of the line,
My fifteen minutes surely aren't up. Not if I keep bouncing
In and out of here. I'm still relevant, for some reason, I still sell papers.

Whole websites would have no reason to exist if I wore panties.
The American people need me to be half-naked. But shouldn't they
Be at collapse camp too? Like I'm the only one with problems.

Francine's Version -- Hezekiah's Version
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