I had just finished working out at the gym, and I must say I was lookin fly, you know with just the right amount of sweat to give my smooth skin a nice glisten, but not so much that I look like a two bit whore or a Kardashian. So I walk into the locker room and I start to change when I hear what sounded like a little mouse in the dark corner of the locker room.
“Psst… psst...” a dark figure called out to me.
“Look lady,” I say to the figure in the shadows, “these scissors don’t cut that way, but if you wanna ogle all of this Fine Frau Fabulousness, then by all means, just don’t think you can test these melons for ripeness.”
“If I had a nickel for every time I’ve heard that. What is it Barrymore? I’ve got 99 problems and your bitch ass isn’t one of them.”
“Out with it woman!” I shouted impatiently. The locker room was starting to smell like a dirty toilet and I needed the get the fuck out before my hair started to smell like it too!
“… well, sometimes marathon runners, you know, they lose control of their bowels.”
“What? Are you telling me that you pooped yourself while running on the elliptical?” I asked as she stepped from the shadows. I won’t get into the nasty ass details, but it was nasty. Nasty like poop running down Drew Barrymore’s leg. That kinda nasty. She took a step closer to me. “WOAH there Barrymore, you just hold up right there. How long were you on the elliptical?”
“It was like 40 minutes! You have to help me, do you have some clothes I could borrow?”
“Oh, sorry, no,” I lied. But the wheels were spinning, and no, I don’t mean the wheels in a spin class. She could help me get financing for my independent film, Fraubarella, for those of you not in the know. So if I helped her, she was surely to help me. Even so, there is no way I was lending her my Chanel jogging suit, I don’t care if it was spelled Channel. “I have an idea,’ I said to her, “Do you have to trust me.”
“I totally trust you,” she said with that cute little ET smile. And I smiled back, we totally had a moment, then I grabbed her arm and threw her out of the locker room. She stood frozen in front of a spin class, whose cycles were spinning down as they stared at the sight before them.
I waited a beat then stepped out of the locker room. “Oh my goodness,” I shouted, “Tori Spelling has just shit herself!” Then to Drew, I mouthed the word “run,” and she did, like Rufus Wainwright to a bathhouse. After she was ran out the front doors, when I could hear the people on their cycles talking about that nasty Tori Spelling, and I knew my plan had worked.
I quickly grabbed my stuff and casually went outside. I walked up to Drew’s Datsun just as she was getting ready to pull away.
“So, hey, I understand you have a production company. Well, I have got this great script—“
“Oh sorry, I don’t have time, I’ve got to get out of here.”
“But, I totally helped you out, don’t you want to return the favor?”
“No, not really,” she smiled that Firestarter smile.
“Well, can you at least give me a buck so I can get some Del Taco fries?” I asked. She scowled and pulled away, squealing her tires on the way out. And that is why Drew Barrymore is on my shit list.
