Truly Outrageous...

So I was at the Grammy's this past weekend trying to drum up interest in my "Gem and The Holograms" cover band [Alison Goldfrapp was slated to be Kimber but she refused to participate unless she got to be Synergy, I reluctantly agreed, bitch is always trying to upstage me]. I had a fabulous dress made out of my demo CDs, so that when ever I bumped into a high profile producer, I just plucked one off the bottom of my dress and nonchalantly handed it to him. Once word got out that I was there, my demo became the hot ticket and my dress quickly became a mini skirt.

Ma' Knowles emerged from a dark corner corner like an evil Skeksis and scuttled over to Beyonce and whispered in her ear while pointing over at me. Beyonce grew red with anger but tried to maintain her cool as she walked over to me. I smiled and winked, which I knew caused her to rage on the inside. She is such a sociopath clinging on to that mask of sanity.

"Look, Frau," She started in quietly, "there is only room from one hoochie in the spotlight tonight, and that's me."

"Really? Does that mean Christina Aguilera isn't going to be here?" I replied. She scowled, silently looking me up and down. Then with her laser beam eyes, she quickly recorded over all of my demos.

"There you go, bitch, see how many people want a copy of Color Me Badd's come back album!" She began to cackle manically as my entourage of interested producers began to quickly disband.

"You little cunt!" I screamed as I lunged for her. I needed some quick P.R. now, and figured my beating Beyonce's ass was as good as it was going to get. Unfortunately, at that moment Tara Reid came walking in, and all of the journalists quickly focused their cameras on her tit that has just alighted from her top... again. Refusing to be defeated before I could even land a blow, I pulled Beyonce's hair so hard that I ripped it clean off her head while I kicked her to the floor. Triumphantly, like a warrior who had just claimed his enemy's scalp, I held it up for the crowd to see. This only seemed to encourage her laughter. I looked down at her bald ass laying there laughing, and then I realized that it was just a wig. I turned and ran, all the while, Beyonce's maddening laughter echoed through out my skull.

I was a distraught wreck, until a hour later, when Robbie Williams offered me some prescription drugs to console me. That began our two day bender of sex and drugs, but he couldn't keep up with the Frau. Many have tried, and they always end up in rehab after the first day. I do have to give Robbie credit for making through two days. I'll have to send him some flowers... or a carton of cigarettes.

What happens when you try and be nice...

Yesterday was the worst day ever. It all started with stupid George Clooney. He had been hounding me and hounding me for a date, so I finally caved, and we were going to meet at the IHOP in Santa Monica for a Rooty Tooty Fresh N'Fruity. So I ring up my personal assistant, and former stylist, Mary F. I tell her that she needs to go and pick up my dress from the dry cleaners. She starts to whine that her cat has run off again, and she has to stay home in case he returns. If there is one thing that works my last nerve is whiny crazy cat ladies. I hang up on her before she can start sobbing.

So I pop into the car and drive over to the dry cleaners myself. It still gives me a couple of hours to get ready, not that I'm trying to impress, but Frau never goes out on the town without looking her finest. I was just about to walk in when I bump into a frantic Angelina Jolie.

"Oh Frau! So glad I saw you, I need a favor! I need you to baby-sit this afternoon. We've just bought a house in the French Quarter and we need to go sign that papers. Will you do it?" Its hard to say no to her, after all the good works she does with those little Romanian babies... or were they Brazilian... that reminds me, I need to get a wax. I agree to help, Maddox is a good kid, and I haven't spent a whole lot of time with Baby Zathura. She gives me the address and promises it shouldn't take too long, so I won't have to stand George up. Looks like I'll have to skip the wax.

I roll up to the address she gave me at 1:00 and ring the bell. After a minute the door cautiously opens.

"Oh thank goodness, I thought you were Tom Cruise." Says Dakota Fanning as she opens the door wider. "What happened to Angelina?"

"There was an orphanage fire sale in Silverlake, kids are like half off or something. Looks like I'm going to watch you for a couple of hours." I reply, quietly damning Angelina and her trickery. I walk in and plop down on the sofa when little Elle walks in. She gives me a defiant stare down, challenging me to a silent battle of power. I hold her gaze for a minute until Dakota breaks the quiet stillness with a forced awkward laugh.

"So what shall we play?" She looks at Elle tentatively, like some beaten whore making nice to her pimp.

"I know, lets play Mary-Kate and Ashley!" I say coolly. "Elle, you get to be the anorexic one."

"Sure, and you get to be Dave Coulier." She shoots back with a scowl.

"Why you little--"

"Lets just play something else!" Dakota interrupts before I can finish my thought.

"Lets play 'The Accused!' I get to be Jodie Foster!"

"Fuck that!" Spits Elle, "We're playing 'When A Stranger Calls'..." she trails off glaring at me.

"That's it, you little bitch! We're playing British Nanny!" I scream as I wrap my hands around Elle's throat and begin to shake her violently.

"Dakota...? Dakota...? Are you home?" A squeaky hobbit voice called from the front yard.

"Oh no, quiet, its Tom!" Dakota warned, terror in her eyes. "We have to hide! Quickly!"

"Dakota? Have you read that pamphlet I gave you? Its been a couple of years now, and Steven won't give me your new phone number. I just wanted to see if you had a questions about Scientology. Dakota...?" I reluctantly release Elle from my Kung Fu grip and the three of us run over to the coat closet to hide just as Tom smashes a window to gain entry.

A tense five hours pass with Tom roaming the house in a L. Ron daze periodically calling out to Dakota. Why he never looked in the closet, I'll never know. Finally, we hear John Travolta's jet plane land on the front lawn. We hear a muffled exchange, some wet kissing, and then both of them walking upstairs to the bedrooms.

"Bump this, I'm out!" I say as I alight from our hiding place.

"No," Elle quietly pleaded, holding on to my leg, "you can't leave us!"

"Like hell I can't! I've got a Rooty Tooty Fresh N'Fruity with my name on it!" Then I kicked her in the face and ran out the door.

I finally made it to the IHOP several hours later. Of course George was still there, and he was desperate and clingy, just as I had suspected. And since he paid, I felt obligated to have sex with him. Like I said, worst day ever...

It started last autumn...

Everyone has been emailing me "Frau! Frau! Where have you been? We're so worried!" Fear not my little minions, I am fine, I just had to spend the past few months in hiding. Its a long sorted story, so of course I will trouble you with it....

It all started one brisk fall evening last year. I was just leaving Sky Bar [Lindsay Lohan and her entourage of Mouseketeers fresh off their Logan's Run style elimination off the Disney Channel showed up... they'll let anyone into this place, I swear, its off my list!] when I bumped into Vince Vaughn.

"FrauBellasogladIbumpedintoyouIwasjustcomingfromPinkystheirhotdogsarenot
asgoodasthoseinWrigleyFieldbutheyIwashungryforadognotlikeabarkbarkdog
butadelicioushotdogandIheardthatthebestplaceinLAisPinkysso-" At which point I shoved my tongue in his mouth just to make his stop flapping. I mean, he is kinda cute and all, but damn, he just doesn't know when to shut up. We're then totally making out there and I start to think, damn, I bet you he could work wonders with that little tongue of his. I was just about to ask him if he wanted to come back to my place when the Aniston Demon flew down and pulled at my hair.

Fortunately for me, her cheap Lee Press on nails were no match for my Pert strong hair and they snapped off. Seriously, its a shampoo and conditioner in one, genius! She was trying to circle around for a second attempt when I whacked her from the sky with my purse. She fell to the ground making a horrible banshee wail. I turned to avoid the screeching when I saw that it was actually Fantasia Barrino filming a scene for the upcoming "Fantasia Barrino Story Two: Making the Fantasia Barrino Story Starring Fantasia Barrino."

When I turned back the Aniston Demon had returned to her human form. She was talking to Vince like they had been going steady or something!

"Vince, how could you cheat on me!" She sobbed.
"Wait, I thought you two weren't an item, then you broke up." I interjected.
"ListenBabyitsnotlikethat-" I slapped him before he could gain any momentum.
"Listen Bitch, nobody slaps my man!" She pulled a travel copy of the Necronomicon from her cleavage. So thats how she keeps those girls so perky. She begins to chant in some evil language. You could just tell it was evil because there was a Texan accent.

There was suddenly a crash of lightning on the street before me, and Heather Mills appeared, all Terminator style. She lurched at me in a quick hopping motion wielding her leg as a blunt instrument. Forturnas wheel had spun my way, as just as that moment, a belligerent Lindsay was being escorted from the bar carrying a wine glass. Apparently she had tried to smuggle in her own bottle of Strawberry Hill. I snatched the glass from her hand breaking the base off in the process. Wielding it like a Waterford Crystal shiv, I stabbed her in the throat. To my amazement, the skin around her neck was so calloused that the shiv didn't even make a dent.

"Paul had been doing that to me for years!" She cackled. So I did what any good woman would do. I tripped her. Sweeping her good leg like Johnny did to Daniel-son.

"Wax off, Bitch!" I yelled, caught up in the moment. As Heather lay defeated and crying, I turned around to see Vince and Jennifer walking into the bar.

"YouknowyouaretheonlyoneformebabyIdon'tevenknowwhatthegirlsproblem-" Jennifer then shoved her tongue in his mouth to shut him up. As I walk down the street, picking cheap nails out of my hair, wondering if I should lay low for a little while, I swear I could hear Heather calling out into the night...

"I swear, I'll get you Frau Bella!" then after a minute, "Come back here with my leg, Lohan!"

Baby Curry

I was scanning for a job in the LA Weekly when I found one looking for an Au Pair. "I have a great pair," I thought to myself and rang up for an interview. Surely this will be the easiest job I've ever had! I put on my Versace blouse, the one that really shows off my pair. Sure it wasn't a real Versace, and I had my seamstress friend Erin make it for me. She is a wiz with the Handy-stitch. But it was pretty passable, nothing like that horrible shirt that Lisa Bonnet made for Theo that one time.

Anywho. I show up at the house, its like in Beverly Hills or Westwood or something. I don't really know, as I am too concerned about making sure my pair is in absolutely perfect placement. After one final quick adjustment, I walk up and ring the bell. Curiously, the door swings open but nobody is there. I peer into the darkness of the foyer, but can see nothing.

"What are your crimes?" I hear a voice call up to me. Startled, I look around, and then finally down.

"Oh, aren't you Tim Cruise?"

"Its Tom!"

"Oh, does it really matter Tim? You kind of self-destructed. I hear Paramount dropped you like Xenu after the huge financial disappointment of Mission Impossible III, do you really think people are going to care too much? You should probably just get used to it, don'tcha think, Tim?" He quietly glared up at me. "Now that's the spirit! Anywho, I'm here for the pair job." I say as I bend down to show him my fantastic cleavage.

"You are going to have to talk to Katie, my wife, whom I've had sex with numerous times, heterosexual sex, we made a baby! I have an appointment with Lindsay Lohan. I'm going to get her off of drugs and alcohol and on to the clear path." I laugh out loud, but then realize he is serious.

"Well aren't you just the cutest little thing!" I say as I get down on one knee to kiss him on the cheek. "You have fun with your little friends, Timmy!"

"Ew, girl cooties!" He cries out, and stomps down the walkway to his waiting chauffer. I wait for a moment, and the decide to let myself in. Naturally, I am looking for stuff to swipe, when Katie walks in the room. She looks kinda down, but is dressed pretty nice. She has on this cute little dress, it almost looks like a Gucci, but not as tacky. She is also wearing this hideous anklet, its really clunky and has a couple of flashing lights on it. Its a little too cyber-punk, and doesn't really go with the outfit. Poor thing, I don't have the heart to tell her.

"Are you here for the Au Pair job?" She asks.

"Yeah, but I want to be upfront and let you know that these scissors don't cut that way," I say as I lean forward to show her my wonderful pair.

"I'm sorry to have to be deceptive, but there isn't really an Au Pair job," I knew it, bitch is just jealous cause clearly I got her share. Why do women always gotta hate a sista cause she got a bigger pair? "What I really need you to do is get these letters to my family. I can't leave the house." She points down to her anklet. I can't help but to sympathize, I wouldn't be caught dead outside with something that ugly either.

We are interrupted by the sudden wail of a baby. Katie then runs into the other room and returns with a beautiful little mulatto baby.

"Aw, isn't she the cutest little thing! Who is the daddy?" I ask.

"Why, Tom, of course." says that chick from 'King of Queens' as she walk in.

"No really?" I giggle.

"Its TOM. Isn't it Katie?" She replies, glaring over at Katie.

"Sure." Katie robotically answers.

"Oh... well... okay then." I play along. "So where are these letters you want me to drop off for you?" A terrified look crosses Katie's face. Maybe she doesn't have any stamps or something. "If you need some stamps, I can lend you some" I offer.

"That's okay," the 'King of Queens' chick says as she puts her arm around me and leads me back to the front door, "I'll lend Katie the stamps and drop the letters off for her." I look over my shoulder back to Katie. She looks terrified. The house seemed to darken around her, almost engulfing her. Then I spy a tiny little vase sitting on a sideboard. "Shit, I totally could have stuck that in my purse!" I thought as the door slammed behind me.

Walk out into velvet

I was making out with Alison Goldfrapp the other night, not cause I'm a lez or anything, but cause she is kind of a starfucker and wanted to get a slice of Frau Bella Pie... and who am I to deny such a delicacy? Anywho, she was all kissin on me, shes a pretty good kisser too, so I won't knock her, when we heard this crashing noise from outside.

Alison kinda freaked out and ran into the closet. "Say hi to Tom for me while yer in there," I grumbled as I put on my silk robe to go out and investigate. As I stepped outside I could hear a pair of faint voices arguing in a loud whisper. They were on the side of the house, so I crept over to get a better listen.

"I've been stalking Alison for the better part of four years now! I've never seen you at the Goldfrappachino meetings! Just who are you!?!" the male voice demanded. He was clearly irritated. "Don't you know anything about properly stalking?"

"I know enough not to wear those Cha-Cha Heels you've got on! And who the hell is Alison?" Immediately recognizing the female voice, I rounded the corner.

"Mary F!" My old Hairdresser. "What the hell are you doing here?" I asked.

"Frau! Uhm... I... uhm... I just thought you might need to have your ends touched up... and uhm... that we would schedule an appointment... "

"Oh" I was still a little suspicious, but on the other hand, maybe she was just dedicated. She was a good stylist. She even did Elizabeth Berkley's hair on Showgirls, though not the hair on her head. But before I could schedule an appointment, in a scandalous turn of events, the guy whipped out a butterfly knife all ninja style and held it to Mary F's creamy white throat!

"Who the hell are you?" I asked him.

"D.B. Jones!" cried Alison from behind me.

"Oh my god! Don't look at me!" D.B Jones sobbed, shielding his face from Alison's judging gaze. Mary F. seized the moment to knock the knife from his hand.

"Empowerment!" Mary F. yelled, recalling the brief time in her Self Defense for Women class, before she dropped out. D.B. Jones, in a fit of shame and rage ran off into the night.

"I'll get you Frau Bella!" I could hear him calling back through the sobs. "I'll get you for blowing my operation!"

Lover...

So I went to a party last Saturday night, some bougie Hollywood type producer party. There was lots of Goldbergs and Weinsteins there. I looked fabulous, of course, effortless on my part. My new hairdresser, Christina [I had to fire the the retarded one, Mary], really out did herself. Though she kept wanting to give me a bikini wax, like she was really insistent on it. I was a little creeped out and declined.

Anywho, so I'm at this party, and of course, everyone wants to put me in their films. Seriously, Imp the new Hepburn. I have to play it coy, mostly because I am. I'm in the middle of chewing out Spielberg, when I have to excuse myself to the restroom. Seriously, he should be paying me back for that shit-fest War of the Worlds. I find the ladies room, and there, slumped over the toilet, is a strapping young lad. Its hard to tell if he is cute or not, with his face shoved in the bowl heaving, his curly blonde locks further obscuring his face, but I decide to take a gamble and try and console him.

When he is finally done, he stands and thanks me. Kinda of a strange guy, as he had two little red dimples colored in on his checks, but these Hollywood type parties of full of weirdos, so I didn't hold it against him. Besides, he was still kinda cute. He said his name was Sam with his cute little British accent. I swoon.

"Sam! You're a wreck, let me take you home before somebody takes advantage of you!" I tell him. He seems quite grateful. Frau is gonna get some tonight! Well, I finally get him home and he slumps over on the sofa and passes out. Fucker.

The next morning, when he wakes, I find out he isn't even British, he's Australian. I ain't dating some penal colony reject. So when he asks me out for breakfast, I had to promptly give him the boot to the curb. So yet again, poor Frau doesn't get a piece of the pie. Freaking Australians.

Maybe I'll call him...

Next

Its been tough trying to find the right man, one who can sooth this savage beast. Just follow the path of destroyed men with crumpled egos, and you will find me. I don't know what men find so intimidating about me. Anywho, so a girls got needs, and I figure I can score myself a "sure thing" on the "Love Connection" or something. So I ring up Chuck Woolery too see if I can get on the show. Before I could ask, another call rings in.

"Back in two-and-two," he says, clicking over before I could protest. After five minutes I got tired of waiting. Stupid Chucks got no phone manners. I ring up my hairdresser, Mary, she's famous, trust, and ask her what is a girl to do? She's kinda simple though, god bless'er, and she starts babbling about when she was on the Newlywed game and when asked where was the strangest place she made "whoopee" she wrote "in the butt" on her little answer card. I hung up on her.

So last week I was taping an episode of MTV's Next. There I was, sitting on the bus with four other women. Girls, really, as they're all too giddy and giggle entirely too much. I almost whipped out my blade and cut this chick Robyn when she tried to touch my hair. Anywho. Robyn was up first, and the moment she steps off the bus, these other bitches start talking shit about her. So I tune them out, and start making my grocery list in my head. Then the next thing I knew, when I look over, two of them are totally making out!

"What is this, the bus to the Lilith Faire?!?!" Before I could get more indignant, Robyn comes back in complaining that she got "Nexted" for being a red head. "Its not like the carpet matches the drapes, hon," I say, trying to calm her. She pretends to be appalled, but we all know its true. With a scowl, she tells me that I'm up next. "Watch these girls don't get all Mulholland Drive on you," I warn before exiting.

I alight from the bus with grace, excited to met my next conquest. I guess I must have looked confused, cause this little boy with a flat top waves me over.

"Do you know where my date is?" I inquire.
"Hi, I'm Shelia, I'm your date." She answers.
"What the... ? What are you Lesbaneese or something? Look, I'm flattered, but these scissors don't cut that way." Then I "nexted" myself.

I wrote a letter to the producers telling then that I wanted to date a boy. They apologized for the error and said they would set something up. But until then, it looks like another night with the shower massager.