I hate Vanity Fair, but I bought the new issue simply because of Kate Moss. There she is on the cover, looking as adorable as ever, if not more so. I fucking love her, and I don’t care who knows it. Kate, do as many drugs as you see fit! Unless you kill a baby or a puppy, I love you unconditionally. Kill the puppy even, if you have to. I just need to know what lipstick you’re wearing on that Vanity Fair cover, and I will charge it on my Neiman Marcus card.
Wasn’t it stupid of those companies to fire Kate Moss from their ad campaigns a few months ago? We all knew they’d be sorry. I hope Kate has doubled her fees for the companies that dropped her. Now in Vanity Fair, she is featured in ads for Versace, Calvin Klein, Longchamps, David Yurman, Burberry, Louis Vuitton and Dior. You go, Kate! Show those idiots that women want to see you, and only you, flogging these luxury items. We don’t care about the brands; we just want to imagine ourselves as Kate Moss, eternally youthful, waiflike, pouty, slutty, and good enough for Johnny Depp. When I see Kate’s lips alone, I feel my endorphins flowing. When I see her whole face, I want to disappear into it. When I see her laying on a couch naked, wearing David Yurman jewelry, which I’ve never liked, I want to press my body to hers. I would remain fully clothed, though, because I am no lesbian.
Perhaps Chanel and Burberry and the rest of them can now recognize the power and glory of Kate Moss. Let her snort her blow or shoot up or get rehab or date that stupid junkie musician. Let her be shorter than other models. No one gives a shit! She fills me with yearning for lipstick, handbags, boots, jeans, necklaces, trenchcoats and so much more. If scientists could create the perfect face, they would come up with Kate Moss. Next to Kate, Giselle is a big giraffe. No wonder Kate will make $15 million next year! I love you Kate, you deserve every penny.