Oh, Scarlett Johansson. Your career hasn’t been flawless. You’ve certainly had a few hiccups, like the time you recorded an album of Tom Waits covers, or the time your phone got hacked and your nude photos were released to the public. But even the hiccups are something to be jealous of. Who wouldn’t like to record an album of Tom Waits covers? That would be very fun. And your nude photos — I did look at them, I apologize, but I honestly couldn’t help it because sometimes Google Reader shows you things that would otherwise be after the jump. So I did look at them, and they looked very nice. Plus, in your recent interview with Vanity Fair, you handled the matter — saying they were for your then-husband Ryan Reynolds and that there was nothing wrong with that — with a poise and grace that I’m sure would have come across even better if we could’ve heard it coming straight from your deep, fancy voice. But what you mentioned before that, in the same interview, is what really got to me. What are you trying to do to us, the normal public? All of our insides have already turned to ash because of how they’ve been burning with jealousy for so long, and we’re already all dead because of it. So why couldn’t you have kept this bit to yourself? From Vanity Fair:
She also discusses her friendship with Woody Allen, spawned by their shared tendency toward hypochondria and, subsequently, shared Purell. “He shakes a lot of hands,” Johansson explains. “I’ll squirt some in my hand and then squirt in his.” She also has a bizarre penchant for diagnosing him. “The only reason why Woody and I are still friends is because I’ve diagnosed all kinds of his skin tags, lesions, ailments. I’ve prescribed things for Woody that he’s then asked his doctor to prescribe for him.”
DIAGNOSING WOODY ALLEN’S SKIN TAGS? You have got to be kidding me, woman! THE SEXIEST JOB IN THE WORLD? That guy made Radio Days and now you, a beautiful young starlet, are diagnosing his skin tags and prescribing him medication that he then asks his doctor for (????), AKA the sexiest job in the world, like it’s just nothing at all. Well, I’ve had enough. I thought that if your being the spokesperson for that brand of champagne, MY FAVORITE DRINK, couldn’t finally break through the too-much-jealousy wall, nothing could. But this is it. Keep your Woody Allen lesion and skin tag stories to yourself. I’ve had enough.