You Can Make It Up: Paula Abdul’s Interview With A Sack Of Russet Potatoes

The sack of russet potatoes sat on a chair.

Paula Abdul smiled flirtatiously and tipped her head to the side to make it look like she was thinking. Her lipgloss sparkled in the light, and it tasted like bubble gum. Sometimes, she would lick her lips, and then she would think “Yum! Bubblegum!” and then she would have to remind herself that it was the lipgloss on her lips, not actual bubblegum, and that she should not eat her lips off of her own face thinking that they were sweet, delicious bubble gum. They were lips, silly!

A long time ago, Paula Abdul had completely wrecked her brain with prescription pain killers.

“That’s a great question,” she said to the sack of russet potatoes.

In the corner, her publicist stood with her arms folded across her chest and looked at her watch. Recently, the publicist had signed up for marksmen classes at a local shooting range, and her permit had already been submitted to the state of California to buy a gun.

Paula Abdul’s dog, Chomps, was circling at her feet in a pink track jacket that said “I’m a bitch!” Sometimes Paula shared clothes with her dogs. She couldn’t fit into their sweaters, too small! But she could put on a doggie hat or a doggie necklace for sure. And she did.

The sack of russet potatoes sat on the chair.

“Simon and Randy, everyone at Idol, it has been, Ryan, you just close your eyes and God says OK. You know? You just never see the blessing that is coming your way, but it’s a real gift. These young people with their wonderful…and I think…so I would say yes.”

The sack of russet potatoes sat on the chair.

The publicist took out her Blackberry and looked at her schedule for the rest of the day. Jerry Maguire was her favorite movie. She’d read The Secret four times. There was no way this could possibly last much longer than another year, and you can do anything for a year, right?

Twice in the past month, the publicist had used craigslist to trawl for sex. Things change. You wake up one morning and you’re just a different person.

“THANK YOU!” Paula squealed, so loudly that the publicist bit her tongue and looked up sharp like a gun had gone off. “You’re silly,” Paula said to the potatoes. Paula looked at the publicist and said, “Isn’t he silly?” The publicist returned to her Blackberry. Paula began laughing feverishly and didn’t stop laughing for four and a half minutes.

The sack of russet potatoes sat on the chair.

“Definitely, I would love to. I don’t know why Bravo chose not to go forward with a second season, but I really thought it was just a wonderful way to share with people the gift…of…what it’s like in my world. The zany things that happen when you’re a crazy celebrity and just God blesses us every day and I think we showed that and I would so…there is…and…fancy.”

Paula Abdul shook her head vigorously like she was having some kind of fit.

Paula Abdul tore open the sack with her teeth and put a potato in her vagina.

“It isn’t working!” she yelled.

Paula Abdul fell asleep.

Paula’s publicist pulled a blanket over her client. She had taken to drinking white wine at breakfast now. It was a phase. She told herself it was a phase. Besides, white wine was good for you. Scientists said it. Heart smart. She pulled her dog eared copy of The Secret from her purse and sat in a beanbag chair in the shape of a high heeled shoe that had been given to her client by Joe Piscopo in 1994. Paula’s interview with the sack of russet potatoes was scheduled for another 45 minutes, and then the publicist would drive down to the valley to help Danny Aiello with a photoshoot he was doing for a German magazine about cigarettes.