Paris Hilton was on Letterman last night. He’s definitely raked her over hotter coals than these, but there’s still no hiding the thick strain (Thick Strain is the name of my sludge-metal band) of disdain going through his soft asides (Soft Asides is the name of my jazz-fusion band).
This must be one of those moments when you’ve reached a place in your career that should, by all standards be deeply rewarding and emotionally satisfying, but your bosses still place a bowl of human feces on your desk (couch) to eat (interview) every once in awhile. Part two after the jump.
I’m sorry, I know “God don’t make no junk” but sometimes he makes a little junk.