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Friday, July 21, 2006


Kevin Federline Hits On Our Friend (No Joke!)

The K-Fed press machine has been in full tilt-a-whirl this week, pummeling entertainment fans with gossip (a happening that can only be attributed to a drought of celebrity babies and the fading Queer Oprah rumor). First Britney and Federmonster win their libel suit (kind of). Then Kevin snags the closing performance spot at the Teen Choice Awards. Then Britney decides she likes tigers. Well, no one said they were Nobel laureates.

But even as they announce plans to renew their wedding vows, ModFab has an EXCLUSIVE: a drunken Federline sighting, right here in New York! Let me say that the following email from my anonymous source is a REAL person, a longtime friend, and an eminently trustworthy guy. I would follow him anywhere and believe anything he said...especially after consuming one or two of his signature Oscar Party cocktails. Read it and weep (with joy):
My dearest darling ModFab,

[Last night] a bunch of us decided to go out for drinks after work. So, at about 6pm we wander in to some random non-descript bar on West Houston. It's fairly deserted at such an early hour -- one sad drunk sorta passed out across the bar, and a few greasy pseudo-hipsters hovering behind him.

So we commence with drinking and trading artworld dish for an hour or so. Suddenly greasy drunk guy comes out of his coma and peels himself off the bar, looks around with desperately unfocused eyes until he sees my co-worker Robin. And then he starts his approach. As he gets closer someone says, "he looks just like K-Fed". I'll kill the suspense -- it was indeed the celebrated dancer and musician. Oh lucky day. He spent the rest of the night making an ass of himself, trying to hit on Robin. Can I just say, he's not an attractive man, even in art-directed, airbrushed magazine spreads, but in person? Jesus Christ -- what a mess! I've seen filthy homeless people in the subway more attractive than that disaster. At one point, trying to divert his nasty lecherous self from Robin I asked, "So Kevin, where's Britney tonight?" His response? "Who gives a fuck about her?" Yep, a class act, that little ballerina.

So -- there you go, my sad, unintentional blunder into the pseudo-celeb gossip world. I need to go have a shower now. Sleep well dear (I'm going to take a handful of Ambien in hopes of erasing this whole experience from my memory!)
Ouch. "Who gives a fuck about her" indeed. I don't know whether to die now in my celeb-trash ecstacy or choke the shit out of K-Fed for being the most undeserving famous person in history. What would Jesus do?
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