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05/27/03

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Friday 23rd May


The anti-smoking Nazis are setting their sights on Nicole Kidman, since she flacked her new movie at Cannes whilst childishly puffing on a cigarette whilst her director, the exceedingly odd Lars Van Triers, begged her not to. "Nicole, you PROMISED!" he was reported to have whined. I have had my eye on this Kidman menace for some time. Even before she was pegged for having a breath befouled with fag smoke, she was seen as a shameless self-aggrandizer, a promoter of gossip about her less-than-manly former husband, and a false busted-marriage martyr. What's worse is that she willingly authorized an Oscar p.r. juggernaut that assaulted us with all-Nicole-all-the-time news and pictures for the five months prior to the Academy Awards ceremony. She is a deeply boring figure, revolting in her bottomless self-involvement, not to say repellent with her vacant me-me-me blatherings, so this experience was painful to say the least. I spent those months in acute misery, hopping from one foot to the other like a grizzly bear with a testicular inflammation. Since she hauled away her trophy, she has hidden her asparagus-like figure away under a rock, thank Our Gracious Lord. Unlike the activists, though, I refuse to persecute her for her vile habit. But I will say this: I would not kiss her unless I were very drunk indeed. Vigorous toothbrushing twice the next morning would remove offensive Nicole residue, and return the blessed status to a much-desired quo.





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