Oh tortured artist. Oh poet. Oh suffering soul. Oh dirty cheater!
Words to describe Ethan Hawke a few years ago and now following in those illustrious unfaithful footsteps – Ryan Phillippe.
Ryan of course is now officially divorced from Reese Witherspoon who like a proper lady is only now flaunting her relationship with Jakey G because she’s formally a single a woman – the papers went through just a few weeks ago.
Meanwhile Ryan is pulling out the sympathy card to score some more ass. In a new interview with UK Magazine Man About Town, Ryan discusses his state of mind post split:
“After the divorce, I was a physical wreck. I wanted to die. I was ready to kill myself. I was not taking care of myself at all. I would wake up and cry and vomit.”
Bet your concrete tits there will be a twat on every corner waiting to console him. But console him for what??? Console him for infidelity? For randomly f&cking any piece he could get his jock on on location? Please. Do women really fall for this sh*t?
Unfortunately es… they do.
And they always fall for the “artist” too. Just ask Ethan Hawke. He’s a great actor, he’s an embarrassingly cheesy writer. And still he’s published some sort of erotic lame shit probably for the single purpose of scoring more p*ssy…
Similarly, I hear Ryan’s modus operandi is poetic text messaging – booty call requests couched in an electronic love note written in a language like so:
The need to
Be near you
Consumes me
Ryan is so Rossum, non?
And Ryan is so principled too. You see, a true artist, an artist capable of such moving prose, would never ever compromise his artistic integrity for the sake of turning a dollar. Which is why in the same article, he calls out Catherine Zeta Jones for pitching T-Mobile:
"When I see her in a movie it’s hard to disassociate (her movies from her commercials).”
Whatever. I’ll take an endorsement over a philanderer any day. And that Carb Face won’t be cute for much longer either.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
