Clearly, it was only a matter of time before I dedicated an entry to the celebrity refuse who have had the distinct misfortune of wandering into my path at some point in the last several years. As you will see, every single one of these creatures had something horrible happen to them after they ran into me. There's absolutely no way that's a coincidence.
The Weenie Enema Top Celebrity Encounters, Basically Ever.
1. Mandy Moore.
August of 2002. I am in an insanely introverted phase, more so than usual. Since I've only been at college for three days, my friends are composed of Kunal and Big Bear, and Kunal has already gone back home to visit his Indian family. As many already know, I was stationed in the Weinstein prison cells, and I was not particularly pleased that my living quarters were smaller than the average homeless guy's cardboard box. I persevered to become the badass I am today. At any rate, it was around 8 or 9 at night, and I was sitting in the hallway reading "'Tis" by Frank McCourt. The elevator door opens about 20 feet away...and Mandy Moore walks out. I almost didn't recoginze her because she had apparently cut her hair and dyed it dark a few days before. (I know, most of us have completely forgotten that our introduction to her involved that Candy video with the blond hair and the incredible blue swirly Discman thingy that I looked in 40 stores for and finally came to the conclusion that it was specially made for Mandy Moore. Sigh.) She was with two other girls, both of whom were significantly prettier than her. Since they were gabbing incoherently, Mandy didn't see me until she almost tripped over my Chuckies. The following is a completely accurate transcription:
Mandy Moore: Oh! Hi, what are you reading?
[holds up 'Tis]
Mandy: Oh! Cool!
What makes this scene even more peculiar is that after she almost fell on me and impregnated me with her teeny bopper seed, she went down the stairwell with her Mandy posse. So she was on my floor for really no reason at all, except to have that weird awkward exchange with me, when, if the stars has been in perfectly alignment, I would have been reading A Walk to Remember. You have no idea how many times I wished that I had been going through a Nicholas Sparks phase at that point. Regrets dot net.
If only I had NO taste in books.
As for my celebrity misfortune Emma theory -
She died of cancer.
And I haven't seen her in a while, so I assume her career is dealing with the same affliction.2. Britney Spears.
This is also called the Celebrity Encounter Malsta Could Have Had Too, But She Was Going Through Some Weird Rebel Complex and Voluntarily Wandered Away. In February of 2003, the Malsta made me go to that health food store place on University that closed down a while ago. Back in the day, they made some of the most intense Oreo Vegan cakes ever. RIP. On our way back home, we ran into about four or five girls, huddled together in front of the lingerie shop, I think between 10th and 9th. They looked completely batshit, and they were all darting weird looks into the windows of the store and whispering hysterical sweet nothings into each other's ears. We sauntered (because we were cool cats) over and asked them what the hell they were doing. "BRITNEY's in there!' screeched one with stringy hair and one of those really REALLY embarrassing NYU hoodies on. Not the kind I have. An uncool one. Within seconds, Malsta was gone, muttering anti-Britney sentiments under her breath. I stayed, partially because I thought they were all insane and had probably seen someone singing 'Baby, One More Time,' and had just assumed it had to be her. The stringy-haired wonder directed my attention to a big black guy standing pretty close to the door. "That's her BODYGUARD," she breathed excitedly. I cooly nodded, thinking that there must be 50 million fat black guys in New York. There WAS a girl a few feet away from him that was probably about the right size to be Britney, but there was just no way to tell unless she turned around or left the store.
I was about to run after Mal when one of the stalkers shrieked, "She's coming out!" I turned. It was Britney. Britney with a bad bad skin day. Her face was blotchy, she had no make-up on, and she looked like the thought of having to spend one more second in front of orgasming NYU girls was the last thing on her agenda. On the plus side, she appeared to have a lovely selection of undergarments to bring back with her. She smiled nervously. All of those crazy girls screaming outside while she was shopping? Silent. Finally, she said hello to each of us and asked how we all were. Someone muttered, "Fine." It was ridiculous. Britney had had enough. She hopped into the SUV parked next to the curb and drove out of my life. I trudged home to face the scornful derision of the vegan who had known better.
Britney's bad luck?
Prediction of the day: Papozao will become an official word for 'fucked and knocked up by white trash.'3. Fifty Cent.
Gee. I wonder what Fitty's doing in THAT picture?
This is probably the weirdest encounter because I lived through it and I don't have a fucking clue what happened. In July of 2005, I decided to go to the Burger King on Fulton St. for lunch one day. For those that don't know, it is the best NYC Burger King ever, and I've been to all of them, even that crazy Polish one on 23rd. They "get" bovine, and that's the most important quality.
So I wander in around 11:30 or so, and there's a fairly sizable crowd by the register. I think it's a little weird, since I deliberately went for an early lunch so I wouldn't have to deal with shizzle/people. One black guy is at the counter loudly talking the cashier. He appears to be holding up a penny. "Do you see this penny?" he asks the cashier. She nods. "Do you see whose HEAD is on this penny??" he asks. She nods and says, "Lincoln." He vehemently shakes his head. "No, no, no! The OTHER head! Look closer." He extends his arm so she can see the penny more closely. She peers at it and goes, "Ohhh, yes, I see it." "Yeah, that's right. That man is persecuted against society! He's been shafted!" The woman keeps nodding, and the guy settles down and waits for his meal. That's when I notice he's flanked by two other beefier guys. It's Fitty in the flesh, and he's in a BK. Not only that, but my encounter with Fifty Cent involved currency. That HAS to mean something.
Within a minute or two, Fifty got his whopper and his people went outside, presumably to yet another celebrity SUV, and drove off into the sunset. For the life of me, I can't figure out whose head was on that damn penny besides Lincoln's.
I think it's rather moot to cite any possible Fitty misfortune. The guy has more lead in him than the pencil the crazy Ukranian boy has used to try to kill me 20, or, dare i say it, fitty, times.
Perhaps tomorrow I will continue this list, since I haven't mentioned the 92nd St. Y escapade of 2004 or the Moby incident of 2003.