August 9, 2012
When it comes to filling free time, bros have sports, nicegirls have Judy Blume, grandbetches have mah jong, and betches have #1 talking shit. But there comes a time when we've exhausted the convos concerning breakups, fallouts, drunken fits, professors we'd fuck, and even #112 ourselves.
Since our gag reflexes can only withstand so many discussions about Jenny's new bangs and Jason's small penis, we will sometimes catch ourselves having deep convos in which we show pure, genuine concern and sensitivity for people who aren't even aware we exist. No, we're not talking about God or unicorns. There's only one type of person we actually give a shit to know about, despite their lack of reciprocated obsession with us: celebrities.
There's not a single betch in existence who isn't bombarded daily via text, gchat, email, fucking smoke signal, about the latest juicy TMZ scandal. The analyses we perform on the innermost psyches of people we've only ever seen in 2D could easily win the Nobez Peace Prize. Like, if you and your besties don't engage in a bi-monthly debate over whether JenAn in real life is a high maintenance clawing psychobitch who sucked out Brad Pitt's soul, or merely a nicegirl with a trouble finding men who "get" her, we're willing to bet you call it The Facebook.
Betch 1: I still like can't believe Snooki is actually having a baby. Like she's famous for drinking and being trashy, I just don't get it.
Betch 2: Maybe she just finally felt ready.
It would be entirely accurate to say that some of our most insightful, intelligent and grammatically correct statements have come from the mildly aggressive debates we’ve had with our besties concerning the color of Katy Perry’s hair this week. Never since I faked knowing literally anything pertaining to psychology on my final freshman year have I been able to regurgitate so many key terms to defend the actions of Lindsay Lohan after her 8-year coke binge. Well you just couldn’t possibly understand the emotional trauma associated after her younger sister tried to have her own show. She was suffering from PTSD!
Here's some more proof. It's no coincidence that betches across the world decided the perfect night to rage happened to fall on the same day that news broke out about Kstew's cheating on RobbyP. Clearly we were all distraught and utterly perplexed, I mean it's hard to sleep through the night knowing the stars of Twilight might be at odds. We had to go out drinking just to numb the pain. I just don't understand how Kristen could do this to him. She's so out of his league, I wonder what their conversation was like when he found out. He must have thrown something at her, no actually, he really loves her, he wouldn't do that.
Occasionally the Dud will chime in, uninvited, with something like, who cares, you don't even know them! Au contraire loser, Bieber once retweeted me
Finally, we all know that girl who takes insults to celebs really fucking seriously, as if by saying Kelly Clarkson got fat you were talking about her or like, her sister. Asking your besties serious questions about which kinds of drugs they think Johnny Depp was on when he agreed to do Pirates of the Caribbean 3, or what kind of gum Rihanna likes to chew, or how anyone in Hollywood can look Anne Hathaway in the face, is our highest form of profound thought. Talking about celebs is our like, existential purpose. We talk, therefore we are.