SPIDEY… When I was approached for the interview I was caught between the need to verbally and alcoholically humiliate them, and the overwhelming sense that even “I” was too good for them.  I knew I would need to get Heidi alone, so I could get her drunk and find out what she really thinks of that arrogant douchebag she claims to be married to. I chose the Library Bar Downtown, for the simple fact that I am quite confident that they have never actually stepped foot in one….a library that is, not a bar. 

I asked to meet Heidi at 11 and then Spencer would join us at 11:30. Spencer said no, he would do the interview if and ONLY if they were together for the entire interview. 

Okay, this little punk with a pube infested face was f*cking with the wrong person. My hatred for them ran deep, but my pride was to be swallowed with a pint of whiskey, and I was to give this ridiculous publicity obsessed duo a Betty Booze lashing. 

I did a lot of research for this one…I wanted to be able to hang these two every chance I had. 

It was 10:30, my car would pick me up in 15 minutes. I surprised myself a bit when my whiskey consumption flat-lined at just three glasses. What was wrong with me? I work well when I drink, I work best when I’m tanked… BUT then it hit me… I was preserving my memory, I was keeping my arsenal of insults and humiliating traps safely tucked in the bed of my sober mind… sober for me, I mean….head in the toilet sober for anyone else.

I want to metaphorically donkey punch these two and if I don’t succeed I should hang up my shot glasses and remove from my business card the words “reporter”. WAIT WAIT WAIT… I just said “the words reporter” ONLY ONE WORD… maybe I’m more buzzed than I think… 

When I pulled up to the Library Bar I was expecting to see a red carpet… that Spidey brought with them, signing autographs for people they paid to approach them and giving an interview to TMZ who annoyingly actually cares what these brainless a*holes do from day to day.

Little did they know that reality can be sculpted as if written… and I wrote tonight’s reality with precision and without any stones unturned. 
Earlier in the week I called my good friend Chelsea Handler, who is the only person I’ve met that could keep up with me at the bar. She and I share and often speak of the hatred we carry for these two, so I knew my plan would pan out… it didn’t matter what lengths we had to go to. 

I walked in—they weren’t there yet. I spoke to the manager and he showed me to our reserved place in the middle of the leather couch. I ordered a two shots of Petrone…what it does to my sensibilities is equivalent to water… I drank them and texted Chelsea. 
Later that night, there I was in the middle of a conversation about my drinking habits when Heidi took both mine and Spencer’s hands and started praying that I beat my addiction… I was praying that I would refrain from beating her plastic f*cking face in. 
“Lord, God, all mighty, the only one, please let Betty stop drinking and start accepting christ into her life, her soul and her heart. Please God, I love you, and need you to help me in helping her. Thank you my Lord. God bless you and praise jesus”. THIS GIRLS INSANE!

“Oh look, Chelsea Handler just walked in,” Heidi said to us almost immediately after her “sermon”. Then Spencer whispered something in her ear, got up and began talking to Chelsea… F*CK THIS WAS EASY. 

Chelsea and Spencer joined us… I “introduced” myself to Chelsea and the shots began to flow.  Before I knew it, Heidi was drunk… and before she got anymore drunk I knew I had to get them out of there.  I went to the bathroom, Chelsea followed. We exchanged a few ideas and off we went to execute. 

We suggested going back to Chelsea’s, they agreed. “Are there going to be any other famous people, or will it just be me and Heidi?” the short little f*ck asked. Before Chelsea could tell him that he was a little no-good d*ck head, I said, “no there will be others, you’ll just have to come an see.”

Fast forward to three hours later… Chelsea and I were on speakerphone with TMZ, negotiating a price for the sex tape that was made, unbeknownst to them, just thirty minutes prior.  I knew, looking at the size of Spencer’s member that we could get whatever we wanted from them.  

This is what I said:
“You stay out of the public eye, you don’t ever do another interview, never put yourselves on a ridiculous reality show, and you act according to your ACTUAL relevance in America… NO ONE gives a sh*t about you, no one will, and so help me God, I see you=2 0in another US WEEKLY, everyone in America will know every Chin in China has a bigger d*ck than you….. AND that you have to close your eyes and imagine you’re f*cking Zac Effron to perform….”
CHELSEA IN THE BACKGROUND, humping the couch and screaming “OH ZAC, OH ZAC”

Chelsea put the nail in the coffin when she said this, “I will do whatever it takes to put you two f*cking idiots in your place, and if you decide that I’m not serious, I dare you to try me. I’ll have you wishing you were dead… Good thing you’re so close with God, you can pray that you take me seriously… I’ll show you what hell is. 

After we uncuffed them from Chelsea’s bar, they went away with their tails between their legs. Chelsea and I celebrated with two gallons of my man Jack and thirteen midgets… Best night of my life.


Signed, Sealed, Delivered,
Betty Booze

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