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Now this is journalism...
Readers, I want to run a thought experiment here. Debase yourself mentally for a few impure moments, and allow yourself to walk a mile in The Situation's shoes.
Let's say you wake up on a humid Florentine afternoon, your breath smelling of expensive cigarettes and rank tequila, your head feeling a few miles removed from the rest of your body. You've been sleeping on a couch in the foyer. A flock of pigeons has taken up residence a few feet from your head, perhaps attracted by the pure-grade Emirates diesel you put in your hair, so it shines like black cordite.
It takes a long time to walk from your bed to the toilet, from the bidet to the shower, back to the toilet for a manful regurge, then over to the hot tub for a morning soak. Let's theorize that that whole process takes you the better part of two hours. In that time, you feel less like a human being and more like a dragon, sliming around on your pile of gold coins searching for a hobbit to munch on.
Eventually, the hot tub jetstream makes you feel almost yourself. You throw on some Abercrombie & Fitch. At that exact moment, a blonde woman appears at your doorway. Her body double lurks behind her. Speaking in unison, they screech, "You said you'd be ready in an hour!"
Let's say you wake up on a humid Florentine afternoon, your breath smelling of expensive cigarettes and rank tequila, your head feeling a few miles removed from the rest of your body. You've been sleeping on a couch in the foyer. A flock of pigeons has taken up residence a few feet from your head, perhaps attracted by the pure-grade Emirates diesel you put in your hair, so it shines like black cordite.
It takes a long time to walk from your bed to the toilet, from the bidet to the shower, back to the toilet for a manful regurge, then over to the hot tub for a morning soak. Let's theorize that that whole process takes you the better part of two hours. In that time, you feel less like a human being and more like a dragon, sliming around on your pile of gold coins searching for a hobbit to munch on.
Eventually, the hot tub jetstream makes you feel almost yourself. You throw on some Abercrombie & Fitch. At that exact moment, a blonde woman appears at your doorway. Her body double lurks behind her. Speaking in unison, they screech, "You said you'd be ready in an hour!"
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