I am starting to feel bad for Kim Stewart, and here's why: now that we've all been inundated with PR for her brother's new reality show Sons of Hollywood, it is clear that she's been saddled with a sibling who, by all press accounts, is kind of a total douchebag in the way now apparently favored by men 21-28 who appear on Hollywood-centric reality programming (see Mister Arrest-y, Jason Wahler and, of course, Spencer of The Hills, who may be the most loathsome person in the 310 area code, a feat which takes some doing. I can't get into his crimes against humanity right now, because rage is bad for the complexion, but suffice it to say, if he were to wake up under the wheels of a speeding MTA bus, everyone who's ever watched The Hills would put down their Lean Pockets and applaud). This kind of behavior, parenthetically, is not doing mankind any favors, and by "mankind" I don't mean "humanity," I mean "dudes." Because watching Spencer's manipulative shenanigans (like, say, having two cells phones, only one of which his girlfriend is aware of) is not making America's young women sit up and say, "I have GOT to get me one of them," it is making them say, "Hmm. I don't know if I want to date anyone right now. " Ergo, I am pretty sure that when society eventually dies out and the human race is extinct, we would be able to trace its destruction back to Spencer except for how, unfortunately, we'll all be dead.
Anyway, now that I know what Kim Stewart had to grow up with, I sort of understand why she sometimes leaves the house in stuff like this:
She doesn't even know anymore. A negligee bedecked in widow's weeds? Sure. Anything to get out of the house.
