Contrary to Gwyneth Paltrow’s belief, not every ho wants to sit on an antique farmhouse chair (imported from wherever the rarest antique farmhouse chairs exist) and sip from a bowl of liquefied black pearls while telling their pretentious cunt friends how most tiresome it is that a bald eagle chose to nest on the exact cliff where they want to build their early autumn mountain chalet (SPOILER ALERT: they bull dozed that nest down). And one of those Not Every Hos is Fishsticks’ very own husband Chris Martin.
According to Popeater, Chris was a guest at a dinner party to celebrate Fishy’s new cookbook and he gave the same pout his wife gives when her semi-private fishmonger (IN THIS ECONOMY, she has to share a fishmonger with the McCartneys and the royals) tells her that they’re all out of Osetra caviar. Apparently, Chris’ glumcuntface let everyone know that he would rather be sucking off a chainsaw than sitting with his wife’s friends.
When Chris arrived, reporters were told that he didn’t want to talk to anyone. Chris camped out in a corner and shriveled inside every time he had to hold a conversation with the likes of Martha Stewart and Mario Batali.
I subliminally threw Chris a “suck it up, cunt” look until I read what Jessica Seinfeld said before dinner began: “You are all so lucky to be part of Gwyneth’s world. Because this is the real deal. And she’s invited all of you good people in here. I would never do that.”
Jessica Seinfeld is the fucking worst. Allow me to hide a heaping dose of STFU in her brownies. Who says that shit? Those are the kind of words you say at the grand opening of an In-N-Out across the street from your house. You don’t say that about “a world” where you have to wear shoes at the dinner table and are expected to use the correct fork to eat duck ala eatme.
But Fishy fixed everything when she fed Chris a spoon full of flax seed oil and told him he’s the biggest, greatest rock star in the world. Seeing as though Fishy’s world is her only world, that’s not saying much (but don’t tell Chris).