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July 30, 2004

Billionaire Fugboy

I had never heard of the rich "playboy" Steven Bing until he knocked up Elizabeth Hurley, and since then I've seen his name linked to other pretty young things whose names escape me right now (lucky for them) but I have strong memories of seeing their photos with Bing and going, "WHAT?!?!?" How does this man get laid? I would think it was the money, except in the celebrity cases, he's banging women who are pretty well able to support themselves (unless he shows up with Winona Ryder on his jock one day, in which case, he should clamp his Rolex to his wrist).

So disappointing. Look at him. Judging this book by its cover, which is this site's specialty, I conclude that Steven Bing doesn't look like he'd be a tomcat in the sack. And there's also the suspicious matter of him deciding to contest paternity of Elizabeth Hurley's baby and claim they never really dated, because -- aside from it possibly leading to palimony you can amply afford and which she doesn't need -- God knows it's torturous having to confirm that you both dated and slept with a beautiful, internationally known model.

FRIEND: Hey, man, what did you do last night?
BING: Uh, nothing. I... hit on that cross-eyed video-store clerk and then tried to have sex with her and her hermaphrodite cousin, but, uh, they turned me down. Yeah.
FRIEND: Steve... I don't think you're being completely honest with me. For one thing, that's the same line you tried to use two days ago.
BING: Well, patterns, you know...
FRIEND: Steve. Talk to me. Are you... I hate to even say it... are you sleeping with Elizabeth Hurley?
BING (buries his face in his hands, weeping softly): I don't know what's wrong with me! I can't seem to stop! Why, oh, why, am I cursed with this freakish fetish? Why?
FRIEND: It's okay, Steve. I'm here for you. We'll get you some therapy and you'll get through this.
BING (sobbing): It's so GROTESQUE ... just... want the madness... to stop...

What a damper on your reputation, right? Especially when you yourself are completely plain-looking, dipped in liquid fug and topped off with a crispy doofus coating. I can just imagine him getting home, scrubbing himself raw in the shower with a loofa to get off any lingering cooties from the body of a famous hottie. God forbid they should infect him and somehow make him good-looking, too.

Posted by Heather at 11:03 AM | Permalink

Comments

He's way better than The Donald and his mystifying comb-over any day!

Posted by: Wendy | Mar 14, 2005 5:40:09 PM

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