Victoria Beckham is not renowned for her intelligence. But, occasionally, even a rank idiot says something insightful and on-target, as Victoria did when she uttered the following about the ever-growing fraternity of celebrity bloggers:
I think these people are pretty spineless, the way they hide behind pseudo-names. They don't really know what's going on in anybody's lives. They're just sad people that sit behind their computers.
Perhaps I should be upset by those remarks, but I'm not. The fact is that Poshy is right - we are spineless people hiding behind pseudo-names (she meant "pseudonyms" obviously, but we get the drift). We don't really know what's going on in anyone's lives. And, by and large, we are sad people (who do most assuredly sit behind computers).
However, I do have this to ask in response to you Posh: Do you honestly think you're going to make us go away by calling us sad wretches and pointing out our cowardliness? If you really want us to go away, Posh, maybe you should stop giving us material. Maybe you should cease staging scenes, like the one in L.A. last week where you pretended to have been pulled over. Perhaps, if you don't want your life to become a matter of public discussion, you should desist in your habit of tipping off the paparazzi when you're going to be somewhere. Sorry Posh, but though you're correct on the surface, you have nonetheless demonstrated what a shallow, imbecilic, transparent twit you are.
You, Posh, are famous for one thing - being famous. Without the paps, the tabs, and yes the bloggers, no one would even know who the hell you were. And how then would you satisfy your insatiable need to be fawned over, photographed, and otherwise made a big deal of? My suggestion, Vicky, would be not to bite the hand that feeds you. For though we may make fun of you and call you hurtful things (vapid, ferret-faced cunt), at least we are paying attention to you - and that's really all you should ultimately care about. Because the second we stop paying attention to you, then you become what you actually are - another fake-titted slag jumping up and down in the stands while her husband engages in endeavors which accord real glory and accomplishment.
Yes Posh, we are on to you - we know you are nothing but a frivolous publicity-hound. It doesn't matter that we don't "really know what's going on" in your life. We know about your public life - your dumb outfits which always put your erect nipples on display, your publicity stunts, your stupid expressions which you think make you look cool, but only make you seem even more ridiculously mindless. What about you, Posh, is supposed to make you so superior to us anyway? Your looks? Don't make me laugh. Your money? Your fame? None of these impress us Posh - we know your looks are fake, your money unearned, your fame perpetuated through cynical and crudely manipulative means. But you entertain us Posh - you amuse us precisely because you are so worthless and phony. And that's why we write about you - because your existence is a treasure-trove of comic material. You're a joke Posh, but sadly you don't see it. Maybe if you did you'd realize that you're not so much better than all us sad, spineless people with our "pseudo-names" and our computers. It's all one racket Poshy, and we're all just trying to get a share.
(source)
