Poshy's people got clever one day and decided they'd play a trick on the mean paparazzi. So they got themselves a blow-up doll and dressed it like their boss Poshy, and pulled up in the van where the paps were. The paps waited with their cameras to photograph Poshy. The door opened, and Poshy's people emerged with their doll. "See?" they said. "It's not Poshy. It's a doll made to look like her." Everyone had a hearty laugh, even the paparazzi, who could sell the pictures of fake Poshy as readily as pictures of the real one. Then everyone dispersed. Poshy's people got back in the van and drove off with the doll to pick up the real Poshy. They arrived where Poshy was waiting but there was as yet no sign of her. "This is taking up too much space," one of Poshy's people said of the doll inside the van. So they took the doll outside and sat it down on a bench. "Let's go look for her," another of Poshy's people said. The others agreed, and so they went off to look for Poshy. A few minutes passed. The beautiful Poshy herself emerged from the building. "What's this?" she said, looking around inside the van but finding no one. "Well sod it all," she said. Feeling a little worn-out she went to the bench to rest. She sat down next to the doll which she did not even notice. Several minutes passed. Poshy's people at last returned. They came to the bench, and saw the two Poshies sitting side-by-side. "Oh no," one of them said, "there are two of them. But which is the real one?" They scratched their heads and wondered what to do. Then one of them got a bright idea - he would squeeze the Poshies' breasts to see which one was real. The others agreed this was a splendid plan. So he began squeezing breasts. He squeezed each one carefully, five or six times, caressing it. Unfortunately this did not help; all the breasts seemed equally fake. "Now what do we do?" Poshy's people said. Then, one of them had another idea - they would ask the Poshies questions. It was generally agreed that this too was a marvelous solution to their quandary. So, Poshy's person thought of some questions to ask. "What books have you read lately?" he said to the first Poshy. But there was no answer. Then he went to the second Poshy and asked her the same, but again, no reply was forthcoming. Perplexed as ever, Poshy's people put their heads together. There was much deliberation and wringing of hands. At last, one of them raised his hand. "I have an idea," he said. "Let's call her husband David Beckham." This excited Poshy's people, for it seemed this would surely clear up the matter. A cell-phone was procured and David was summoned. Soon David's car pulled up, and he emerged looking magnificent and manly. "What the bloody hell's going on here?" David asked. Poshy's people nervously explained their predicament. "That's no problem," David confidently proclaimed. "I'll have this cleared up in a jiff." Poshy's people fell to their knees in gratitude. The wonderful David went to the two Poshies, and looked in their faces, and took their hands and squeezed them, and spoke to them. Poshy's people looked on in fretful anticipation. Unfortunately, David soon wore the same look of perplexity they themselves had. Their hearts sank. Then, the look of puzzlement disappeared from David's face. "I know," he announced, "I'll fuck them. That will clear this up." Poshy's people sighed with relief. David eagerly took one Poshy by the hand and dragged her behind a bush. Thirty seconds later he came back, dragging the Poshy with him and smiling. "I've solved it," he said, clutching the Poshy's arm. "This is my wife." Poshy's people rejoiced. They all got in the van together, Poshy and David and Poshy's people, and drove off happily down the street. The other Poshy, who remained on the bench, suddenly looked around in confusion. "Where the fuck has everybody got to?" the real Poshy said.
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