She’s singing again
This time an album of duets with Pete Yorn called Break Up that was recorded before her Tom Waits f-ckery in 2006 due out on September 8th but the first single Relator is available today. Click here to listen. It’s actually... not bad.
Scarjo hasn’t been seen publicly in weeks, working hard and working out hard for Iron Man 2. Word is she’s following Gwyneth Paltrow’s diet and exercise regime and training with Tracy Anderson. Which means her body, already sick, will be even crazier when she emerges. Bitch.
As for married life – well you know she makes it a point to fiercely guard her privacy. This approach however appears to be turning her husband Ryan Reynolds into a dickhead.
You’ve seen his expression on the Wolverine carpets – like he’s better than the publicity, despite starring in a popcorn summertime blockbuster and signing on to headline one of his own.
Now in addition to his sanctimonious sneer, Ryan has adopted a new attitude with the fans. Am told he spent part of last week in Vancouver and left on Saturday. At the airport he was approached by an admirer and asked for a photo. He snarled in response:
Say what you bitch?
Last time I checked Deadpool wasn’t written by Charlie Kaufman. And Ryan Reynolds doesn’t have the skill to work a Charlie Kaufman either. Ryan is only a pretty face. An even prettier beefcake body.
What else does an actor like Ryan Reynolds have to do BUT to pose with fans for photos?
If Hugh Jackman can go around the world, smile every day, pet dogs and cuddle babies, and not once lose his cool, or his energy, Ryan Reynolds can suck it up his ass and do the same.
Then again, those who’ve worked with Ryan aren’t exactly surprised by his ego or his overinflated sense of entitlement.
A few years ago, on the Regina set of the utterly forgettable and horribly sh-tty movie Just Friends, Ryan was shooting in a local bar called McNally’s. Amy Smart and Anna Faris were there, so lovely, so sweet, and so much less high maintenance than their male costar who required touch-ups more than they did. Only he was a bitch about accommodating the makeup artist. Would not so much as turn slightly on his stool to provide the man with a better angle.
As such, the artist, who had very long 80s rocker hair, had to lie on top of the bar in order to powder Ryan’s nose. Again, let me repeat, Ryan refused to sit in a more accessible position. He allowed this man to contort himself on top of a bar, surrounded by candles, in the most uncomfortable way, and did not offer to make it just a little bit easier.
So the man’s hair caught on fire.
And Ryan Reynolds started squealing. At the top of his lungs. Full scale man-panic. Flapping his hands, holding his balls, to the point where the makeup artist, WHO WAS ON FIRE, had to tend to Ryan first, calming him down, preventing him from passing out, before enlisting help to put out the blazing inferno on top of his head.
Point of the story?
Save your quiver for someone else. Ryan Reynolds doesn’t deserve it.
File photos from Wenn.com