Friday night we were supposed to cover a Mischa Barton red carpet for that dumbass Tatu movie she made last year. So we show up at Majestic Beach at 10pm ready to shoot and one of the Tatus is running around hoping to get noticed to no avail and the publicists are setting up the stanchions and we’re just about to pull the camera out when a rep comes over to say that Mischa skipped the photo call the day before and she hadn’t been seen in 24 hrs.

In other words, she was totally about to bail on her own party. BAIL ON HER OWN PARTY!!! Let’s recap, shall we? Mischa fecking Barton has no career, no solid prospects, and she apparently got too sh*tfaced to promote one of the few projects she has on her resumé. Dumb twat!

Worse still… the film was funded by Russian financiers. Mischa Barton is f*cking with Russian financiers. So if she gets maimed or ends up with needles in her arms lying in a ditch, now you know why.

Anyway, since the event was a bust, we ended up having to rearrange our schedule and that’s how we found ourselves on the Rue d’Antibes during the busiest time of the night, a Friday night, looking for a place to eat that wasn’t packed. We were almost there when I encountered an umbrella stand with no umbrella in it placed in the middle of the sidewalk. It was painted black and in the thickness of the crowd, not easily apparent. Laura narrowly avoided it in front of me but I nailed it straight on, tripping and falling left elbow first. And I was wearing flipflops.

Dylan said he’d never seen someone so green. The pain was so intense I almost vomited. And when they lifted up my shirt my elbow cap was sticking out from the wrong place. If I had known I would have lubed up first with some rosé. Because going through that straight up sober is straight up sucky. Unfortunately as luck would have it, and because that Barton bitch had extended our work hours for no reason, I hadn’t started drinking yet.

Within 5 minutes we were in an ambulance. Half an hour after that we were looking at my dislodged elbow cap floating aimlessly inside my arm on an xray but only after losing our sh*t over the crackhead in head to toe acid wash, a bad blonde perm, with 4 teeth who came in handcuffed and smelling like piss. By the next morning (Saturday) I was in surgery to fix a joint fracture. And thanks to the thoughtfulness of my bosses at CTV and round the clock attention from Laura and Dylan, on Monday morning they finally agreed to discharge la canadienne who would not stop trying to escape. Later on I interviewed Harrison Ford and Cate Blanchett. Yeah… I’m bragging about being back to work in 3 days.

Still… now I’ve 13 stitches and a rod inserted into my left arm and no golf for 2 months. Blame Mischa Barton.

Photos from Wenn