Since that stupid twat Mischa Barton broke my arm I’ve spent the summer collecting scarves. Some are silk, some have skulls, and stars, and seashells and swirly symbols, all to conceal an ugly scar and its even uglier growth.

I noticed about 2 weeks after my stitches came out. 14 stitches after surgery to install two metal rods. Had just taken a shower, was about to moisturise the dry skin around the wound, and there it was... my surgeon says it’s not uncommon, the body’s reaction to the healing process.

Do something for me would you?

Look at your elbow.

It’s probably smooth, right? Nothing particularly remarkable. Just an elbow, an elbow similar to many other elbows.

Consider yourself lucky. Because the difference between your elbow and my elbow is a patch of hair. HAIR. HAIR ON MY ELBOW. Like pubic hair. Hair that sticks up straight and long, hair sprouting from a place where no hair should exist. A strip of hair three inches long and one inch wide that travels across the point, and my scar like a gravel pathway bisecting a well manicured lawn. In other words:

There’s a vagina on my elbow.

My elbow is a vagina!

It’s not like I’ve never had problem areas, you know? I have many problem areas. My nose, my ass, my shoulders, my second toe is bigger than my big toe. My cousin Cat hates her knees. We all have parts we’d rather hide.

But this ... elbow vagina. This elbow vagina is the first time I have ever been disgusted, like truly repulsed, to the point of nausea, about something attached to my body. The elbow vagina is revolting. So revolting my husband compared it to watching a live birth on the Learning Channel a few years ago, after which he was haunted by bloody nightmares and cannibals for almost a week. He tried to take a picture of the elbow vagina 10 minutes ago, to post on the site, and wasn’t able to hold steady without dry heaving a little and then refusing in the end.

The elbow vagina is the most hideous, the most vile mental image you can conjure. A cockroach, maybe. Or a tarantula. Perhaps maggots. Perhaps all of the above.

And so now, now that I have to look at my elbow vagina every time I shower, now I finally know just a little what it feels like to wake up in the morning, and face the mirror as Tori Spelling. To be frightened by your own atrocity.

For me it’s only an elbow though. For her... it’s that scary as all f&cking sh*t face that is a window to her sould.

After all, this is a woman who stole another’s man. And not only that, the man then walked away from a beautiful baby girl called Lola. A baby girl who was promised a father who would love her. And only six weeks after coming home, that baby girl was deserted by a golddigger who swallowed his bile for the Spelling fortune.

Wrong doesn’t necessarily have to beget wrong. Their infidelity did not necessarily have to result in a fatherless daughter. KFed Jr could have lobbied for custody rights instead of relinquishing them. Tori could have encouraged him. Junior and Tori could have demonstrated what many in our modern world have achieved: a functioning family after dysfunction.

Instead, they chose to leave Lola behind and create a new little girl of their own.

And even more galling, Tori has just announced she will release a second book titled “Mommywood” about life as a celebrity mother. Worse still... f&cking idiots from the MiniVan Majority will buy it. They will buy it because publications like People and Us OK! and even the bottom feeding rags have conveniently forgotten, or have chosen not to report, that these two lowlifes bailed out on baby Lola to rewrite their own “sTori”.

When someone gets pregnant, does it absolve them of their crimes? When a douchebag holds a child on the cover of a magazine, does it mean he’s no longer accountable to the lives he left behind?

If you can vilify Sienna Miller you should be vilifying Tori Spelling. Don’t give her an easier ride just because she has a mangled face.

My elbow vagina just might be less ugly.

Here are Tori and Junior scaring all the dogs at an animal charity event this weekend.

Photos from