I’M A CELEBRITY. You know my name, my age, my height and weight. I am rich, spoiled, arrogant, jaded, childish, bored and miserable. I don’t respect people who give me whatever I want and I have no use for anyone who doesn’t give me whatever I want. I cannot stand to be by myself, and one-on-one with you is no good unless we’re having sex, so you’ll have to like hanging out with my posse. You mean something to me only to the extent that you enhance my image, but no matter what, if we are photographed together, my publicist will insist that we are “just friends.” I’m sure that you have confused me with my public persona and so I know that you are already putty in my hands. I simultaneously require that of you and detest you for it. I’ll have my people call your people.
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