Don't Get it Twisted

Kim Kardashian is vapid at best, outright conniving and ruthless in the quest of her own self-promotion at worst. She used a special needs boy by the name of Kris Humphries, extracting his pride from him through contrived "reality" programming (actually, "programmed reality" is the best and most succinct way of describing her E! show), all for ratings and expensive wedding gifts, and then 72 days later tossed away the empty shell of his public persona like a Carl's Jr. cup out the window of a Mercedes doing 80 on the PCH.

She sought pop stardom, despite the fact that she wouldn't make it past an American Idol tryout without help from her name and/or her mama's machinations. And when it became vividly evident—via a music video that would make Rebecca Black cringe—this pursuit was destined to end in failure, she attempted to bury the body as far away from the media's eye as possible.

Her character has become the caged cart at a driving range, with a line of comedians and Twitter hacks teeing off every time she passes. While Kim’s “storybook” marriage was ending amid a storm of bad press and floundering public opinion, Reggie Bush—the more miserable party at the onset of their breakup years ago—was experiencing a rejuvenation of his career in Miami, enjoying an autumn of entirely positive press for the first time since coming to the NFL. Not surprisingly, shortly thereafter it “leaked” from sources “close to Kim” that she still longed for the two to reunite. And, not surprisingly, Bush was publicly silent in regards to these rumors, keeping himself far away from the publicity vampire before she could feed off of him once again (this time in the thick night air of South Beach).

And yet, despite all of this…

Yup, I’d still hit. I may even wife it, for like…a weekend. Maybe two. Scream at me.