I wake up at three o’clock and the azn maid who speakee no engleesh fucks up my breakfast as usual by forgetting to get pulp-free orange juice. The pancakes, scrambled eggs, sausages, and a big platter of diced fruit are yummy tho. I feel filthy even tho I had an hour long soak last night with bath salts imported from Spain so I hop into the shower. Afterwards it’s such a chore as always to dig through my hall sized walk in closet to get just one flimsy dress after changing my mind like a bazillion times. Don’t get me started on the make up! By the time the house servant brings in my chow pal in her little doggie purse I’m off to work in my gold-plated Hummer with diamond encrusted spinners. Bad taste only because you can never have enough bling. Now the red carpet work is boring. Smile, pose, slip a nip, oops, then it’s champagne and tongue fucking strange rich and famous boys and girls. Everyday it’s the same old shit. You wanted ordinary? Boring? Bitches, try being so fucking rich you hold God in arrears.