This past week or so was many things. Hot. Humid. Oily (for those of us in the Gulf area). And containing of the two greatest low-tier celebrity news stories I’ve ever heard.
Sit right down and you’ll hear a tale, a tale of the dull blonde from Mad Men and the ’90s actor who was the twin who wasn’t in Mallrats – no, wait, this one WAS in Mallrats, and wasn’t in Dazed and Confused. That’s right. Anyway.
These stories are unrelated. Or are they? Dun dun DUN.
No, they’re not. But a girl can dream.
So, last week, January Jones got into a car wreck with three other cars. This would be a pretty open and shut bummer moment if she hadn’t been the only driver. See, the day before, photos of January doing a full on stringy haired, last night’s dress walk of shame had hit the Internet. You’d think she’d be pleased to finally be known for something besides the boring one on Mad Men and the worst SNL host in history, but apparently she wasn’t.
Early reports had her muttering “I can’t handle this” to herself as the paparazzi swarmed her, filling her with fear and terror, no doubt causing the wreck themselves with their stalking and taunts.
Except … no.
The next report told us that there in fact were no paparazzi in the area when the wreck occurred. Not only that, but Betts here was so lit to the gills that she called someone who could rescue her, who could save the day. Who was this heroic man of action?
Bobby Flay, that guy who grills stuff on the teevee. And he told her to bounce the fuck out of there.
According to Flay, he stood somewhat near Jones at a bar earlier, she but one of many, and he only saw her have one beer, but he wasn’t really watching her alcohol content. He went on to say that he had no idea why she could have possibly called him, and that he only gave her his number because she’s redecorating her kitchen and wanted him to talk to the decorator.
I totally buy this. When my dad put in our pool, he gave the installers Greg Louganis’s number. Very common.
According to the witness on the scene, B. Flay told Betty to flee the scene. She returned 45 minutes later, chewing gum and wearing clothes not soaked in whiskey.
In a related story, Flay’s wife, SVU star Stephanie March, was seen crying on the shoulder of Tyler Florence and shouting, “He never deserved to win Iron Chef, that cheating fuck.”
Look, before Don Draper, all this chick was known for was participating in the worst part of Love Actually and for dating Josh Groban, inciting the jealousy of housewives and pop culture bloggers everywhere (*raises hand*). But now? Now she’s interesting. Food Network adulteress who drives wasted and needily calls her secret married lover for help then ditches crime scenes.
Allegedly, of course.
In the other most fascinating story ever of the week, Jason Jeremy London lived out an experience that made the entire Internet say, “Dude, that sounds awfully familiar …”
Jeremy London, the one from Mallrats and Party of Five, not the one who was in Dazed and Confused and The Rage: Carrie 2, who was just in the rehab last fall for prescription pills (which is what all crackheads say when they go to rehab because prescription pills are just so much more glamorous than heated up spoons), went to police to say that he was kidnapped and forced, at gunpoint, to smoke crack and drive around with the kidnappers.
As you and everyone else who’s heard this story already knows, that didn’t happen. Because Alan Ball already wrote it in the best episode of Six Feet Under of all, the one where David gets … well, he gets everything that Jeremy London said happened to him.
If you’re going to pull from a fictitious happening and pretend that it happened to you, at least make it obscure. No one would have minded if he said that he had been through some terrible ordeal from a You’ve Got It Maid episode.
Anyway, the Internet wasn’t the only one crying bullshit. Jeremy’s family did the same thing. His own mother and twin brother went to the media saying this was all made up and they hope he gets help.
Dude, when you’re own mom can’t believe your sordid tale of crack and hostage-taking, you probably do need help.
The only one who seems to believe this is his enabler wife no, we’ll go with enabler … who says that she too was kidnapped, but she cried so they drove her home and kept her husband.
That’s pretty standard, I’d say. You always hear about people who were kidnapped at gunpoint, particularly women, who got out of it by turning on the waterworks. Except you don’t. Like at all.
I want to thank this week for all it’s given us in drunken crackhead scandal shenanigans. It had been a pretty dry summer, filled with death and dead ocean wildlife. Thanks, January and Jeremy. We appreciate it.
Courtney Enlow is a writer living in Chicago and working as a corporate shill to pay the bills. You can contact her at firstname.lastname@example.org.