this is really funny
A journalist calls ALANIS "worst human alive"
Alanis Morissette is at the top of my shit list. You knew that she was a moron, but you may not have known she was malicious and inconsiderate. Here's what happened.
A couple months ago I was pitched by her publicist to preview her show at Madison Square Garden, where she was opening for puketastic rockers Matchbox Twenty. The publicist really wanted me to write it for free daily Metro New York, and I said I would pitch it to them after we did the interview.
No dice, said the publicist. Sell the story first, and then you'll get the interview.
So I sold the story, which was to pay me $200, contingent upon talking to Morissette. But our first scheduled interview came and went -- she canceled, which was not a big deal. Then our second and third scheduled interviews were canceled, which was still not a big deal. It sometimes takes three or four tries to get these things done.
Not this time. When I called her at 2:30 in the afternoon one day, our sixth scheduled interview, her manager told me she was still sleeping. Why was she so tired? She was opening for goddamn Matchbox 20.
So I didn't get to write the story and lost the $200, which was fucking annoying. But the worst part was that, because the publicist made me sell the story first, I had (theoretically, anyways) lost credibility in the eyes of the Metro editor.
Fast forward to a couple weeks ago, when this same publicist invited me to be on an conference call with Alanis. These interview conference calls are completely bogus -- consisting mainly of hacks from nothing papers like the Bismarck Times-Mail and the Manitoba Globe-Douchewad lobbing softballs.
But I hatched a plan for revenge, and signed on for the call.
Moments before the call was to begin, I was sweating. I've asked a lot of celebrities a lot of vaguely insulting questions, but nothing as direct as what I was planning here, and never before an audience.
Morissette was ten minutes late for the call. Before finally introducing her, the biznatch publicist announced that all questions had to be about her new album, whose name, Flavors of Entanglement, is so soul-sucking I regret burdening you with it.
Anyways, I typed *1 to get into the queue to ask her a question, and when my turn came I launched into my spiel.
"I’m a freelance writer, and I was supposed to profile your show at Madison Square Garden a couple months ago," I said. "We had six separate phone interviews set up, and you didn’t show up to any of them, and I lost the story ---"
"--- Only questions about the album," the publicist said, nastily, or something like that. I bravely charged forward.
"--- which would have paid me $200. So my question is---"
"--- that's it," said the publicist. My voice was cut off, but I kept talking, if only to finish my piece.
"--- are you going to send me $200, or what?"
After I was cut off, a guy from the Des Moines Impotence-Herpessore or some such asked her if she hoped to open for Linkin Park, or something like that. Now if Alanis had any class (or any sense of humor), she would have at least addressed the madman who had just tried to confront her, but she didn't mention me at all.
A few minutes later, I was cut off the call entirely.
So that's it. The end. God speed Alanis, you wanker. I hope whatever religion you embrace late in life reincarnates you and your publicist as factory farm chickens pumped full of hormones.
source
Alanis Morissette is at the top of my shit list. You knew that she was a moron, but you may not have known she was malicious and inconsiderate. Here's what happened.
A couple months ago I was pitched by her publicist to preview her show at Madison Square Garden, where she was opening for puketastic rockers Matchbox Twenty. The publicist really wanted me to write it for free daily Metro New York, and I said I would pitch it to them after we did the interview.
No dice, said the publicist. Sell the story first, and then you'll get the interview.
So I sold the story, which was to pay me $200, contingent upon talking to Morissette. But our first scheduled interview came and went -- she canceled, which was not a big deal. Then our second and third scheduled interviews were canceled, which was still not a big deal. It sometimes takes three or four tries to get these things done.
Not this time. When I called her at 2:30 in the afternoon one day, our sixth scheduled interview, her manager told me she was still sleeping. Why was she so tired? She was opening for goddamn Matchbox 20.
So I didn't get to write the story and lost the $200, which was fucking annoying. But the worst part was that, because the publicist made me sell the story first, I had (theoretically, anyways) lost credibility in the eyes of the Metro editor.
Fast forward to a couple weeks ago, when this same publicist invited me to be on an conference call with Alanis. These interview conference calls are completely bogus -- consisting mainly of hacks from nothing papers like the Bismarck Times-Mail and the Manitoba Globe-Douchewad lobbing softballs.
But I hatched a plan for revenge, and signed on for the call.
Moments before the call was to begin, I was sweating. I've asked a lot of celebrities a lot of vaguely insulting questions, but nothing as direct as what I was planning here, and never before an audience.
Morissette was ten minutes late for the call. Before finally introducing her, the biznatch publicist announced that all questions had to be about her new album, whose name, Flavors of Entanglement, is so soul-sucking I regret burdening you with it.
Anyways, I typed *1 to get into the queue to ask her a question, and when my turn came I launched into my spiel.
"I’m a freelance writer, and I was supposed to profile your show at Madison Square Garden a couple months ago," I said. "We had six separate phone interviews set up, and you didn’t show up to any of them, and I lost the story ---"
"--- Only questions about the album," the publicist said, nastily, or something like that. I bravely charged forward.
"--- which would have paid me $200. So my question is---"
"--- that's it," said the publicist. My voice was cut off, but I kept talking, if only to finish my piece.
"--- are you going to send me $200, or what?"
After I was cut off, a guy from the Des Moines Impotence-Herpessore or some such asked her if she hoped to open for Linkin Park, or something like that. Now if Alanis had any class (or any sense of humor), she would have at least addressed the madman who had just tried to confront her, but she didn't mention me at all.
A few minutes later, I was cut off the call entirely.
So that's it. The end. God speed Alanis, you wanker. I hope whatever religion you embrace late in life reincarnates you and your publicist as factory farm chickens pumped full of hormones.
source