Dirt: Just call me Cruella De Ville

I hate PETA. Having cocktails a few weeks ago, I ran into one of the organizations’ extremist cohorts and griped with her about the mistreatment of Jennifer Lopez. I explained to her that PETA’s guerrilla

I hate PETA. Having cocktails a few weeks ago, I ran into one of the organizations’ extremist cohorts and griped with her about the mistreatment of Jennifer Lopez.

I explained to her that PETA’s guerrilla campaigns to only attack the celebrated was a cheap ploy to get ink in national press. The PETAphile then asked me why it was wrong for PETA to do it and not, say, Britney Spears.

Damn. She had me. PETAphile then said, “PETA does extreme things to people who do extreme things to animals.”

This sits with me still, four days over deadline, thinking about how I can really stick it to those animal-liberation freaks. Perhaps I can’t.

What I can say, however, is how shocked and disappointed I was to find that fashion icon and editor-supreme Anna Wintour was hit with a cream pie in the face last week by an international PETAphile.

Wintour is a long foe of the organization, what with Vogue featuring countless seasonal spreads with minks and foxes and hairs long and short.

I look at incidents like these, the smear campaigns when PETA techs Photoshop bloody roadkill around J. Lo’s neck, where some granola-eating Moby fan would have the audacity to throw a pie in the face of fashion … I tell you it makes me want to vomit my confit and make the next round a double.

Double it is. PETA, get some class. Concentrate your funds into wildlife preserves and if you really want to come for the fashion industry then check in at the door, have some free bubbly and keep your ears open.

The truth is fur, like sex, sells. Cream pies aren’t green, kids, and the dollar rules the runway.

Stay in your rice patties and vegetarian cafes, fashion is for the carnivorous. One turn through the New York City Garment District and you’ll be begging for the jungle.

Shake it off, Matt, shake it off. Onto some “Dirt” crumbs.

JENNIFER ANISTON AND VINCE VAUGHN CAUGHT KISSING!

Yes. And no, it wasn’t on the set of their new film The Breakup. It was on the balcony. Of a hotel suite in Chicago. That. They. Share.

Child, don’t get me started. No word from either publicity camp, no word on how Brad Pitt feels, no word on word on word. Let it play out, more to come.

Promise.

Matt Donnelly can be reached at mattdonn@temple.edu.

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