Dear Robert Pattison: I don't know you, but I hate you.
More than hate. I am sick of you. I am sick of seeing lily white face and awful douche hair on the cover of every supermarket tabloid. I'm sick of trying to figure out why girls think you are attractive. If I was a teenage boy right now, would I be trying to look like you to impress girls? Would I be powdering my skin every morning with glitter, putting gel in my hair before I went to bed every night, and walking around with the same look on my face as Jack Nicholson at the end of One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest? GAGH.
Sorry. I just threw up in my mouth a little bit.
As much as I would enjoy hearing that you were smothered to death in your sleep by a 7 foot tall native American, I guess this is going to have to do:
Amid a mob of frenzied fans, Rob Pattison collided with a taxi on the streets of downtown Manhattan Thursday.
The Twilight actor, in New York City filming Remember Me,
apparently attempted to run across the street near the famed Strand
bookstore to escape a hoard of fans when he was clipped on his hip by a
moving cab, whose driver slammed on his breaks upon impact.
Unfortunately, he survived. And to think:
I could have been making jokes about your death right now.
