Celebrity porn movie scandal.

Celebrity.
Should I ever get into the position of being one then please shoot me now. To be a celebrity appears to mean that you were once known for doing something but want to spend as much time trying to get in to the newspapers so that you can "kick start your career."
I read the daily mail "online" and am worried by the TV & Showbiz tab which takes me onto a page filled with articles about people I don't know. I don't know if not knowing these people is a good thing or a bad thing. The fact that I don't watch soaps, reality shows or care about TOWIE as I believe it is called (see previous grump about abbreviating things for the short attention span generation.)
Denise van Outen seems to be pictured in the paper either with or without her husband and has to justify her relationship. It's either a) over or b) she's putting on a brave face in public. THERE IS NO STORY HERE!
Cara Delevigne (who?) apparently is a walking coathanger with eyebrows that would suggest that Dennis Healy should make a comeback. DAY ONE, she is seen dropping a suspicious plastic bag in front of our house. IS IT DRUGS? How can I deflect the media attention from this? DAY TWO, release modelling pictures kissing another girl. DAY THREE, go clubbing with friend, singer Rita Ora, DAY FOUR, Admit to calling eachother "wifey" and command more column inches. Now, who mentioned drugs!

Farah Abraham! I've never heard of her either. Apparently there is a sex tape of her. Normally you have to be famous before the media uncovers a tape. Now in the 15 minutes of fame front we just cut to the chase.

I came to the conclusion that I have too much time on my hands since I frequently end up on the C-lebrity page (which is in between the headlines and the sport. ...like chocolate at a supermarket counter.)
I have decided that I need to get out more. I have purchase some designed clothing and am going to get ridiculously drunk at a nightclub. I even phoned up the red tops just to let them know I was going to be there. Nobody came. No flashes of paperazzi cameras as I staggered blindly out into the darkness. No chasing pack of photographers as I headed for a kebab. No young wannabe aspiring model saying that yesterday we had met, today we are having a torrid and passionate affair and that tomorrow the whole thing would be over and that she would check herself into rehab. I suppose this makes me a D-lebrity, not even good enough for a bleary eyed photo and a tawdy headline. I guess I'll have to go and make a nice cup of tea and plan my next career move.