Kate Moss Catch-up: What, No Stenchblossoms?

Please, someone hold my hair while I vom up my vulva. Thanks to the irrepressibly irritating popbytes, I just got wind of Flowers For Kate.

Jesus.

In a nutshell, Kate Moss is going to have her photograph taken with some flowers on December 13 and 14. But, instead of pay for the flowers themselves, SHOWstudio - the shitbags responsible - have decided to trick Kate's gullible fuckwitted fans into stumping up for them.

'If you would like to contribute to Kate's flowery bower, send your bouquets, garlands and posies to SHOWstudio from Monday 19 November—Wednesday 5 December at the following address: SHOWstudio, Export House, 25-31 Ironmonger Row, London EC1V 3QN...'

Gosh. I suddenly feel horribly tempted to do something hideous. This next bit tempts me further...

'All bouquets will be photographed on arrival and the images added to a Viewers Gallery. Accompanying greetings cards bearing written intimacies, proposals of marriage and general kind wishes (within the bounds of decency) will be given to Kate on the day of the shoot, so make sure you remember to include your name and location!'

Proposals of marriage? Unfuckingbefuckinglievafuckingble. What's worse of course is that she will no doubt get some. Maybe hundreds. 'Dear Kate, I think your gorgous. Marry me. Love Dennis. xxx' That kind of thing. From bona fide, certifiable retards.

And if anyone were to send her a large Titus Arum with a card reading, 'Here you go, you big stinker, a bouquet to match your own stench', it's unlikely it would be passed on to her. So balls to it.

Meanwhile, popbytes writes: 'i for one can't wait to see the final results - it's a pretty interesting idea!' Ugh. I left the following comment which almost certainly won't be approved: 'It's a *terrible* idea. Really really terrible. It's essentially exploiting an already dim-witted-to-the-point-of-mentally-ill demographic in order to save money and garner further publicity for what is essentially soft-core whoring. Oh huzzah. Another bunch of money for this plain, drug-addicted, slightly retarded woman who also happens to be a very bad mother with poor personal hygiene. Oh joy. Oh unadulterated joy. Pfffffffft.'

Flowers my arse. God, I hate popbytes.