This was my response to that appalling document previously published:
I just woke up, slipped on a wisp of chiffon trimmed with finest ermine (it's hotter than heck but one must keep up appearances) and walked delicately to my computer, exuding NYC style and class with every step. Even Bucky the Wonderdog was impressed. I'm trading him in for one of those little Japanese dogs that are so popular--I can't remember the name, but my personal assistant will go to the hideously overpriced Upper East Side pet store and pick me out a puppy. She'll have to train him, feed him, and walk him, but I'm too glamorous a New Yorker to bother with such petty details.
Overnight, I had a realization...I live in New York City, and I'm very tall. Overlooking the fact that I am not thin, BUT that I truly have astounding taste and the...how do you Americans say it? the je ne sais quois that only the truly well connected fashionista can have (or maybe it's just that I haven't showered yet), I have decided to throw my lot in with those In The Know. It's just all too common here on the *** Board for a high-strung person such as myself who needs an assistant to deal with...well, everything. Right now I have her steaming my clean underpants for after my milk bath. I hate wrinkled underpants. I'm too busy being fabulous, Dahlings, lying on my chaise lounge eating chocolates and reading French Vogue. I can't read the text, but the pictures are real pretty.
Excuse me one eensy second--I HEAR YOU CURSING IN THERE, YOU INSOLENT PEASANT! KEEPING STEAMING UNTIL THOSE PANTIES ARE AS SMOOTH AS MY BOTTOM!
I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that. Commoner.