I helped Tori Spelling set up her yard sale last night. Oh, yes. You read that correctly. Tori Spelling is having a yard sale today. I didn't want to help her sort and price, but she begged.
"Kuuuuuuu-kka! I need your help!" she whined over the phone yesterday. "I've never hosted a yard sale! Hell, my maids have never hosted a yard sale! I need you!"
"Look, Tori. I don't really have time to..."
"But, Kuuuuuuu-kka! My unborn baby is depending on you!" she cried. "You can not expect the new baby to come into a house with a shabby-chic decor! How embarrassing! And, since I was virtually cut from my father's will, I am not in a position to buy new furniture without first selling the old!"
"Fine, Tori. I'll call your nemesis, Shannen Doherty, and we'll be over tonight to help."
Shannen was less than enthusiastic to help her Tori, her sworn enemy, but when I assured her E! was sending cameras to cover the entire ordeal, the chronically out-of-work publicity whore was convinced helping a "friend" (and, yes...she used finger quotes) would be the right thing to do.
"Plus," Shannen explained, "I guess I can get first dibs on her crap. I'm sure it's better than the second-hand junk I have in my studio apartment."
When we arrived, Tori was sitting in a pastel, floral-printed chair-and-a-half in her living room. With two Korean women giving her a pedicure, she smiled and greeted us.
"Thank you guys for coming! Everything is in the garage if you want to get started. I'll join you once I'm done with this mani/pedi, coloring my hair, shopping on Rodeo, and donating no more than $2 to the bell-ringing Salvation Army people out of the goodness of my heart."
"Oh, hells no!" exclaimed an agitated Shannen, her hands quickly forming fists.
Turning to Shannen and rolling my eyes, I muttered, "Like you have something better to do?"
I quickly informed Mrs. Spelling-McDermott that we were not hired employees and that she would, in fact, be helping us do her chores. She reluctantly agreed and shooed her Korean nail gurus away, sans tip. [Editor's note: While Kukka tends to be extremely selfish, she does recognize the struggle of the working woman, so she slipped each of the women a $20 bill. Good kitty.)
As we headed to the garage, Tori teetered as she gripped cotton ball separators between her toes to avoid smudging her nail polish. What we found was overwhelming! Piles and piles of junk were taking over the storage area like a dense and rolling fog.
"Ah, Tori dear..." I said, trying to hide my agitation.
"I know. There is a lot. We should really get started so we can be done by sunrise."
"Sunrise?" bellowed Shannen.
"Shut it," I warned.
We started sifting through the first pile. The clothing, while all designer duds, was in bad shape. Nail polish droplets ran down the front of a $1,095 pair of Dolce & Gabbana denim capris.
"That's what happens when I am forced to paint my own nails," she nervously revealed.
"How much do you want for them?" I asked, picking up a Sharpie and some masking tape.
"Are you high?" I laughed.
"But, they are this season!" whined Tori.
"I'm putting $2 on them, but when your customer bargains, I expect you to take as low as 50¢."
Shannen started sorting another pile. "Panties, Tori? Are you serious?"
"They are in good shape!"
Holding one pair up, and throwing up in her mouth a little bit, Shannen murmured, "They have racing stripes, Tori. These thongs are nasty!"
"But they are celebrity racing stripes..." Tori justified. "I bought them for $16 each, so...with the celebrity residue, let's put $20 on each pair."
"Oh. My. Gawd!" I shouted. "Are these packs of partially used birth control pills?"
Patting her belly, Tori pointed out, "I was trying to get pregnant! If I had continued to take them, it would have been difficult for me to achieve that. I'm sure those packets of pills, combined in some sort of way, will give at least one month of eggless bliss to some deserving woman!" Tori's face wrinkled with thought. "Let's go with $40 for the entire pill bundle."
"But your insurance co-pay was probably only $15..." I argued.
"I'm Tori Mother-Fucking Spelling!" she yelled, fists pumping in the air. "Don't mess with me, bitch!"
Picking up what appeared to be a slim flashlight, Shannen cocked her head with wonder. "I should test it to see if it works," she explained as she turned the knob at the bottom.
WHIRRRRRRR... The "flashlight" began hopping and literally leapt from Shannen's hands.
Shannen quickly realized it wasn't a flashlight, but a "marital aid" and spouted, "Ok, that's it. I'm out of here!"
As Shannen stormed from the garage, I turned to Tori. "Listen, I'd love to stay and comb through what is guaranteed to be a disgusting display of your intimate items, but Doherty is my ride. Good luck, Donna Martin."
"Are you sure you don't want this tear-soaked bra I wore to the reading of my father's will? I bought it for $90, but I'll take $85."
Shaking my head, I muttered, "Good luck, Tori. I think you're going to need it!" It was almost impossible to stifle my laughter as I left the garage. Calling back, I said, "And, if you ask nicely, your estranged mother may bring you mimosas if things get a bit hectic."
"But alcohol might harm my baby!" she exclaimed.
"No more than your genes will..." I muttered, under my breath.
Spoiled bitches...you can't live with them, you can't live without them.
[Editor's note: That goes double for royally spoiled cats!]