“When I grow up, I want to chase train-wreck celebutards around town to the nail salon, competing with 20 other camera-toting douchebags taking the same shots, hoping mine will sell for 150 bucks to TMZ.com”

I have the privilege of living near a kind of oasis for ParisBritneyLindsay types when they want to avoid their fans. Unfortunately, they cannot avoid the bottom-feeders who chase them with all the intensity and urgency of a Navy SEAL operation.

Recently, while lazily combing the parking lot for a loading zone handy enough to retrieve my 60 Minutes take-out pizza, I noticed several ill-fitting cars scattered around the lot – some angled as if they had been abandoned during rapture. Red flag. The Paps are here.

Sure enough, a moment later 20 or so Papadouchebags scatter about, racing to their cars signaling the evacuation of the mother who’s kids are better off with K-Fed. I could see it in their eyes. The most important thing in the world – trumping courtesy and the safety of others – is to pursue her to the next stop at Taco Bell.

Really? I mean… really. Really? Is this what your life has come to? Of all the occupations in the world, you chose this noble effort? Oh the stories you’ll tell your grandkids…

The best part was when I pulled my infamous passive-aggressive automotive techniques on one dude, which nearly lead to a contest of parking lot fisticuffs.