Oscar Wilde once said “The only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about.” Believe me, we know you’re being talked about (witness an entire site writing letters to you), but recently there has been an outcry across the fandom about paparazzi and fan pictures of you. The demand being squealed from hardcore fans? “RESPECT ROB!” This has been accompanied by many sadface pictures of you, along with the assertion that “Rob doesn’t want this, and neither do we!” Grown women have taken pictures of themselves with one arm over their faces to show solidarity and called a little girl a “sell out” and “not a true fan.” I wonder, however, if that is precisely the truth. Are you, indeed, going back to your luxury hotel at night after drinking beer with various members of the Britpack, weeping into your 300-threadcount sheets? Do you boo-hoo and blubber that “The paparazzi are so MEAN to me! Why do they take my picture all the time? I just want to be NORMAL!”, soaking the fine down pillow with your salty tears?
God, I hope not. Because then, Robert Pattinson, you would be a gigantic pussy and I have this thing about not wanting to ravage gigantic pussies. (I’m a heterosexual female like that.) Or if you’re not a puss, then you’re incredibly naïve. If you didn’t know what might happen to you going into the film business after working on a Harry Potter film, you did just fall off the turnip truck.
See, I want you to stay famous. I want sexy red carpet pictures and moody Vanity Fair pictures (can I take that lobster bib off for you? With my teeth?), but I also want goofy air guitar pictures and drunk Rob (*ahem* Janetrigs—your fave). I want pictures of you taking off your shoes at security where your boxers are peeking saucily out of the top of your jeans, lingering tantalizingly under a strip of naked lower back. And I want picture of you with cute little girls who probably called you “Edward” when they met you on vacation. This is the media age. Paparazzi follow the famous; it keeps celebrities in the public eye, which makes those stars more marketable, which means that these stars are more likely to get roles in films that they want, make lots of money, and allow us to be the giggling fangirls that we are.
Not convinced about the necessity of those mean paps yet? Let me tell you about my great fear, Rob. I’m afraid that you will realize too late what a service those pictures are doing you. That you will find yourself unable to get the roles you want, as all that respect dropped you off the radar. And I am afraid that you will begin to perform horrible publicity stunts. Let me tell you what I envision in my lowest moments.
Nightmare scenario #1: In the manner of “Speidi”—Heidi Montag and Spencer Pratt. (This scenario rated NSFN—Not safe for Nonstens.) This scenario involves the Stew, as presumably the #RespectRob campaign will eventually become #RespectStew as well, for those on the Robsten train. You and Kristen will no longer hide your “relationship”, but instead will flaunt it. You’ll call the media and walk hand in hand down Robertson Blvd, jokingly telling the press that you’re going to name it “Robsten Blvd” in honor of your lurve. KStew will go to those celebrity plastic surgeons on those E! reality shows for a boob job, and then will appear in a bikini on the cover of Life & Style. You will take suggestive trips to the grocery store together, where you will push Kristen in the cart and she will stroke a banana meaningfully while giving the old wink ‘n’ nod to your crotch as the TMZ cameras roll. Rob, you’re from England. You will understand what I mean when I say DON’T BE A PRAT(T).
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Nightmare scenario #2: In the style of Christopher Knight. (Rated NSFR—Not Safe For Robsten—I’m equal opportunity.) Christopher Knight, best known for being on The Brady Bunch, found himself a washed-up has-been who spent all this time working out his old man abs at the gym and not much else. He found his way back into the public spotlight when he married another semi-famous, Adrienne Curry, former America’s Next Top Model winner. Taking a page from his book, Rob, this nightmare scenario has you marrying a reality star in like manner. Since you’re British, it would only be fitting for you to marry a British reality star, but one that’s also familiar to Americans. I originally thought that you might marry one of the gals from that show with the amputee models I’ve been seeing on BBC America lately, but then it hit me: you would marry the most famous British reality star ever: Susan Boyle!
You would tell the story of your love (“She’s a musician, and so am I, and when she had that makeover…wow!”) during the many “one-on-one interviews” that interspersed the scenes of your life with Susan during your first year of marriage in your very own reality TV show My Fair Sparklepeen. (Subtitle: Susan “dreamed a dream”—and it came true!) Mostly as we watch we’ll see you two fighting, then scampering off into the bedroom to “make up” as you saucily grab Susan’s tush, asking her cheesy questions laden with sexual innuendo such as “You want my bangers and mash, love?” Cut to a shot of your bedroom door and Susan hitting that high note—over and over again.
Nightmare scenario #3: In the style of Kevin Federline. (Rated NSFHP—Not safe for Hot Pockets.) The lights have dimmed, Robert Pattinson. The paps now nod respectfully, or maybe just push past you as they rush to take a picture of the latest hot star. Maybe somebody calls out “Hey, isn’t that what’s-his-name? Patterson?” You’ll grin, and pose, but the pap will decide to “respect” you instead and walk by. You’ll find solace in the fact that while the paparazzi no longer call your name, the Hot Pockets still do. And then you’ll discover that they’re even better covered in a thick layer of butter. And then you’ll invent the “Pizza/Pocket” where you wrap a hot pocket in each slice of a large pizza and eat them together, enjoying the taste sensation in your mouth. Wash it down with a six-pack of Heineken, throw back some of those New Moon Heart’s Desire chocolates, and you’ll feel the love coming from inside you. And just like KFed, that love will continue to grow…and grow…and grow, until they re-cast Breaking Dawn because “Umm…vampires don’t change, you see, and you’re looking like you’ve grown up—and out—a bit.” And then you’ll go on Celebrity Fit Club. And I will die a little inside as I watch you huff and puff your way through some windsprints, with a cutesy clip from Edi Gathegi or Kiowa Gordon in there about how you never were very athletic.
We can’t let his happen. We have to be responsible fans, and encourage the paps to chase you. You are manly enough to take it. If we want to continue fantasizing about you and watching you in movies, we need to get the paparazzi to run after you. Get some pics of you staggering out of bars. Show us a little ass as you get into a cab. Do a little half-handhold with KStew that can be over-analyzed, photoshopped and Control +++-ed.
To that end, I’ve started my own movement. I’m calling it Disrespect Rob Nice and Slow. You know what I mean. That’s the way I’m sure you’d want it, Rob. Please join us. Hashtag it on Twitter: #DisrespectRobNiceAndSlow. Also, #RobWantsThisAndSoDoWe. And instead of hands over faces to show solidarity, we will instead do jazz hands! Although probably still over our faces, because this whole thing is kind of embarrassing.
Here’s to you being famous,
Are you dying laughing like we are? Show your love for Freya, fat Rob and Roboyle in the comments! Follow Freya on Twitter for more good times and scenarios involving grandma age british singers and hot british guys. We love your Freya!!
So what do you think? Want to jump on the disrespect Rob nice and slow train? Who’s already created a new avatar with jazz hands? Does it matter if little girls or mature girls for that matter take pictures with their fave celebs? Can we all just be fans?