Who can forget Cintra Wilson's lyrical review of the Pitt and Aniston nuptials back in 2000?
The crucifixes were burning in the primitive Conquistador-era church Brad Pitt had transported stone by stone from the Yucatan Peninsula and reassembled. Incredible Eastern European prostitutes, naked except for thin white muslin robes, were "vestal virgins," guiding guests to their pews, French-kissing strangers as they sat down.
Brad descended from the rafters in a blaze of singing light, which turned out to be a golden birdcage woven with fiber-optic cables. An Anglican boys choir filled the cavern with haunting falsetto harmonies. Our skins shivered at the spectacle, especially when bubbles began pouring out of the mouth of Christ.
Aniston emerged and rode down the aisle on an albino ocelot that had been declawed and groomed by Frederick Fekkai for the occasion, wearing a Tang dynasty headdress, elaborately hennaed feet and Harry Winston nipple clamps. During the nondenominational ceremony, crisp, new money in large denominations poured from the top of the tent. Beautiful, sleek women laughed and chewed the bills like gum with their large and perfect teeth.
Check out the whole, sordid story here.
If you like what you read, may I enthusiastically recommend A Massive Swelling: Celebrity Re-examined as a Grotesque and Crippling Disease?
Bless Cintra Wilson for being so amazingly brilliant. Her wit is so brutal, I just LOVE her! Now I'm going to have to read A Massive Swelling again (for the 3rd time I believe). Alas, poor me. :)