Ted C. Blind Item

Fake à la Ferocity knows how to have it all. She’s got the fans, the perfect relationship, the career, the love, the adoration, the healed needle marks! What more could a chick want in life? Maybe to hold onto that existence, perhaps?

When we last spoke of Ms. F, everybody was gossing in overdrive because she was so painfully thin. And, you know, most folks thought it was starvation stuff and the honey-doll just wasn’t eating much. Not true. F2 was shooting up with the best of ‘em, and, trust, plenty of H-wood honey-pies are on heroin right now. I mean, forget closeted fagolas—that’s the real dirty secret in this town, for now, at least.

But Fake à la needed to get off the hard stuff for a variety of reasons, family and Biz included. Firstly, she’s done it before. Secondly, she’s not stoopid; Ms. Ferocity knows damn well if she keeps up the drugs like most of her addicted colleagues have, she’ll say buh-bye to everything she’s nabbed. F.F. has no intention of pulling a Belushi, I assure you. And that is why Fake à la employs some of Hell-Ay’s fanciest docs, their specialty being weaning famous folks off drugs via synthetic goodies that’ll make anybody’s bad day a tad more doable. Roughing in rehab? No, babes, that’s for the little people.

However, there does lie a small kink in this elite, indulged sitch, prob being Ferocity’s docs think their client’s intending to quit for good. Uh, yeah. She’ll do that about as soon as she stops screwing whomever she pleases. See, the cleaning up’s only for F2’s current activities, babes. Then it’s right back to anorexia rumors, count on it.