F*ck me dead if I’m alive.
The bimbo that some call a journalist doesn’t understand Tara Brown’s dilemma, a crisis all of her Executive Producer’s making.
Simple issues like law and ethics are all above poor Sylvia’s head.
So is her f*cking brain.
No, I’m wrong, it’s actually floating out there somewhere in space.
But I’m praying for her, so all will be okay.
God tells me that one day the idiotic blonde will even discover that the Middle East isn’t Bondi Junction.
I wouldn’t bet on it.