Trump has killed me

I must admit I had never heard of today’s guest before but my crack staff of crack addicted researchers insist she is a famous model or something. So without further interruption may I present Chrissy Teigen.

MI: Good afternoon Miss Teigen.

CT: Excuse me I am not a Miss. I am Mrs. Teigen. I am married to multiple Grammy-award winning artist John Legend.

MI: Then wouldn’t that make you Mrs. Legend?

CT: I don’t know. I was never good at math.

MI: Um, okay.  So what would you like to talk about?

CT: I suffer from crippling anxiety.

MI: I’m sorry to hear that. What brought this on?

CT: Donald f*cking Trump. 

MI: President Trump?

CT: Yes. I can barely function now knowing he is in the White House. I have crippling anxiety and need to go on more meds.  Donald Trump needs to pay for my meds. 

MI: The President is responsible for you being an emotional wreck?

CT: Yes. Just the other day I had a tooth shaved down because crippling anxiety makes me grind and rock my teeth on one side. I blame Trump. He has given me crippling anxiety.

MI: Yes I know you mentioned that.  Could it possibly be that – 

CT: It’s exhausting waking up every day knowing he is President. I can barely function anymore. I don’t have to tell you that being a model is stressful work. Not everyone can do it. Now when I go to a photo shoot and the photographer asks me to smile I grind my teeth down. It’s my  – 

MI: Crippling anxiety. Yes.

CT: My crippling anxiety is crippling me. When I walk the red carpet now I forget how to walk. My handlers have to whisper in my ear, “left foot now right foot now left foot now right foot.”  Do you see what crippling anxiety can do to a common working woman?  Sometimes my crippling anxiety cripples me so much I stay at home all day in my 4.5 million dollar one-bedroom apartment and stare out the window. I have crippling anxiety and it’s Donald Trump’s fault. My crippling anxiety is crippling me. 

MI: I see.

CT: My crippling anxiety has crippled me so crippingly that sometimes my husband, the multiple Grammy-award winning artist John Legend has to fly me to the Bahamas on board our private jet just so I can become uncrippled. I imagine many married working women have their husbands fly them to the Bahamas on their private jet as well.

[Pause]

CT: I imagine that is quite common. Wouldn’t you agree?

[Pause]

CT: Well?

MI: SHUT THE F*CK UP!

CT: What?

MI: Shut your f*cking piehole.

CT: Oh my god. You’re yelling at me.  A famous supermodel!  This is filling me with crippling anxiety. Where’s my phone? I have to call my husband, the multiple Grammy-award winning artist John Legend and inform him that I’m having a crippling anxiety attack and need to be flown down to the Bahamas to recover.

MI:  You don’t know the meaning of crippling anxiety. You want crippling anxiety honey? Try living my life. Try not knowing if you’re going to be able to pay the rent that month for your one-bedroom apartment.

CT: You have a one-bedroom? Did it cost 4.5 million too?

[Pause]

MI: This interview is over. Please leave.

CT: How?

MI: Take the damn subway.

CT: Is it a private subway?

MI: No it is not.

CT: I have to take the subway with other people? This will fill me with crippling anxiety.

Eventually I got her to leave but only by pretending I was calling the airport to get her private jet ready.  You know these rich people fill me with crippling anxiety sometimes.

(46)