We were too busy dreaming about Bode Miller's backside to bother watching Kell on Earth last night. Thankfully fictional freelancer Betsey Morgenstern was working there this fall during the filming. We have a feeling she has some stories to share.

Double Agent Provacateur
by Betsey Morgenstern

After getting busy in a Burger King Uniqlo Bathroom last week, things have been progressing nicely between me and Tim, the Irish intern. He's been coming over to my apartment and brouging into my ear just about every night as we cuddle and coo underneath the covers. He says that he's not looking for a girlfriend and doesn't want anything exclusive. I think that's bullshit. I should be able to sleep with other men, but if he wants to keep riding on the Betsey train, this has got to be the only caboose he's grabbing.

One night during fashion week, we were all working late and Big Stephanie, the one who can't find her asshole with both hands, a flashlight, and a Google map with a big red circle painted squarely on her pucker, asked if Tim would walk her home because she is scared of the homeless man that asks for money outside the apartment her parents rent for her in the West Village. Doesn't she know that Tim is my man? How dare she try to take him from me! For this, she shall die.

The easy thing about ruining Big Stephanie's career is that she makes it especially easy. Not only is she whiny and incompetent, but she is also infernally stupid and disorganized, so even a lowly intern like myself can throw her world into a tizzy. Here is how I did it.

First, when she was printing out labels for the invitations for the Nicolas Achoo show, I hacked into her computer and had it print out the labels four times. She never even bothered to check the names, and had the interns make up four complete sets of invitations! Ha. Then she told us to get the stamps and mail them, and I took most of the postage and stashed it in my bag. Then she only had 120 stamps and about 8 jillion invites to send out. Really, she only had 2 jillion times four, but it took Big Stephanie's little brain a while to figure that out.

She was so befuddled by the multiple labels and lack of stamps that she stomped around, eyes welled up, screaming about how disorganized everything was. Why not just put a plan into effect and execute it, BS? It is that hard? Finally, after getting chewed out by Emily and annoying everyone in the office, Kelly stepped in and had to take over the whole affair. Doesn't she have better things to do, like tracking down the long-lost dog that her former maid's sister gave away to the shelter in Staten Island? I heard that it's being held for ransom by the lesbian neighbors that hate Kelly.

If the invitation debacle wasn't enough to get Big Stephanie forever away from my boyfriend Tim, the next step in my plan was to ruin the press release she prepared for the Nicolas Achoo show. I went in and added a h into Nicolas, but only one. If I spelled them all wrong then the press would just think that's how his name is spelled, but if you spell it two different ways, they won't know which way is correct and then they'll call the PR girl whose name is on the release and get all bitchy asking her which way it should be spelled. Fucking reporters. Too bad Emily noticed it before it went out and made her change it. She apologized over and over again, but she didn't even defend herself and say that something must have happened. She just admitted that she had no idea how to spell his name and tried to make it seem like it was no big deal, oh, Stephanie.

When it finally comes to the day of the Nicolas Achoo show, everything is going well and Kelly is hitting on all the 19 year-old male models and is in this weird cougar zone where she wants to be both their mother and their lover at the same time. Gross. But none of the models are nearly as cute as Achoo, who is like some grand poobah of menswear. Kelly thinks that his clothes are genius but not wearable. I have no clue what she is talking about. Who doesn't want to wear a complete body sock with a mask and a tuxedo over it? I have to work the door of the show, and before it all starts, I corner Nicolas and ask him what he thinks I would look like in one of his spandex outfits.

"Sorry, but they're for men."

"Nicolas, don't you think my bodacious bottom would look great covered in tight fabric?"

"I'm sure it would, but these are for men."

"Wouldn't you like to unzip me from your creation and caress your hands all over my smooth skin."

"Sorry, but I am for the men as well."

What an asshole. And to think I worked so hard to fuck up the invitations to his show and this is the thanks I get. The press starts arriving and I'm trying to think up ways to get my revenge. As he's talking to the women from Women's Wear Daily. He starts to give her all this attitude when she doesn't understand his vision. This is one of those situations where I don't have to do anything, but watch him self-destruct. He gives GQ the stink eye when they laugh at his clothes, and he give sass to the women from Esquire because she thinks he is too avante-garde for the magazine. The only press people that like him are the Japanese because, well, they are into really fucked up shit like that.

He's not happy with the press he got for the show at all, and calls up Emily the next day to bitch her out. All she wants is his check, which he won't fork over because he says People's Revolution didn't do their job. I was hoping that Emily would fire Big Stephanie over this, but instead everyone gets made at Nicolas Achoo because he won't pay. Damn it, I'm going to have to mess with her again, and Kelly is going to take him to court. This thing is a huge mess.

Maybe I can mess up Stephanie with the Agent Saboteur fashion show. Again it's a problem with the invitations. This time I didn't even do anything, Stephanie just fucked it up all on her own, and Emily yelled at her again. She was so mad that she bitched to her sister about it for like an hour while wondering around the streets of Manhattan trying to pick up tricks. She didn't get a job, and stupid Stephanie still does. I'm going to get her yet.

The show itself went fine after they solidified a venue. There was this really mean British bitch who worked for Agent Saboteur, and she kept ordering candles and birdcages like she had some kind of fetish for them. She was really driving everyone insane trying to get everything perfect in the lobby of the SoHo Grand Hotel, but Kelly was all like "Please, bitch, you ain't got no money." I don't know why she was so worried about how the space looked because every girl who walked down the runway had an atomic wedgie, but apparently that was OK.

At the end of the day, everyone was very pleased with the show. We know that it's not going to last long, and I'm going to have to exploit it to get Stephanie fired. And when Tim, who I can't understand, but is oh so pretty, lies his little head on my bosom at night, that is what I dream of while I stroke his hair. You will pay, Stephanie. You will pay.