Lies That Chelsea Handler Told Me - Chelsea's Family, Friends [48]
“And what else?” I asked her.
“And the reason you left early was because Zoughi had to be airlifted back to the mainland and then taken immediately to an American hospital because of his insurance or something. I guess he’s with an HMO?”
I just sat there staring at Ivory.
“None of this is true, is it?” she asked.
“No! We came back early to make it in time for Tanya’s New Year’s Eve party!”
“So Zoughi’s knee is fine?”
“Yes, his knee is fine. It’s like we’re dealing with a seven-year-old with Chelsea.”
“A seven-year-old with really big tits and a lot of money,” Ivory reminded me.
“This is true.”
Unbelievable. Chelsea had used my e-mail to screw me and my fiancé in our circle of friends and family. Now I had to put out a lot of fires: convince my family that I wasn’t pregnant and that my marriage to Zoughi was not a shotgun wedding. And to top it off, I had to convince my friends that I didn’t have a drug problem or kinky sex issues and that Zoughi’s knee was just fine. Zoughi, however, thought the knee thing was funny and started limping when we were out with friends. Of course, Chelsea turned the limp into a prosthetic leg in her book Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang.
I called Chelsea later to tell her I knew about everything. “Nice work,” I said.
“You are so dumb,” she said, before hanging up on me.
Actually I was smart enough to realize one thing. If Chelsea doesn’t fuck with you, she doesn’t care. And it’s easy to see why I keep coming back for more. She’s spontaneous and compassionate. She favors individuality. She roots for the underdog, and her loyalty never wavers, not even for the sake of a joke. She is truly a friend.
But I’ll tell you this. If that bitch ever learns how to use Facebook, we are all fucked!
I would like to go on the record and say that Amber is currently pregnant, so in essence, anything I was “lying” about was simply me telling the future. As with many psychics, my facts are right but my timing can be off.
As far as Zoughi’s knee injury goes, there is still time for that.
Love,
Chelsea
Chelsea and me at my real wedding.
Chapter Seven
Go Lakers
JOSH WOLF
The one thing that has been consistent about Chelsea Handler since the day I met her is that she is painfully honest. She will tell you the truth, even if you don’t want to hear it, anytime she feels it needs to be said.
At the same time, you can’t believe a fucking word she says.
Crazy combo, right? She is one of the truest, most loyal friends you could ever hope to have in your lifetime, but if the window is cracked open even a bit for her to fuck with you, she will say and make you believe anything so she can have a good laugh.
That’s harder to handle than you would think. Luckily, I was prepared. I grew up with three older brothers who waged mental warfare on me for my entire childhood. They had me convinced for years that I was adopted but that my parents would never admit it because they didn’t want to hurt my feelings. They said that if I talked to our parents about it, my mom would most likely kill herself. Not wanting to be responsible for my mom’s untimely demise, I resisted the temptation.
After a while, I suspected they were lying. There were pictures of me all over the house, and my brothers and I kind of looked the same, but every time my mom or dad yelled at me, my oldest brother would be sure to tell me that they were harder on me because “I wasn’t blood.” It wasn’t until I heard my grandmother talking about how she was at the house when my parents brought me home from the hospital that I was able to put the final pieces of the puzzle together.
“I knew it! I knew I wasn’t adopted!” I shot up and screamed. Everybody just stared at me. They had no fucking idea what I was talking about. Shit, my brother barely remembered. He hadn’t teased me about it in years. I was eleven years old. Since then, I have learned to take everything anyone says with a grain of salt. Especially assholes like Chelsea Handler.
My wife does not.
My wife, Beth, is an extremely