Margaret Grey’s real time Journal Of A Fist-Fight..written right after it happened, Thursday, July 16, 2010, 3:45pm PDT
My heart is still pounding. I was saying to Donna Butt, who is one of our fashion writers, that were I an immigrant at Ellis Island at the turn of the 20th century, I would have insisted they write my last name down correctly. You know, instead of some butchered-up Americanization. And she says…God help me through this…she says “I thought you did come through at Ellis Island.” …Well, there was about a split second worth of silence and she’s looking at me as if waiting for a laugh like she got off a good one…I’m staring at her and way deep inide of me there’s a voice and the voice is saying “Bitch I’m a STAR, bow down hoe” and with that I was on her…..
I don’t remember who pulled me off but I had a handful of weave. I’m in Contessa Dicklins office right now. Franks been called..and guess what? I don’t give a s-h-i- (will not spell out the entire word because I am ‘class’. More than Butt will ever be. And what about that last name? Thought about changing it? To Cunt?) I asked where she was and someone said laying down in Jason Facia’s office. And again, to quote Ike Clanton, “Well, I hope you die.” You see, let me explain. No bitch-made, Katrina vanden Heuvel wanna-be get’s to drop s-h-i-(won’t spell because I’m a lady) on me. I’m looking through the blinds in Connie’s office and I can see them helping Butt back to her desk. She’s holding a rag to her mouth and head. I’m calming down. Franks on the other line. I don’t care. Frank’ll take care of it with a check. I only wish she’d sue. Look at that. There’s a paramedic here and he’s holding a tuning fork to Butt’s ear. A tuning fork! Brain damage?! Man, I kicked her ass……
