Jennifer Aniston On The View

The publicity machine had hyped the living shit out of it for at least a month: Jennifer Aniston--THE Jennifer Aniston--a special guest on THE VIEW. When the final day arrived, production assistants scurried all over the studio from before five AM, making sure everything was in readiness for her: the usual bottled water, idiosyncratic snacks and sundries, but strange requests too, like lavender-scented mineral oil, expensive organic natural fiber towels heated in a towel warmer to precisely 98.6 degrees, and an imposing python head sculpted from wax. One production assistant stated with apparent authority that Jennifer needed the snakehead to display on the show because she was passionate about animals. More preparations were made than for visiting royalty. In fact, Jennifer Aniston was America's answer to visiting royalty, a true Hollywood star deigning to do a daytime television appearance. Barbara Walters would have been willing to sell her left tit to manage this coup; fortunately, she didn't have to.

The staff in the makeup room were surprised when Jennifer appeared that morning at 5AM, having already changed into a robe. She looked much smaller in real life, and had a girl-next-door quality about her that belied her stardom. She had to introduce herself to be noticed.

"Hi, I'm Jen," she said, offering her hand to the head makeup artist.

"Of—of course you are," the startled woman stammered. "H-how do you do, I'm so meesed to pleat you—I mean, pleased to meet you, I'm sure. See how I am?" she added, flustered. "I'm Vera, incidentally.

"Hi, Vera. And relax; I get that all the time from fans. I'm flattered. Ready to work your magic?"

"Oh, no magic required. You're so beautiful Ms. Aniston, this job'll be the easiest I've ever done."

"Now I'm really flattered. Especially because this morning I need all the help I can get. Courtney and I practically closed Il Sole last night trying to wait out the fucking paparazzi, but the cocksuckers ambushed us anyway."

Even though in her business she'd heard it all before, Vera tried not to react. It was so discordant: the voice and face were Jennifer Aniston's from Friends, but the argot was Al Pacino in Scarface. Shocked by Jennifer's plain language, Vera beckoned her to a chair and went to work. Jen's skin was nearly perfect, her hair was already washed and pulled up in a headband; Vera could clearly see the natural wave. She started with foundation, matching the tone and shade and requesting Jen's approval.

"Have you ever eaten a woman's pussy in the back seat of a Hummer?" Jen asked a propos of nothing.

"C-can't say as I have, Ms. Aniston."

"Jen. Here's a piece of advice: get a room. Courtney and I thought we'd given those paparazzi pricks the slip last night, so she parks the Hummer on the upper deck on the NBC lot—we have lifetime privileges there, and everybody usually leaves us alone to do our thing. Wouldn't you know it, no sooner do we slip our panties off when along comes this one little shitsucker in a chartered helicopter clicking away with his Nikon and a telephoto lens. I told Courtney, we should have popped for a suite at someplace quiet like the Chateau Marmont. I don't know about you, but I don't want to have my bare cunt splashed all over the tabloids like Britney Spears's."

Before Vera could answer, Joy Behar's voice rang out. "Jen, Dear! How's my favorite friend from Friends?" Joy rushed to Jen and the two women embraced. Joy's hair was wrapped tightly under a silk turban; her pre-makeup face looked drawn and haggard, her eyes and mouth somehow smaller. Vera thought she glanced Joy's fingertips slip under Jen's robe and explore her breast, but she couldn't be sure. Joy brayed, "I hear you can still take a licking and keep on ticking, as the saying goes."

"I proved it again last night," Jen said, then burst into giggles.

"You little minx, you! Who was the lucky gal? No, don't tell me, let me guess. Madonna?"

"Didn't even know she was in town. Good guess, though: she and I nearly wore each other out after the MTV Movie awards last season."

"Demi?"

"We've taken to calling her The Bionic Woman after all the surgery. Wrong again. I haven't been with Demi since the Bruce Willis days when we shared a three-way in Idaho, in bed with half her damn doll collection for witnesses. You should hear her when she cums. She has that dainty face, but what comes out of her mouth sounds like a moose cow in rutting season."

Joy whooped with laughter. "You're telling me? She almost got the two of us thrown out of the powder room at last year's Donna Karan."

"You two? Sounds fantastic."

"You should have joined us."

"Next time call me."

"It's a date. I hear that new boy toy of hers, what's his name, Kutcher? They say he has a schwantz on him that'd split you in two."

"He'd have to have to cum after Bruce."

'Honey, Bruce is still one of the most well hung studs in Hollywood and I've had them all. Speaking of which, have you met Barbara and Whoopie?"

"Not yet," Jen said. "They promised to pop into the green room before the show."

"Pop in: interesting use of the term," Joy mused. "After Vera gets you all pretty and you're done in hair, buzz me from the green room."

"Interesting use of the term," Jen said playfully. "Buzz me."

Jen was alone in the green room by seven-fifteen. She poured herself a bottled water over crushed ice and watched the monitor. Suddenly the door burst open and in walked Barbara Walters and Elizabeth Hasselbeck. Elizabeth blurted out, "Jennifer Aniston! I loved you in GIRL, INTERRUPTED."

"Elizabeth, be quiet," Barbara broke in. "Jennifer, we are so very pleased that you could be on our show today."

"Thanks, Barbara. I've always been a big fan of the show, and, truthfully, it's been a dream of mine to meet all you ladies."

"The pleasure is all ours," Barbara responded graciously. "Now if you'll excuse me I'm needed in makeup. At age eighty-seven everything takes a tad longer."

"Even the sex?" Jennifer asked with an impish expression.

"Especially the sex," Barbara said. "Take my latest book, for example. Had I been even more truthful and honest, I would have admitted my affair with Art Linkletter during the HOUSE PARTY days in the early television era. That man's shlong was like an all-day sucker. Made my jaws ache so that I could hardly talk to Dave Garroway. That was when people first started thinking I had a speech impediment."

"I can understand you perfectly," Jen said.

"Thank you dear. Now Elizabeth will keep you company. Try not to let her annoy you." Barbara quickly exited.

"What's Brad Pitt really like?" Elizabeth ventured.

"He really likes filthy skanks who steal other women's' husbands," Jen said, looking her right in the eye. "He never forgave me for giving Billy Bob Thornton a rim job at that Vanity Fair Oscars party."