Richard Lawson turns “The Hills” into poetry

We proudly state that we have never actually watched an episode of MTV’s “The Hills,” but despite this we are still well aware of all the characters on the show and their general posture toward one another. There is no escaping its insipid clutches without scorning all things celebrity. It just isn’t worth it.

For once, we are glad to be conversent in “Hills,” because this post from GAWKER’s Richard Lawson is truly a work of genius. The author, pictured below [art by Nic*Rad], deserves some kind of award, merit badge, framed certificate or hand crafted bauble.

The Hills just keeps getting sadder…


Audrina, still dimly reeling from the whole “I’m dating Australian Choire (heh) but had naked swimmy time with Justin Bobby” kadoodle, flitted off to Cabo with Lauren and a pack of Brosephs for Brody’s birthday bash. Frankie was there, and so was gummy Frozen Burrito Heir Doug, and the brooding Justin Bobby. How conveniently uncomfortable for old Audy! The boys and girls club got crunked, and Audrina had hissy little conversations with JB about who is dating who and what is fair and what is not fair and why does she feel so sad and so alone and so walked-over all the time. Audrina initially existed as that supporting character for whom nothing ever went right so the main character would appear bold and successful in contrast. Except now Audrina is the main character, which just makes the whole endeavor shattering and devastating. If watching an insecure, worrying sadsack get trampled by a parade of shitty boys is what we’re being offered, then I could just watch a rerun of Too Many Girls I Knew Freshman Year At Boston College instead of paying this cable bill.

In the end of this whole debacle, Doug announced that Brody’s present would be arriving. It turned out to be a sexy and sexist parade of dimbulb bimbos who smushed their crotches in the boys’ faces and made Lauren and Audrina grumble. Well, it made Audrina grumble and crumble, as she watched JB writhe around with someone who was probably named Ashlyn or Valby. Somewhere, across the country in stony Massachusetts, a young woman from New Jersey was sitting glumly on a sofa in Rubenstein while the senior boy she really really likes played Beirut with his buddies while grabbing that girl from his philosophy class’s ass and a strange cross-continental astral kinship was formed. You are not alone, dear ladies!


So cameras swirled and music soared and everyone everywhere felt ugly and mean and sad and lonely. Audrina plummeted further and further, Spencerina whined desperately with her eyes, Heidi sang the song in her head that she’s been singing, louder and louder, for the past three years of her life, and the girl at the dorm hopefully came to and left the party and walked outside and felt the crisp October air on her face and took the long way back to the Newton bus and maybe had a nice chat with that sweet boy from the third floor on the way home and somewhere inside gears turned and matter shifted and molecules rearranged and growth happened, small and imperceptible at first, as it always is.

Well, hopefully.

Hopefully, hopefully, hopefully.

About Alpine McGregor
Just like you, man. I got the shotgun, you got the briefcase. All in the game, though, right?

3 Responses to Richard Lawson turns “The Hills” into poetry

  1. E says:

    That is so not a picture of the Gawker’s Richard Lawson.

  2. Noted. At the time of posting, it was hard to even find out his last name, so cut me some slack, E-money.

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