What Should the Guest Who Pooped in Gywneth Paltrow’s Bed Do Now?

A recent story gleefully made its way through gossip columns this week. It started as a blind item in celeb gossip newsletter, Popbitch.

“The story goes that a recent houseguest of Gwynnie’s catastrophically shat themselves in bed while staying there, then fled back to the city before they had to face the music”

The Gwynnie in question was Gwyneth Paltrow and, needless to say, the blind item did not remain blind. The man was outed. No, I am not linking to it. You can Google in case you were planning to invite him to stay in your guest bedroom this weekend.

But I feel like that man deserves some compassion. So if I could talk to him, here is what I’d say:

First, don’t be so hard on yourself! People have digestive problems all the time. Maybe you ate something bad. Or drank too much. Perhaps you tried one of Gwyneth’s delicious concoctions that you thought was a dessert but turned out to be a nourishing peptide serum. We’ve all been there! You panicked, and much like literally everything that was inside of your body at the time, you ran. Was that the ideal way to handle it? Of course not. But this is all very normal and no one will judge you for what is a natural reaction to an embarrassing situation.

Second, it’s time to get a full facial reconstruction, enter witness protection, and start a new life as a boiler repairman slash rodeo clown in Rapid City, South Dakota. Because I am so sorry but there is no coming back from this.

How do I say it nicely? You made the news in a week where one presidential candidate learned he was free to murder anyone he wants as long as he calls it “official business”, and the other one had a debate performance so haunted it could have ended with someone whispering “Joe Biden? Why that man died ten years ago this very night.”

Do you know how hard it is to capture the public’s attention on a week like that? And yet here you are.

By the way, you might notice that I am not using your name. We will also not run pictures of you that some other sites are running, because I do not want this life for you. I do not want to make things worse. I just want to tell you the truth: Rodeo clown. Rapid City, South Dakota. It’s your only option.

What’s that you say? You’ll miss your friends? Sorry, bud. At least some of your friends are out there telling this story to anyone who will listen. But fear not! You will make new friends with your fellow rodeo clowns! I know your previous pals were celebrities, but you haven’t lived until you’ve gone to a Rapid City Applebees, ordered a Prime Rib Dipper, and gossiped about whether any of the pig-wrestlers are juicing.

Besides, you have more in common than you think. These are people who have regularly been in pants-shitting situations and they know how to deal with them.

But come on, won’t this go away soon? Won’t everyone forget about it as soon as the next celeb-adjacent scandal comes along? Great question.

No.

Unlike the feces that went at an unprecedented pace through your body, this shall not pass. Because the thing is, you have committed the worst possible kind of faux pas: a very funny one.

There is nothing funnier than pooping. And there is nowhere funnier to do it than in a bed owned by Gwyneth Paltrow, a woman who subsists entirely on arugula and the memory of a cake she once saw in a magazine. Gwyneth is a perfect pooper. She poops on a schedule and then it is immediately wrapped and donated to a museum for study.

Don’t worry, I think you’ll actually enjoy your new life. You’ll meet barrel racers and bull riders and people who tie up tiny cows and then immediately let them go. And here’s the best news. In this new life—when a 3,000 pound bucking bull comes running at you full-speed, looking to gore your most important parts? Well, I think you already know how you’ll react.

Jill Twiss won two Emmys as a writer for Last Week Tonight With John Oliver.