Why is it that when Nicole Kidman has consumption in Moulin Rouge, it's romantically tragic, but when it's the girl who lives in the apartment across from my bathroom, it's just generally enraging?
Oh sure, you may give me hell about making light of an icky and potentially deadly disease, but if you had to listen to this broad cough all night while she gets high and watches Sex In The City, you'd hate her too.
At least Nicole Kidman died within an acceptable timeframe.
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