Everyone loves Fake Karl, and for good reason - the ghost writer brilliantly drops names, rattles off pop culture references, and encapsulates the Kaiser's trademark 'tude.
While I giggle as loud as the next Chanel-obsessed girl at Fake Karl's witty entries, it is Andy Warhol's Journal that makes me shamelessly erupt in laughter. It is so realistic, so roguish, and so right on that I almost believe Andy is still alive and well, living in a little loft apartment in New York City, subsisting on Chinese takeout, magazine subscriptions, and Internet gossip.
The web site hasn't even been around a month, and it's already become my go-to guilty pleasure (quickly replacing Gossip Girl in its excruciating absence).
