Life has not been kind to Jason Davis. True, his family has a dump-truck full of money, and he won’t have to work or even do anything particularly useful for the rest of his life. But it can’t be fun knowing everyone thinks you’re uglier than your younger brother Brandon, who always looks like he just stepped out of a deep fryer. And while Brandon is palling around with glitter-scum like Paris and Lindsay, Jason can’t even get through the door at Hyde. This despite the fact that Brandon may well be the most repellent asshole on the face of the planet.

But last week at a pre-Oscar party, Jason proved that Brandon’s not the only one who knows how to stink up a room. The Transom from the New York Observer was there, and I’m really glad I wasn’t:

The Transom sought refuge in the men’s bathroom, which was rapidly being permeated by a fetid odor.

“Jesus!” said a curly-haired man at the front of the one stall, scrunching his face in disgust. “Oh, man’that’s awful!? gasped another, burrowing his head inside his trench coat…. After about 10 minutes, the stall’s occupant began jiggling the apparently jammed door, with increasing aggravation. The Transom helped wrench it open, only to encounter oil heir Jason Davis, the larger, lesser-known brother of Brandon’.

This is the face of American aristocracy, people. Honestly, hanging out with the Davis brothers must be almost like being transported back to the elegance and sophistication of Regency England.

(Thanx, I guess, to Sadie for passing along this amazingly horrible story.)