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We never thought that we could get past the genetic perfection, the ready-made, multiculti orphan family delivered by one of the hottest women on earth, or the immense wealth and fame long enough to actually feel sorry for Brad Pitt, but we do. Doesn't the poor guy realize that no matter how many times he mentions that Frank Gehry's his hero or lets it slip that he's helping to design the bitchin'est casino in all of Las Vegas, the architecture industry is just using him for his body?