Shoes should not look like they have hairy bunions oozing out shit on them, but try telling that to Christian Louboutin who is telling hos they better empty out their pocketbooks into his hands if they want some Siegfried & Roy shit on their feets.
I mean, has it really come to this? Are we as a society really spending thousands of dollars for shoes that make us look like we're about to chase after some antelopes or sing about the circle of life. Do you really want to look down and think of King Mufasa plummeting to his death? I guess Blake NotSoLively does, because she wore this mess on the set of Chisme Niña in NYC yesterday. I swear Blake's dog keeps looking at those shoes like she wants to start a fight with them. Or maybe she thinks those are Scooby snacks on the toes.
The only reasonable reason for wearing Aslan's sawed off paws on your feet is if you're fucking with a freak who has a Narnia fetish and a shoe fetish. Even then, get these instead.
It's pretty obvious that Philip Treacy is a hat-making sadomasochist (hatomasochist?) who cackles himself into a jizz bust from seeing rich ass celebrities wearing a swirl of WHAT THE SHIT? designed by him on top of their heads. Philip could sew his label into a KKK cone covered in bedazzled possum shit and fancy bitches would still trip over each other to get their hands on it. I mean, look at Sarah Jessica Parker at the VRC Oaks Club Ladies Luncheon in Melbourne. Bitch has a giant black sperm on top of her head! Now, my ass says a Dionne Warwick prayer every day for black sperm to fall on top of my head, but I don't know if SJP does. If you step back and let your imagination roll around in the gutter, that bitch's hat almost looks like a Dune slug 69ing a shiny black sperm. I think I love Philip Treacy for this.
You know who I don't love? The audience at the VRC Oaks Club Ladies Luncheon. When SJP is sitting there with a serpent-like thing over her head, it is your duty to scream at her, "THERE'S A NO-EYED SNAKE ON YOUR HEAD!" Philip Treacy will blow you an air kiss as the room fills with echoing neighs and dust from fast-moving hooves.
Putting the whore in Whore-O-Ween, Wonky McValtrex showed up to some stupid party in L.A. last night dressed in costume as one of my childhood heroes, She-Ra. Seeing this useless piece of dried pussy vomit as the most beautiful and strongest goddess in Eternia should make me punch out my eye until it's as wonky as hers, but it doesn't. That cheap ass costume looks like it cost about $2.99, which is $2.98 more than that gutter-snatched dildo is worth, and so most hos probably didn't even see She-Ra in this at all. Bitch looks more like Alice the Goon working as a cocktail waitress at a Caesars Palace knock-off casino on the outskirts of Reno where the drinks are cheap and so are the handjobs behind the broken slot machine in the back.
The fact that Wonky thinks she can pull off She-Ra is as funny as the fact that her purse probably cost $2,000 and looks like it was a budget special at Claire's. Everything that cheap whore touches turns to cheap. Breaking news.
One way to keep psychotic birds from pecking the blood out of your face is to do yourself up so you look like you've already felt the beak wrath of a flock of winged animals.
Ring the crazy alarm, because we've got one right here. Katherine (get ready to clear that loogie out of your throat) Heeeeeeeeeeeeeiiiiiggggggggl stepped out in L.A. yesterday with a mop of blond straw that was as frazzled as your nerves whenever she opens her eye roll maker during interviews. This is a look that only a mental hospital butterfly net could love.
What's worse is that do you how many skin necks on peens shook on the shaft with fear when they got a glimpse at Katherine's coat? Imagine yourself as foreskin and look. If you don't act right, your owner is going to cut you off, trim your edges with black leather and you'll spend the rest of your days trapped on this annoying hag's body. Buffalo Bill ain't got nothing on this ho and her wool foreskin jacket.
Jessie J always looks like Madeline Kahn in Clue going to a costume party at a Czechoslovakian club as Nicki Minaj, so Forced Foolery is that bitch's middle name. But now I can't even look at the galaxy wallpaper on my MacBook without picturing Jessie J's labia lips trying to suck me in. That is some Lost in Space shit and Jessie J is not right for making me think that Will Robinson is going to pop out of there. Jessie J needs to take the emergency exit and fix herself.
Bitch just wore that so strangers can come up to her and say, "I can see your black hole." Guess what, Jessie? The doctor says the same thing to me during my annual health department-appointed ass exam and I don't even have to wear a MAC wallpaper catsuit to hear it.
It's already hard for me to look at Tom Brady, because he has the exact same haircut as the little snide bitch in my 2nd grade class who asked me if I had vagina (Which dim dumb me said "yes" to, because I wasn't really sure what a vagina was. The junior twat got me that time.). But now I really have to make my lids hug my eyeballs whenever I see him on the street (since I always see Tom Brady on the streets of real life), because his full name and soul print now shows up on ADP's payroll list of all of Satan's employees!
Hell's second footwear of choice already siphons out the spirit of Midwestern tweens and whory Malibu moms (who wear that mess with coochie cutters and see-through cotton shirts) through the bottom of their feet, and now they're going after men. And Tom Brady is helping them to carry out their dork-sided (Never 4 Get God Warrior) plans!
With a precious bob haircut like that, Tom should be using his beauty to sell Dutch Boy Paint, Easy Bake Ovens or Subarus. Not whoring for Illuminatiwear. But the only thing keeping me from switching out Tom's pomade with gel made from the Blood of Christ is the fact that he's never actually seen wearing UGGs in that commercial. Maybe a centaur of the ninth circle is his UGGsdouble. And by a "centaur of the ninth circle" I mean Gisele.
The day is young, I know. First, there were the non-shirtless picture of Mah Boo with a bellybutton-less Kathy Griffin that made my nipple holes frown, and now here's Leighton Meester on the set of Chismoso Girl with her cankles deep in studded shit. Thursday is more like Hurlsday.
Aren't they supposed to be like fancy ~fashionista~ types on Gossip Girl who won't even shove a tampon up their twat unless it's made by Hermes? But yet shit like this flies? You would think that a trick who made a foot fetish tape would be more respectful of her feet and what goes on them. How can Leighton stare into the foot mirror in her solid gold trailer and think that wearing a pair of UGGs that look like they were made by minions during Hell's craft hour using the hallowed legs of a minotaur and the shit berries of a hell hound is okay. It's not okay. Leaving a mound of pooch poo on the sidewalk is illegal in Manhattan, but wearing those things out in public is not? Way to give a bitch mixed messages.
I watched an episode of Animal Hoarders last night where the chick kept her dead kittens frozen in the freezer right next to her ice cream. The thought of eating Blue Bunny ice cream infused with freezer burned kitten air doesn't gross me out as much as that shit on Leighton's feet does.
It's like somebody thought those UGGs were thirsty creatures from Dante's Inferno and tried to murder them dead with round bullets. Well...since I put it that way....
Since we're already on the subject of horror show torsos that can be the next Batman villain, here's Darryn Lyons (aka Mr. Paparazzi) from the UK's Celebrity Big Brother proudly flashing his bought-and-paid-for fake six-pack gut that looks exactly what Ryan Reynold's body would look like if he shoved a bike pump up his ass and pumped until he was about pop. I blame Matt Lucas for giving a bitch ideas.
Darryn bragged to his housemate, Paddy of My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding, that he got the dude equivalent of a boob job. More like the asshole equivalent of LeAnn Rimes' sternum tits. Darryn said that a plastic surgeon liposuctioned a bunch of chunk from his gut to bring out his ab muscles. Darryn went on to explain, "I had contouring done to my body. I had to get really fit and lose a fair bit of weight. It takes away all the fat around it and actually lets your natural abs be there. Basically it's the male version of a boob job."
I'm all for almost wet vacuuming up your internal organs for the sake of deformed vanity, but that bitch has to know this looks about as natural as one of those six-pack t-shirts. The abs part of a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle costume wrapped in pastry dough would look better than this shit. Actually, this fool looks like he's wearing a turtle shell over his belly. It's like if King Koopa was in the middle of an exorcism skull spin and his head got stuck facing the wrong way. Darryn is giving us a glimpse of The Situation's midlife crisis and nobody asked for it.
That being said, I'd still hit it. WELL, while you're riding that shit you can play a half-court game of Tic-Tac-Toe on his hard gut. How can I turn down a half-court game of Tic-Tac-Toe?
via The Mirror
Here's the couturiers of Sears, Khloe and Kourtney Kardashian, leaving Vera Wang's store in Beverly Hills yesterday after a group of animal handlers fitted them for the dresses they're going to wear to Kris Humphries' soul-selling ceremony in a few days. What ever wang of Vera's they're going to throw over their bodies for the wedding will never be as horrifically fugly as the spool of Mrs. Roper's vomit they wore to the store.
To be nice, I'll say that Kourtney's dress would look a lot better if it was cut up into a bunch of pieces and wrapped around the mouths of all the Kardashian-Jenners. Then it would be beautiful. But Khloe's?! That hot pink parachute
jumpsuit dress might look good on Jonte, but that's about it. That circus jumpsuit dress makes Khloe look like she should be balancing on a ball under the big top while a clown in a top hat plays "U Can't Touch This" on an accordion.
And I'm not a farmer, but does Khloe have pregnancy nose?
In news that should be shocking to fucking NO ONE, Quentin Tarantino is reportedly a freaky freak in the sheets. Gawker says that there's an email circulating that was written by some equally freaky chick (I mean, come ON she dry humped on QT, heave) that is a showbiz behind the scenes type. If you can stomach thinking about Quentin and secks at the same time, read on.
In the email, she goes into detail about her twisted tryst with Quentin at a private party, where she made out with him WHERE PEOPLE COULD SEE HER, FUCKING EW and ended up back at his place. Basically, she knew she was being grosser than gross and the gods answered her PLEASE!!NO!! prayers when instead of pulling out a condom, QT pulled out her toes. After he had tonguey toejam sessay times while pulling his allegedly nubby pud, they passed out and lather, rinsed, repeated in the morning. Then he drove her home. You know girlfriend owes the gods one for Quentin's peen keeping that shit to itself, jussayin!!
The email is after the jump. It's long as hell but since you know you're not doing shit anyway, go ahead and give it a read. JUMP!