*Rachel Zoe stacatto rambling* “Couldn’t – You – Just – Uh – Die?”
Of course, I personally could’ve died watchin this, but the delicious blood of Christ has beat back the kunt of death…………I thank you dear Jesus……thank you. Y’know, the only way you can tell which is the real Rachel Zoe is by the premium strand donkey hair weaving around the hairline. Everybody knows Rachel Zoe, my boo, don’t wear no premium strand, nothin but midwest trailer shedded flyaways. That cyborg too did up to be my boo! *gum pop*
….stop lookin around, I mean YOU…..or have we forgotten about the gov’ment a$$i$tance we’ve been tryin to get our couture with knowin full well Nordstroms dont take no ”foodstamp charge card”. Don’t be ashamed, at least you didn’t earn it on your back or balancin on your head or whatevah *shrug*…..
ACNE wedge booties
I thought I’d post this piece of smut for you shoe whores, y’know, those of you not afraid to turn some tricks for some kicks. *KA-BOOOOM* OH! Did you hear that? That was the sound of someones inner-meats goin nuclear, how pleasant. I’ll thank you however to quit rubbin your body up against the screen, this ain’t that kinda site.
Adidas Y-3x Honja highs
According to the grapevine *ahem, FashionINDIE*, Conde Nast don’t want no stinking Vogue Africa!
Glamour guru Mario Epanya had been pitching the ambitious idea to Conde via email along with these breathtaking samples he imagined but Conde said NO! Conde?………..Condeeeh?……..c’mon Conde!
Well now, wait, we won’t jump to any extreme conclusions. I’m sure Conde was just confused cuz there weren’t any monkeys or chimpanzee’s on the cover throwin poo or slangin bananas or nibblin fleas out of the next monkeys fur. Maybe Conde Nast was confused as to why no one had a bone in their ear lobe or a disc in their lip. Probably Conde Nast wondered why none of the models were suckin the meat out of a watermelon through a gap where African cootie bacteria malnourishmentz had eaten a hole through their purple gums. I mean these covers imagined by glamour guru Mario Epanya, they’re preposterous. These beautiful and regal models look human, not a thumbless primate among them and that can’t be real actual uncartoon life.
On top of which, Vogue and Vogue Australia and Vogue India and Vogue UK and Vogue Japan and Vogue Nippon and Vogue Antarctica and Vogue Moon and Vogue Atlantis show plenty of black models. Vogue Africa would just be frivolous. Does anyone know the true reason? I guess only Conde Nast and Conde Nasts stable of Aunt Je-mammies and Uncle Ben’s and gorilla human hybrids are the only ones that will ever know. Next up, Vogue Eskimo *sips coffee*
Various earthquakes in various lands…..
BP makes poo-fudgez in the Gulf…….
Miley Cyrus exposed her teeny puddin…..
Clearly the Lord is pisst’ and now this disaster!? Nike Harajuku offered 24 spots for its NikeID Bespoke personalized specialty sneaker experience and all 24 spots were gobbled up in mere minutes, dashing the hopes of hundreds of losers hopefuls upon the cruel rocks of fate. There’s a fashion slut cryin into a jug of gin as we speak, pray his strength (and NO it is not me). The experience includes a 90 minute consultation where the participant can choose from wild fabric and print choices not available to other consumers. Whats really sad is I didn’t even know! No email, no text, no smoke signal, no carrier pigeon, no Nahthingk’! Anderson Cooper is slippin, I mean he can report on crap like Haiti and Katrina but life altering events like this?………..no Anderson Cooper!
More At: Freshness Mag
Remember that time yawl had to scrape together some money to bail me outta jail when I tackled the lip-glossed kunt that was holdin that last pair of Adidas JS Wings by Jeremy Scott and I had to hire Johnny Cochran from beyond the grave to play the race card against the system to get me off bcuz the lip-glossed kunt, JayLaVonte ShaCreem and his sidekunt LaMichael McPattyCakeletz, who shall remain nameless, decided to press charges cuz he alleeeeged that in the collision his hymen was broken, therefore stealing his virginity *inhale*. Well the 2010 collection for Adidas by Jeremy Scott is here and I’m standing across the boutique from her kunty lipglossedness and he’s holdin the last pair of Jeremy Scott polka-dot parachute pants and well……….yawl take out a pay day loan, I’ma need yawl to come get me from the clink again…..CHAAAARGE! Hurry before the inmates realize I have the back-doe cakes and thighs of a healthy corn-fed southern belle, I got my back pressed against the cell wall, prayin in tongues as we speak.
Pictures via: Freshness Mag
Old Spice Dude answering questions to fans and celebrity stalkers? My Gaude, My GAUDE! ARRRGGH, Tiddys!!!
Everytime I turn around Tiddys! Old Spice Tiddys here, Old Spice Tiddys there, everywhere! Old Spice Tiddys on the t.v. & on the radio. Old Spice Tiddy shapes in the clouds, jiggle flexin through my nightmares, holdin up banks at gunpoint, suffocatin death row inmates for the state to save tax payer dollars and NOW Old Spice Tiddy setz on the YouTube?! Did a certain *ahem* starlet part her thighs and unleash Apocalypse already? Well, If you ain’t know, Old Spice dude is shuckin them MANmaries for fortune & fame and I’m p-i-ss-e-d. Of course, if the truth be told I have the tiddy envy. Not that my boi-tiddyz aren’t evuhreethiing, but……..well……..Old Spice dudes are just…………well, bigger than mine. It just reminds me that I benchpress the same amount as a sickly young armless girl and that’s just depressing. Enjoy these tiddys while I get back on my workout regimeeenn.
More Old Tiddy here: OldSpiceYouTube
Here’s Calvin Kleins 2011 Fall/Winter ad campaign which proves that manorexia is alive and well…….or at least until it collapses from lack of good ol’ fatnin eats. Y’know what tho, No other pretty young white children could’ve done the “greasers” look better. In my opinion, when it comes to jeans, I’ve always been torn between Levi’s original and Calvin Kleins. Both are sturdy, made extremely well and both are sleek enough to go undetected when smuggling out of a store under another pair of jeans……..so I’ve heard. Really, the only difference between the two is whether you want your balls crushed in front of you with rug burn from your pubes or whether you want your balls crushed under you in the mildewy dankness of the taint. Which pair will do which foolishness is for you to find out and me to laugh about later when you become sterile with the humorous and bitter spirit of erectile dysfunction. For me tho, nothing matters but the fit cuz I’ve the thighs and boy-donk of a Clydesdale stallion to fill out both. Now, isn’t that all that matters here?