Tis actually Kylie, looking as frozen as the dough on a pizza base from Iceland, so frozen she actually looks frost bitten. The singer was at George Michael‘s private dinner at the Royal Opera House, wearing hair she stole from a wonky mannequin in the shop window of Help The Aged, and enough mascara to look like she’s glued the bristles of a broom to her eyelids.
Don’t ask us why her lips look like two leeches spooning….
…..and HA! Nicola Stapleton with her cankles deep in spat shit. Thursday is more like Hurlsday.
Done up like someone who couldn’t see her feet before she left the house (because her face was too busy asking “Who the hell are you”?!), maybe it’s best Nicola return to her late-night back alley blow job sessions on an outdoor patio with a heated lamp in Bermondsey to pay the rent. It’s the thought that counts though.Turning up to the “Life Of An Idol” premiere in London, dressed like Michael Jackson‘s feet in “Moonwalker“. Bless. MJ’s soul should’ve been doing a happy crotch grab on his special night, but instead it was spinning on his grave, in a pair of CROCS.
Not every international cuntress has the luxury of snapping her fingers and ordering her team of blind stylists to make her a two-of-a-kind creation that looks like she rolled in someone’s garden hedge wearing one of Cher‘s old wigs she got from a charity shop.
But let’s forget Kim Kardashicunt for a moment. Let’s focus on her comic book character sidekick instead, the one with the Danny DeVito of bulges in his costume, aka short and stumpy. Any gay man knows if you’re gonna go out dressed like Robin, you’ll need a peen muscle suit underneath that mess made from a mold of Vadge‘s biceps and Jada Pinkett‘s twelve-pack.
These two just look like they’ve been holding on to Halloween since ’94 and decided to gift us their take on it now. It’s not even retro/vintage/whatever. It’s just shit.
We bow down to the genius brains of Debbie Harry‘s make-up artist and stylist, who paid tribute to Halloween with a look that makes us want to run away and hide under our beds. This is all of our worst nightmares come true! Even Sinead O’Connor as her shaven-headed batshit crazy sidekick is frightening the hell out of us too. Move over Heidi Klum…these bitches have GOT Halloween covered!
Siouxsie Sioux. Looking all kinds of Elvira with a mug you wouldn’t want staring back at you when she’s eating downtown? Nobody wants their clitoris or nutsack jumping out of their body and running for the hills while your fav shag song by the Thompson Twins plays on the stereo…” Hold me now, warm my heart
staaaaay with meeeee!”
This is also what St. Ange of Pout will look like in 30 years. Minus the pout.
If there was ever an image to get tattooed to the inside of your eye lids, this would be it. Just so you know NEVER to go out dressed like this. Even JLo is wondering why the hell she’s dressed as LaToya Jackson circa-1982. Scratch that, LaToya Jackson circa-last week.
The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, our coffee tastes like rainbows…..why? Well according to a study carried out by Boise State University of 484 heterosexual women, 60 per cent were sexually attracted to other laydee’s; 45 per cent had bumped top-floor lips with a woman and 50 per cent fantasised about loving the labia.
You straights are all just a bunch of gayelle loving goddesses! So here, have a picture of the ginge minge Mary PortHADHERDAYASS and her wife-come-minger Melanie Rickey - and it truly is a beautiful moment in the history of equality when premium gold diggers can hand a shovel and ink-erasing liquid (for prenups) to an old lesbian and welcome her into their tribe. Well done Melanie, who are you again?
Time to put on a pair of oversized pleated cargo pants from GAP, slip into some Birkenstocks or CROCS, drape a flannel shirt over your chest and lay down next to your computer and gaze at this pair for the rest of the afternoon. Best served with vodka so your eyes go out of focus eventually.
Maybe Mary Queen of EVERYTHING should try her hand at music and re-record this famous lesbo-tune below….(oh, and by clicking play you are instantly acknowledging that the lyric “girls come and see my vagina” will be stuck in your head for the rest of the day)…..
In keeping with today’s theme of ‘as random as a guinea pig water aerobics class’, here comes the news that comedienne Catherine Tate and Take That’s Jason Orange are apparently bumping genitals.
We’re not even going to try to figure out when or why this happened. Our guess is that Catherine attached herself to the first young pretty boy who didn’t repeat “AM I BOVVERED?!” at her as she filled her trolley with sausage rolls in Asda.
After being spotted out enjoying dates together, a source told The Sun: “They were trying to keep things secret but looked very loved up and happy together.
“It’s a very unlikely pairing but they have really hit it off. They’ve been on a number of dates to the theatre and the cinema. They really enjoy each other’s company. Catherine deserves someone nice and she has landed on her feet with Jason. But they have both been desperate to keep their romance secret.”
Apparently the pair first struck up a friendship when the ginge funny laydee took on the role of Jason in spoof band Fake That for a Comic Relief sketch. So from now on, for some bizarrely strange reason unknown to everybody including us, we’ll be following Catherine and Jason’s every single move as a dusty new couple, especially when they’re papped sucking face.
A therapist would probably say this is a way of holding onto the early 90s with both hands since life was so uncomplicated back then. And our rooms were full of posters of Take That we used to kiss before bedtime. It’s true. The most complicated thing we had to worry about back then was how to get home from a rave in a field after a friend left you staring at a glowing bunny sticker on the bathroom wall for 4 hours. Yes, that’s right, illegal drugs were involved.
In case you missed it, here’s Cher in a wig which Raggedy Rihanna wears on her days off, smiling with her eyes (Tyra would be SO PROUD!) at son Chaz Bono twisting all three of his bodies to the Rocky theme tune on “Dancing With Weebles”.
Our only explanation for why Cher allowed a bitch to throw that wig mess on her head is that she was a wrong kind of high from snorting too much virgin toy-boy blood. Anyway, let your heart and mouth burp with pride at Cherilyn Sarkisian doing what your Mum did when you performed as the back of a cow in your first school panto – clapping like a seal on speed.