Glamour and beauty sweetie, those are the two words that come to mind when I feast my eyes on a precious creature like you. The words “crack ballet” also comes to mind actually but that’s probably because you’re wearing your blood stained dance slippers in this picture. I’m still trying to figure out why I feel the need to put the word “crack” in front of “ballet.” Or to describe anything that you do. Puzzling indeed.
But seriously, you are a picture of true beauty sans showers. I love how you’ve taken a simple thing like concealer and used it to pack up the meth holes in your face. Spackle me pretty! I love it! Reminds me of the time I remodeled my bathroom.
I’m thinking that the masterpiece that is your beehive wasn’t done up with just mere hair products either. Oh no, that bee hive has clearly been constructed and supported with “I’ve been up for 3 days straight” sweat, (has a lot more holding power than regular sweat), withdrawals sweat, (for added bounce), cigarette butts, used Kleenex, and your dealer’s jizz. Is there anyway you can pour that concoction into a zip lock bag and send it to me? I need to jazz up my do’ a little.
Those flowers look like dried up old weeds when held up against your gorgeousness. On a side note, I hope you can hold that bouquet up without tipping over since your frame is ever so delicate. And clearly that’s a genetic thing and NOT because you’ve snorted enough cocaine to kill a small donkey.
Nope, that’s not it at all. Your have a
Love you, love your work.
To My Darling Shauna,
First of all, you must tell me
Your transition from human to an orangutan in drag is coming along quite nicely. The wax candy butt blubber lips and the orange sunset tan combined with the animal print lycra tank top (who needs pants?! Not you, you hot bitch!) is almost too much class for me to handle. Your face has been chopped up and put back together so effectively I can’t help but wonder if your plastic surgeon was a former chef at Benihana’s.
I do hope you’re saving up some money for those ears though. I was very close to just whispering this letter instead of writing it because I was pretty sure you'd hear me. And don’t forget to trim those long ass toes either – damn, it looks like Shaq’s hands got a manicure.
But don’t fret, it’s nothing a little plastic surgery can’t fix! But something tells me that you already know that. Lorenzo Lamas was a fool for dumping a prize like you.
To My Darling Diane,
So I don’t get it. You’re just looking like your age? No watered down botulism injected into your face? No brow lift, chin lift, eyebrow lift, ear lift, lip lift, no lifting of any sort on that face? Your nose is the same nose you’ve had since you were born? Are you the only one in Hollywood without a deviated septum? You’re just going to stand around and be in your 60s and not try to put your ass fat in your lips and get implants so you can look like you’re 30? What is this madness?
Seriously, I don’t get it. You’re just going on talent alone? You can do that?
That explains a lot actually.
With MUCH LOVE,
Diane Keaton doesn't give a fuck which is why I love her so. She'd rather look like a normal 60 something year old than look like this:
Whoopteedoo, you don't have a wrinkled forehead, too bad your face looks like somebody put silly putty over their knee.
(Stewie said that on Family Guy and I laughed my ass off for an hour.)
OMG. I don't know how I'm going to get to bed after seeing that face. Horrifying isn't even the word to describe it. Sad and pathetic ....maybe.
Hope everyone had a nice weekend!!!