Friday, August 29, 2008

Oh hi...


Bitch. You're so smug, aren't you? With your age appropriate bob, your chanel haute couture gown with the ram horn detail at the hip you skinny cunt. Everyone's so afraid of you...not me. I've been within the womb of the beast. And I escaped. It's like escaping from the Brazilian-waxed bowels of hell. After that, I can stare death in the face, unblinking. Oh, by the way, I stole your little bottles of Jack you so cleverly stored in the left hip horn. They're resting ever so delicately between my giant tits...but then again...you wouldn't know anything about that, would you? Oh, thank God. Uncle André's finally arrived...with what looks like an orangutan in Carolina Herrera hiding beneath that scarlet Chanel cape. I'm going to say hello...I know he's got a veritable pharmacy under there as well. Don't wait up, Mother Dearest.

1 comment:

fashion herald said...

don't deny an elderly gal her Jack.

who dat