Wednesday, August 20, 2008

I know you think I can't see you...

Zellweger. What with you in your signature Carolina Herrera and marginally retarded pout and pixie bob. What is that hand about exactly? Perched ever so mannishly on your nonexistent hip? You disgust me. And you didn't deserve that Oscar for Cold Mountain. If anything, you should've gotten a Nobel Prize for dropping those 300 lbs between Bridget Jones and Chicago, you anorexic coke whore. Now get the hell out of my picture as I embody FLAWLESS in my Azzedine Alaïa, with my oddly calm bordering on demure composure, save for this hint of a smirk that means I can and will tear out your squinty little eyes in a flash.


P.S. Meet me in the bathroom, third stall from the right, in fifteen. Kisses.

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