Today when I was lying prone on the couch, high on Vicodin with fluid draining out of my ear, I asked myself, “Why don’t I look as good as supermodel Helena Christensen in a bikini?” Then I went back to drinking cake batter with a straw and watching hour number four of “B.J. and the Bear.” Some of life’s mysteries were never meant to be solved, my friends.
It’s hard to say what I hate most about Rihanna’s beach look — the mismatched prints, the Lucky Star jewelery, or the Pete Wentz hairdo. Fortunately, one of the great things about hate is that it doesn’t require you to be specific. All you really need is a deep-seeded sense of self-loathing stemming from years of abuse and maybe a gun and a megaphone. Check, check and check, baby!
In Barbados this week:
When I’m holding out my swimsuit bottoms so I can admire my own genitals in public like Paz Vega here, I usually try to make more of a “surprised” face. Then I like to squint and crane my neck a little closer, fan myself in disbelief before elbowing the person next to me and exclaiming, “Hey, buddy — get a load of that beaver!” Of course, it helps to actually have a semi-aquatic rodent in your drawers. The YMCA staff can’t ask you to leave that way. They have to call animal control first, which buys you a good ten or fifteen minutes before the guys with the tranquilizer guns show up and ruin everybody’s good time.
If you get tired of having to use your imagination to conjure up images of seventh grade boys in bikinis, these pics of Kate Bosworth frolicking in Malibu over the weekend will be a welcome relief. And they’ll definitely free up some time to work on your “my name is ___ and I’m a registered sex offender” handshake and your door-to-mailbox suicide sprints.
What causes the tides to turn? The moon you say? I don’t think so. New scientific evidence points to Kim Kardashian’s ass as being responsible for the ocean’s life-giving ebb and flow. The gravity pull on that thing has got to be asstronomical! Someone call NASA!
Neptune move over!
In honor of the U.S. Women’s Swim Team and the Olympics, Playboy models are donning each of the U.S. Team’s official suits from the past six Games on Playboy’s website. (Nine-time Olympic medalist Dara Torres in this year’s suit on the right; Playboy’s Cyber Girl of the Month in the same suit on the left). Because nothing says “homage” like a bunch of fake-tittied no-names in body makeup wearing the same suit you trained six hours a day, seven days a year for ten years to wear. Look forward to Playboy’s “Bad Habit: a Tribute to the Many Looks of Mother Teresa” and “Supreme Whore — Beneath the Robes of the Women of the Supreme Court” to debut sometime this fall. PlayboyTM — because sometimes women get too big for their britches.
Playboy’s version:
The real deal:
What in God’s holy name happened to Jennifer Aniston’s hair? Either the humidity in L.A. is hovering around 90%, or Oscar Blandi silk polishing cream was all sold out again at Barney’s. That’s the sort of hair that gets nationally syndicated radio talk show hosts fired. I don’t know whether to try to comb it or throw it a rawhide and hope it doesn’t bite me.
Most Americans won’t know who Page 3 girl and “Love Island” winner Bianca Gascoigne is, but she’s topless, so it probably won’t matter to them anyway. If there’s one thing Americans love, it’s boobs. And deep fryers. And beer and discount department stores and imperialistic entitlement! Just try and stop us, world! U – S – A! U – S- A!
All the pictures are technically LSFW. Technically. Except for the bare bottom in #4.
Slutty Miley Cyrus cell phone pictures seem to show up on the internet every goddamn day here lately, so — per the usual — here’s more slutty Miley Cyrus cell phone pics on the internet. If you’re into being a registered sex offender and horse-themed porn, then these ought to be right up your alley. That is where your kind park your unmarked GMC vans and wait, right?
It’s summer in Beverly Hills in these pictures, despite Jennifer Aniston’s nipples suggesting it’s early winter in the Yukon. Just another good reason not to gauge the weather by looking at Jennifer Aniston’s boobs. You’d wear a parka and ski hat every goddamn day if you went by her tits alone. For a real idea of the weather outside, look to Cisco Adler’s ball sac. It’s second only to the Farmer’s Almanac and Dopplar radar in terms of meteorological accuracy!
I’ve often wondered, “When is the appropriate time to wear a fur stole?” A real fur stole — one with the face still attached and taxidermied eyes — not some of that fake rabbit shit they sell at Kohl’s. Is it at a polo match in Monte Carlo? Dinner and drinks at the top of the Empire State building? In your secret lair, over a cocktail and the blueprints for a machine that will destroy the world? In a word, no. As demonstrated by singer Paulina Rubio, the correct answer is “on the beach in a bikini.” Technically the dog she’s holding is still alive, but you still get a pretty good idea of how it will look. All she’s lacking is the monacle and gilded cane and a pocket watch sewn into her triangle top and the ensemble is complete! British accent sold separately.
I assumed these were old promo stills from Jenna Jameson’s “Zombie Strippers.” Turns out it’s actually former Playmate Shauna Sand in Miami, and she looks that way on purpose. I’d still clobber it in the head with a machete if it came too close. If there’s one thing I learned from a childhood spent playing “Castlevania,” it’s that zombies give no quarter! And also that the holy water is the best sub-weapon to defeat the Grim Reaper. I’m sure that’s gonna come in handy sometime.
