Monday, November 27, 2006

Meanie Mondays

This is hard for an Aussie to understand, but it was more difficult than usual trying to find celebrity fashion funnies. Something to do with Thanksgiving and yanks being forced to eat entire roast turkeys and wah on about the Mayflower or the like. Despite having to spend five minutes longer than usual, our favourite sartorial suckers were still about and didn't disappoint.

The tabloid presses have all been salivating over the new best friends, Paris and Britney. Since this photograph was taken, Sh**ney has apparently 'done a Lindsay' and been caught on camera without knickers which only adds to the classy look she's clearly going for in the picture on our left.

Let's forget Paris for a moment (who'd have thought that that sentence would be written in terms of ridicule) and focus on Courtney Love's younger sister on her right. Drunken straps, breasts about as under control as a sackful of puppies, her map of Tassie mercifully hidden by a satin coat (not matching) and white vinyl K-mart shoes. The look is completed with extensions that have left an innocent shetland pony with it's arse exposed to the blowflies and a baby belly that's not exactly flattered by the leopard skin print covering it...

Paris looks almost reasonable if you discount the fleecy split ends and the fact that she needs to put a sticker on her leg reminding her to breathe every thirty seconds.

Ah Mads, you're looking more and more like the ageing tranny in 'Priscilla' every day, aren't you?
If the eyebrows get any higher they'll end up at the back of your neck looking like a hairy advertisment for McDonald's.

The horizontally stretched face up close looks too much Betty Davis in her latter years - it's time to tone down the makeup instead of spakfilling in the gaps, love. And remember - and this is to all gals out there who like to colour their mouths - lipstick should stay on just the lips - any painting done around the outside looks misguided, envious and, frankly, insane.

Her skin appears to have been dermabrasioned, hermetically sealed, steamed and stretched to albino-snakeskin perfection and yet..... she's the scary clown from Poltergeist. Heaven help me if I found that smiling at me from under my bed, let alone writhing on the floor telling me 'I'm hung up, I've got a crush on you-oo-hoooo..."

J-Ho actually looks quite good, in a triangular, alien-faced, wax doll kind of way. I wonder how long it took the museum curator to bend her arms, hips and legs into that pose and how much longer it took to get to the diva display mannekin to maintain a posture like a normal human being after the photographers moved on to chase Paris.

It's the face - much more so than the the re-use of grandma's chenille bedspread as the dress fabric, the purse earrings or Jaclyn Smith hair.
Too bad if she feels surprised, annoyed, delighted or just had the holy crap frightened out of her, because our buddy Mr Botox has reduced her acting range to the gamut of emotions from A to A - one disdainful mask. At least it might finally hamper her efforts to sing for us again.

We've all seen Val Kilmer's infamous beer gut down at his local beach a few months ago but the caption under this image on our left was gushing about how well he's scrubbed up since then.

Hmmmm, maybe. If he's prepared to change his last name to Kipfler. As is potato, that is. Then yes, he's scrubbed up well (har hardy har har).

He'd better stay clean shaven, or some cafeteria dishwasher is going to go at him with a sharp knife to cut out those annoying little eyes that keep springing out of spuds that are too old to eat.

As the Kingston Trio once sang, "...and they called the wind Mariah..."

How prophetic they were. Either Mariah's lyrca's been inflated with a few farts she's let slip at the latest Disney launch or she's late for Halloween and dressed up as a bunch of overripe cherries.

Those thighs, lovingly roasted, could feed all of the orphans that Brad'n'Ange didn't adopt in Malawi.

We end with the only contender against Kate Moss for Celebrity Mother of the Year, Courtney Love. The topless here pic is the cleanest one of the session.

In those photos, it's painfully clear that she's had a brazilian, found an onion string bag she'd like to wear, had a bit of an overhaul done on the rack and wants to show us all. Why we'd want to see it all, I'm not sure, but at least she's not pregnant to a bloke who's in rehab more often than he's in his wife-to-be.

On a serious note, let's hope that Courtney has given poor little Frances a pep talk on how to respond to, "Hey Beanz Meanz Fartz, your mum's got her mammaries and muff out again," with something other than "but it paid the rent and my nanny fees this month."

No comments: