You never forget the first time you see an eighteen year old getting paid to be in her underwear. Kate Upton did this lingerie modeling gig as she turned barely legal; not exactly the Hustler version of the concept, but it helped transform this sugar-titty hot blonde from just another cute female Guess model into one of the most yanked-to women in the world just over two years later.
Whether you’re a female model or a male model, you have to blow a lot of dudes to work your way up the magic line. If you can get there in just a year or two, you can save yourself a lot of bad touch memories.
Here’s how you know Kendra Wilkinson is serious. She’s wearing some kind of rubber outfit. She’s bentover. And her husband Hank is off to the side holding her purse and cellphone. It’s a sure sign the girls in it to win it, whether that be a round of French maid cosplay for some mid-level rollers in a downtown Vegas suite, or taking the title of least worst celebrity diver in the upcoming show Splash. I’d put my money on Kendra. Literally. She’ll do shit for that.
There’s really no cheaper thrill than staring at a woman’s nipples through her sweaty top. Nor better. I can really only speak to the embarrassing inopportune engorgements of the males of the species. I’d have to imagine the female protrusions are slightly less of a shameful experience. And, if you’re Destiny from my favorite local gentleman’s club actively rubbing ice over your nips to create the effect, you might even call it shamefully good.
Tennis player Johanna Larson managed to press her nips through what has to be a couple layers of sporting goods tops. In Hollywood, really only Jennifer Aniston has the nipple power to best that anatomical feat, though I’d pay my life’s fortune to see a more scientifically certain determination.
E. L. James, the shitty author of the series of “erotic” novels Fifty Shades of Grey, is now giving lessons on writing. These books have sold millions of copies to bored middle-aged women in the suburbs so they can flick their beans their husbands have long since left to wither on the vine. James has created a journal and course to teach other wannabe hacks the art of writing even crappier books. What does that mean? That you can expect more of the same. Have you flipped through Fifty Shades of Grey? Next time you are in a bookstore pick it up and flip to any page. Here’s a random passage:
“Let me ask you something first. Do you want a regular
vanilla relationship with no kinky fuckery at all?”
My mouth drops open. “Kinky fuckery?” I squeak.
“I can’t believe you said that.”
“Well, I did. Answer me,” he says calmly.
I flush. My inner goddess is down on bended knee with her hands clasped in supplication begging me.
“I like your kinky fuckery,” I whisper.
Fuck me that sucks.
Here is the great ex-Alfac duck himself, Gilbert Gottfried, reading from this POS.
At some point in the douchebag lifecycle, you reach self-awareness. If you’re lucky, it happens early, in junior high school when you look in the mirror and realize you look like a total dick for putting gel in your hair. But it eventually happens to everyone. Even Colin Farrell.
Justin Bieber’s yet to reach that point. He doesn’t understand that his bodyguard is holding him back to keep him from getting his ass kicked by a photographer, not the other way around. What exactly is the 120-pound pop star going to do if he’s let loose? The last time he took on a pap, he threw a spaghetti-armed haymaker that missed by three feet and then bitch kicked his purple mid-tops at the dude. Even angry little Chris Brown knows to get his posse doing the man work.
Bieber will someday look in the mirror and be ashamed for what he has become. And there will probably be a big naked dude grunting right behind him telling him to quit his crying.
Before she was the world’s most successful party-planning ex-con, Martha Stewart was a model. Yeah, I didn’t know either. And you have to go way back. But the woman with the recipe for creating the perfect pressed duck by clenching her angry mitts around a mallard’s beak and willing it to death used to smile for the camera. A long time ago. When she was just a junior league bitch and needed to pay her way through college. To get her degree. To start her business and make the world pay for her hurt feelings.
Women hate Eva Mendes because she’s getting boned by Ryan Gosling. Men hate Eva Mendes because they can’t have her. What’s a misunderstood sexy Latina to do? Buy a big fucking dog that eats slower children. If you so much as glance at Eva’s tits, that brute is going to take his canines to your unmentionables. And you’re not getting that shit sewn back on. That dog looks like a swallower.
Chrissy Teigen knows how to use Twitter properly. To celebrate her 200,000 Twitter follower, or just because she was knocking a few back once more and accidentally hit the send button, the harsh-tongued (mmm, harsh tongue) SI model took to a naked spritz in an Instagram photo. Chrissy claims it’s spray tan. But any dude with half an imagination knows that’s jizz. And, yeah, I want that other chick’s job even if it doesn’t pay.