If you are shaped like one of those things you squirt into a baby’s ear you’re in luck because Coco Austin is launching a lingerie company. In earlier times Coco would be rounded into a caravan to tour mill towns with the bearded woman and that goat with two heads. Times have changed. Not for better or worse. Just different. The company is called Cocolicious Lingerie and if you buy it for your girlfriend she’ll think you’re calling her fat because you are. It will premiere at the end of the month at a party held at the shadiest strip club near LAX if it isn’t shut down first. Remember to rock your grill. My money says the whole thing is an excuse to make a bunch of these twerking videos so she can show off her subcutaneous undulations. Mona Lisa wasn’t that hot. It’s all relative. To be followed up with a line of sexy designer seatbelt extensions.
Coco is selling her clothing line. These may or may not be the same intimate pieces they found in and around the location where Ice T’s son got cuffed for busting a nut in public. The wardrobe pieces are one size fits all and you can’t return them after trying on due to the tenuous nature of elastic and ass bacteria. These are the kinds of clothes one might wear if you were looking to be cast as the body double in a Red Shoes Diary episode or if you traded your used thongs to guys in prison to keep your brother safe. Somewhere Ahab’s trigger finger is itching.
Photo Credit: Coco’s World
Think of all the women in this world who cut, savage, and deform their bodies just so some percentage of lonely bastards might enjoy a good wank. These ladies are the real Santa Clauses. Not the fat old man who delivers presents to children around the world minus Africa because he’s racist. Think about the girl who says I’ll take needles full of centrifuged fat in my ass cap just so some guy in Muncie can splooge into a sock and make his life a little less miserable. By forty, I’m doomed to being the neighborhood freak that schoolchildren run from in horror, but for now, imagine finishing your thankless deed on my titty munificence. That’s true Christmas spirit. The rest of the world just seems like takers.
Photo Credit: Instagram
I understand why Coco forged the arctic migratory fat cap on the back end of her body. It’s like vocational training or school for the most of the rest of us. It opened doors to employment opportunities. But you can’t have that shitter hanging out at the dinner table. I don’t care how fucked up your in-laws are, nobody’s comfortable with an ass hair floating in the gravy.
Photo Credit: Instagram
I can see the advantages of living with an airbrushed Coco. Perfectly large curves with no creases or cracks filled with undocumented aliens seeking out a better life north of the border. A face where you can’t detect the deep impressions left by years and years of semen carving canyons like the Colorado River through the Southwestern limestone. You wouldn’t even sense your pending doom as noxious gases leak through her immense squatted parts after serious rounds of Korean BBQ binging. I like this Coco. I could probably even grow to love her.
Photo Credit: Show Magazine
I blame hip hop culture. For everything. Before rap, gasoline was ten cents a gallon, the merriment of children filled the streets, and big fat asses were simply known as big fat asses. Grotesquely enlarged butts just peaked in Barbados where Coco’s ass cheeks lifted her out of the water like pontoons harpooned into the side of a great white to keep it from diving. I would never tell another man what ought give you your jollies, but I do get to decide who comes to my Super Bowl party. If the thought of spelunking for that thong puts you in the reproductive mood, you’re not touching my chips and dip.
Photo Credit: Splash