I don’t know why this amuses me so. This dude Photoshops images of young Hollywood chicks as godzillas coming ashore to terrorize the puny humans. I don’t know if this is a commentary on the over-emphasized power of celebrity or just a chance to imagine a four story tall vagina where Ellen summers. It’s a disturbing, yet awesome reminder that women like Patricia Arquette top out at $400,000 a week on television. Somebody fire up the Change.org petition. This world needs fixing.
I prefer the girls whose day jobs don’t involved walking around the beach in a bikini waiting for nuclear arms dealers with eye patches to ask them to be their evil Bond movie villainess. They don’t look completely carefree about having their privates a simple loosened clasp away from exposure to men and Carmen Miranda tributing Cuban trannies that freely roam Miami Beach. They adjust their bikinis constantly because they remember what their moms told them about what good girls do and it didn’t include labia shows on the top of every hour. Selfie that shit or it never really happened.
Fuck it, Kate Cassidy, if you’re not going to try I’m not going to try. I’m taking back my 70′s porn star belly chain and either your bikini top or bottom, whichever ones don’t match, and I’m going home. You’ll be left exposed, un-jeweled around your torso, and everybody will mistake you for the cheese on a stick girl from the mall that give head on first dates. Get yourself one of them thong bikinis or we’re done here.
Fuck, Keith Partridge’s daughter is back. She got rid of all the bling, but that mismatched bikini, wow, it wouldn’t be a stretch for the Style Police to arrest her for that faux pas. Smackdown. Casting shade. Fuck, she confuses me. As this world continues to close down titty magazines and open up ten more fashion and style rags in their stead, I feel like I’m losing ground. That escalator to the moon can’t come soon enough.
I’ve been staring at these photos of Keith Partridge’s daughter trying to figure out if they’re sexy or not. You can froget the letters about how she’s out of my league. That’s hardly a standard. David Cassidy himself during a DUI arrest mug shot is out of my league. But Katie. I don’t know. I think it’s all the accessories that are throwing me off. Does she need eight rings and five bracelets and four necklaces for a dip in the ocean? Does me even noticing that make me gay? And what about that restrictive bra top. Does Katie Cassidy hate her own boobs? I don’t hate boobs, or I didn’t think so until I started noticing her jewelry and realized I was probably closer to Kevin Spacey than Kevin Sorbo. I need to stop looking now.
I bet for some of you whacking it to Keith Partridge’s daughter is somewhat off-putting. Meh, everybody is somebody’s daughter. You can’t hang yourself in Fantasyland. Now, if you’re imagining Keith watching you do his girl in the back of the Partridge Family bus while Shirley Jones disapprovingly taps her tambourine — welcome to my hell.