Photo Credit: New Look
Photo Credit: New Look
Celebrities have yet to figure out anything close to an effective means to express their frustration with paparazzi. There’s the finger, which only serves to quadruple the value of the photograph. The face covered with designer handbag which can expose unsightly ass fat bulges. There’s that futilely stupid pretending to take pictures of thee paparazzi back, like Kelly Brook was doing alongside her not-at-all-roided-up boyfriend leaving a gym or going to a gym or just getting interferon injections so he can fight COBRA Command. This is what’s led Sean Penn and Justin Bieber and Kanye West and other incredibly short angry famous persons to start kicking paparazzi and then paying them lots of money. There’s literally nothing you can do other than, oh, I don’t know, not being famous for modeling your tits and ass in the first place. That doesn’t really seem like a viable option.
Photo Credit: FameFlynet
There’s a place in Utah I think, maybe it moved since last I checked. It makes all the celebrity perfumes. They send the celebrity team a list of a few artificial smell ingredients they can check off to personalize their mass produced eau de toilette. Lilac, rose, vanilla, and some other shit that make the ladies feel like Cleopatra with Marc Antony begging to give up his empire for but a suck of their regal nipples. The factory churns up the industrial cocktail and packages it off in some cool looking bottle stamped with a single word picked from Roget’s synonyms for mysterious or alluring. Then loads of unfulfilled women buy that shit and wonder why Marc Antony never shows up at their door and their nipples go unloved. It’s a vicious circle. And, yet, Kelly Brook tits. Sacrifices must be made for the greater good.
There’s no reason for this particular holiday. I understand that somebody gets assassinated or helps found a country or lays their life down in battle or organizes strawberry pickers so they get twenty cents an hour rather than just twelve, they get a big holiday. But love doesn’t deserve a holiday because love is contrived bullshit. Here’s a fact, even your dog doesn’t love you. You think he does, but try not feeding him for a week. He’ll eat your dick off as you sleep. So, he loves you when you feed him. And when you don’t, he bites your dick off. People are pretty much the same. “I love you” is an expression of hope that you will give me some shit I need. It’s survival instinct, like coughing or not joining John Travolta in the showers after racquet ball. There’s nothing wrong with doing what you need to get what you need, it just doesn’t deserve a holiday.
Kelly Brook’s been in love with an awful lot of different men. Does she get take-backs on her misplaced affections? She does not. And she has huge honkers. What do you think your chances are? I think you see what I’m saying. Fuck you, Cupid.
Photo Credit: AKM-GSI, FameFlynet
I guess Kelly Brook didn’t get the memo from Miley Cyrus about how it was sexier for girls to look like puckish boys with gum disease. She’s still going with that big tits and curves and flowing hair cliche. It’s a bold choice for Kelly Brook to break from the Miley School of Maxim Hotness. Just for starters, she probably can’t borrow swimsuits from her little brother. Dating actors trying to pass as straight is probably out of the question. And good luck trying to find disgruntled midgets to come dance with you. Those little people can be hella bitchy to women with curves. Kelly Brook, you are taking some big risks.
Photo Credit: FameFlynet, INFphoto.com