New York magazine spent the past six months interviewing thirty-five Cosby accusers to fully document their assault stories then blended their portraits into one giant Fat Albert raped me collage. Give credit where credit is due, this is pretty fucking impressive. It doesn’t change the legal landscape. Cosby’s still rocking the easy chair in a sweater monogrammed with Statute of Limitations wondering when his wife is going to stop wishing him dead from the doorway. He must’ve known this New York magazine article was coming because he recently changed the face of his legal team to this chick attorney who has been on a million news shows stating that Cosby’s innocent with a straight face. She’s fond of saying things like, if there’s on accuser or fifty, it doesn’t matter, there’s still no proof. Only it does matter. Rolling Stone found one anonymous accuser at UVA. This is thirty-five named women with highly detailed accounting of their woozy cum-filled evenings with Dr. Huxtable. It was bad for Cosby before, now it’s worse. It takes about thirty Quaalude tablets to induce coma and death. I know thirty-five chicks willing to slip you one. I’ll call NBC. You’ve got one more big hit left in you, old man.
Body painting seems to be a big thing these days. Who doesn’t see a naked girl and think, man, I’d like to paint her to obscure her best stuff. I guess it turns naked girls into art and that makes it okay to put them on your magazine cover without people calling you a pornographer. I don’t mind being called a pornographer as my high school guidance counselor said that would be the upper limits of my achievement potential. I know if I ran the world you would be able to see Lake Bell’s tits without paint. Just saying, when the vote comes around, remember that.
Photo Credit: New York Magazine