By Lex August 25, 2015 @ 8:33 AM
You can’t attend an anti-Wall Street rally in a Goldman Sachs golf knit top. Mexican illegals aren’t holding up Vote Trump signs at whistle stops. Fame whore Phoebe Price attended the National Topless Day rally in in New York while explaining with a single picture why after fifteen years of shlepping her jugs around town, she still isn’t famous. You had one job.
Photo Credit: Getty
By Lex July 24, 2015 @ 8:19 AM
There’s nothing more quintessential Hollywood than aging attention whores flashing their tits at paparazzi not there for them. It’s like the ghosts of Christmas Present and Future arguing over whose wife is fatter. You’re fucking the same woman. These ladies aren’t dining at the expensive restaurants, they’re being informed that the shitters are only for paying customers, then exiting to the cameras with smiles like they just jumped off Ben Affleck’s cock. That last part being at least semi likely. There’s nowhere to hide when you’re forty and wearing a captain’s hat. The truth is staring you in the mirror right beneath a disabled placard. I wish Normal Rockwell were around to paint this.
Photo Credit: FameFlynet
By Lex November 20, 2014 @ 12:27 PM
You’d need a spectrometer of decent sized state college laboratory strength to carbon date Phoebe Price. By quick estimation, I’m going to say ten years past bending over in low cut top age. Maybe five depending upon how long onlookers have been out to sea without any female companionship. I respect her right to show the kids where the human milk she sells to pay the rent comes from. We just need some kind of five second rule applied after they actually touch the ground.
Photo Credit: Splash
By Lex October 13, 2014 @ 11:06 AM
I consider myself pretty big on the civil rights front, but this Phoebe Price chick needs to be hauled off to an island prison and trapped behind an iron mask until she figure out how to carve her escape route using only her nipples and determination. I don’t mind her decade long attempt to flash her ass in public, but you can’t take that shit to the kids pumpkin patch. The patch is sacred ground. It’s where children learn the valuable lesson that you can only keep what you can carry, unless you’re a girl and you cry. You can’t have an attention whore in a fuck me I’m a skeleton costume roaming the pumpkin patch while she’s in between dances at the local Shriners clubhouse. Children don’t need to introduced to sex at any early age. They need 20-cent pumpkins for fifteen dollars to carve and grow hairy dangerous mold in their homes a solid week before the 31st. Outside of drunken divorcees in sexy cat costumes, Halloween is a time we reserve just for children and satanists and pagans.
Photo Credit: AKM-GSI
By Lex June 23, 2014 @ 6:03 PM
Coming off what she describes as early international modeling experience, Phoebe Price hit the pavement in L.A. almost fifteen years ago determined to fashion her names among the stars. She was the first version Terminator of no-talent fame seekers determined to make it big just by having large tits and parading around Beverly Hills with a tiny dog. She was Courtney Stodden before Courtney Stodden or a million other girls who no longer get off the bus looking to be a movie star, now they all want to be Kim Kardashian. And why not. Film work is actual work and to some degree a meritocracy. Getting hair weaves and buying a Yorkie is relatively simpler. At some point, Phoebe Price’s feet will tire, her hips will splay, and she will no longer be able to walk her beat. Until such time, Phoebe Price abides.
Photo Credit: AKM-GSI
By Lex July 22, 2013 @ 11:45 AM
Here’s everything I hate about Comic-Con. Phoebe Price is about as alluring as a run-over squirrel. But she gets attention outside Comic-Con as a dime store Black Widow while Scarlett Johansson is whisked through the Convention Center back door to a tightly scheduled show pony event you can’t see. She’s in and out in eleven minutes like Obama. I won’t go so far as to say Comic-Con was ruined by the Hollywood invasion. Not when it used to reek of third-day sweat socks and aspartame. But now you can no longer get desperate Phoebe Price back to your hotel room just by pretending you’re a movie producer. So, yeah, 2005 was much better.
Photo Credit: Splash