At some point media headline writers have to stop breathlessly referring to Rihanna as daring. It’s like bitching about Kirk going rogue. The shock value has to depart at some point in the repetition. I’ve seen Rihanna’s tits more than I’ve seen my girlfriend’s. Mostly because Rihanna doesn’t insist on meals for the privilege. She’s got to do something while she waits for the oompa loompas at Roc Nation to create her very personal music. Wearing masks and showing off your tits is as good a hobby as any. Piercing your nipples is far less painful than golf.
I don’t envy the magazines that cover celebrities like they’re actual sentient beings. Harper’s Bazaar has a guy at the aquarium who I guess owed them a favor so they let Rihanna snorkel into the circular fish tank and pretended it was a Jacques Cousteau shark-filled ocean adventure. I’m not sure why they insisted on the sea-faring ruse. Somebody in editorial came up with the idea and they just committed tons of Photoshop resources and interview credibility points:
LAURA BROWN: Swimming with sharks is not only scary, it’s a big metaphor. How did you learn to swim with the sharks of life?
RIHANNA: I try my best to avoid the sharks of life, but I have had my share of experiences with them, and in those cases I just have to handle them accordingly. But I do not swim with sharks … sharks swim with sharks.
So true. Except you did just swim with sharks. It’s not just a big metaphor, it’s a confusing one. I can’t wait for Kate Hudson running with the bulls and talking about honesty and Katherine Heigl busy as a beaver shaving her taint. Or they could just photograph them all naked on a couch and quadruple their sales and call it a day. If only Estee Lauder didn’t demand their products be advertised against Stepford Pablum.
Pudgy heartthrob Leonardo DiCaprio is still slaying major ass including possibly Rihanna. The two were seen canoodling at the Playboy mansion. If you also can’t imagine wanting to talk to Rihanna for more than two minutes, then you’d think they’re boning like I do.
You can’t show up to a yacht party in St. Bart’s in your hoodie and jeans. You’ll never see the quarterdeck. Rihanna went for mostly naked. Solid call when you can’t make up your mind. I don’t remember any girls at the prom going that showy, even the easy girls went pouffy. It was their night to feel special. For Rihanna, a small bikini bottom and that thing grandma wore when we had to start locking her in from the inside was more than enough. She’s a fashion icon which sounds like a huge fucking burden because you can’t get really stoned and eat ice cream. You can only get really stoned.