By Lex August 06, 2015 @ 12:36 PM
If form followed function, this is how all ATM machines would be designed. Your balance would indicate your ability to access which slots. Don’t be that dick who spends ten minutes pushing lots of buttons while there’s a line behind you. I used to mock Victoria Silvstedt now I can only admire how she planned for her future so much smarter than I did. I’m checking my 401(K) monthly for any movement while she’s riding some pudgy reciting the passcode to her Swiss bank account in her head three times over before screaming out something unnecessarily complimentary. If I really examined my anger I’m sure much of it is rooted in jealousy. Which is why I never examine.
Photo Credit: AKM-GSI
By Lex June 15, 2015 @ 9:39 AM
The most powerful force in the universe remains paid love. It’s like true love but without all the talking. Victoria Silvstedt is back with Maurice Dabbah, that pot bellied diminutive billionaire who owns a ton of shit you wish you had, including Victoria. Dabbah gave her the keys to his yacht so she could Magellan around the Spanish islands and display the Playboy tits circumnavigating back to daddy’s place for uni and semi-erect anal. Romance takes many forms. This is by far the most expedient.
Photo Credit: FameFlynet
By Lex June 10, 2015 @ 12:42 PM
If you can see Victoria Silvstedt’s ass, she’s on the clock. The occupation of expensive trophy girlfriend has some kind of shelf life between NFL running back and Andy Cohen’s muscular bathing assistants. Not many are making it to thirty, let alone forty. It’s been seventeen years now since Silvstedt was named Playmate of the Year and fucking people because it felt good. It’s twilight of the career time. Nobody’s going to think less of you for PEDs. A-Rod’s breaking all the records. Manage the latent hair growth around your chakras and apologize to Congress. You’ve got one mouth to feed.
Photo Credit: FameFlyNet
By Lex January 12, 2015 @ 11:21 AM
Corpses don’t last long in Caribbean waters with their warm currents and viscera-dissolving ecosystem. Even the bones become microbe encrusted bedding for coral and anemone in short order. But then Victoria Silvstedt knows this better than anyone. That look on her face and the presence of celebratory secretion in her crotch region indicates that some poor old man who just wanted his pecker wetted now finds himself a permanent patron of Davy Jones locker. It’s the circle of life.
Photo Credit: Splash
By Lex January 05, 2015 @ 10:56 AM
Fuck, that tongue, that seaweed. Ursula has somebody trapped in her Swedish Santeria clutches. Somebody tracking the Victoria Silvstedt pings on the maritime emergency sonar should’ve warned St. Bart’s she was on her way from Miami. Now some poor rich sod of mixed French and German descent is about to become Tokyo to her Godzilla. We couldn’t do shit to contain Ebola. Political correctness leaves us impotent to properly quarantine the sympathetic viruses. But we need to build some kind of cage around this woman before she siphons off so much currency that Western banks become endangered from insolvency. I’d hate to be catching rats for food one day outside my New Los Angeles shanty and kick the tin wall knowing how this all could’e been prevented with one Navy Seal with a spear gun.
Photo Credit: PacificCoastNews
By Lex December 29, 2014 @ 1:01 PM
It’s like watching a bass master cast his line. Some unfortunate largemouth is about to be dinner. Victoria Silvstedt has that hook line and sinker routine going with her inflated everything. By the time you’ve surmised what it might feel like to have collagen pressed around your member, your bank account has already been emptied. It’s a magic act that counsel for your legal heirs will label cunning in a courtroom someday. In some ways, I admire watching a master at work. In another way, I want to yell the word whore loud enough for Rolling Stone to accuse me of institutionalized rape.
Photo Credit: INF