Saturday, September 27, 2008
The fourth annual slutty-ass ho Razzy Halloween costume
Every year, I come up with some extra-skanky Halloween costume. This started because the grad student Halloween party I attend annually offered a prize in 2005 for the "most naked" costume, and I intended to win this. I came up with "King Slut," which was basically a bunch of cheap gold jewelry, heavy eyeliner, a pharoah hat, and five rolls of gauze from Rite-Aid. Naturally, I walked out of that party savoring my prize of four cans of Tecate and a cheap ass-flask of Montezuma brand tequila. Victory is sweet.
While no prizes were offered in subsequent years, I continued my tradition of wearing costumes involving as little clothing as possible, because naked is my favorite way to be. Every year, however, I worry that I won't be able to come up with anything good and that I'll have to go with the Lady Godiva costume I've threatened for a while. Showing up completely nude except for a wig is a bit much even for me, so I put a great deal of pressure on myself to come up with something clever and almost naked instead. I've always managed to come up with something, and every year without fail I'm pleased when I get my platonic life partner J-Sexy to bellow, "You have outdone yourself again, Razzy, you scandolos ridicolos ho!"
Luckily, this year I've come up with something timely and relevant that will still allow me to march around in underwear and amuse everyone. This is probably the last year I will attend this grad school soiree, and in fact, it's probably the final year this soiree will even occur, since the fella who throws it is graduating within the next year too. I thus felt especially pressured to go out with a decisive bang. For a minute I thought about going as my new god of cultic worshipfulness Ishtar, but then I remembered that most people probably aren't that familiar with any of the ancient sex deities of the Fertile Crescent and wouldn't get it. Then will a little help from LL Cool Jew, I came up with the perfect costume. It's timely, recognizable, and best of all, allows me to run around in a bikini. With a gun, no less. Before I show you the inspiration for my costume, though, let's just take a walk down memory lane and review the costumes from Halloween parties past.
2005: King Slut
While not an actual historical figure, as I mentioned before, King Slut left that party with the alcoholic spoils of victory. I really did deserve the "most naked" prize. Five rolls of gauze actually don't go very far in terms of coverage.
2006: Kimberly "Lil' Kim" Jones at the 1999 VMAs
This costume was surprisingly difficult to put together. You have no idea how difficult it is to find purple pasties and a purple off-the-breast dress. I had to make that shit! It turned out well. I think people actually believed that like Lil' Kim, I had buffoons eatin' my pussy while I watch cartoons (I do in real life, except I watch football instead of cartoons). And if anyone has use for a purple wig, holler at your girl. I got the hook-up.
2007: Britney Spears at the 2007 VMAs
It's Britney, bitch! I was particularly proud of the attention to detail I lavished on this costume. I even left the Rite-Aid press-on nail off my right ring finger to accurately reflect the acrylic Brit-Brit snapped off during her memorably fucked-up performance of "Gimme More" and swung by the Washington Heights Starbucks for an appropriate beer container.
And, now without further ado...
2008: Governor Sarah Palin (R-AK) in her U! S! A! bikini
Okay, so this picture might be a fake, but as far as I'm concerned, Governor Palin took second place in the Miss Alaska pageant way back when because she wore a two-piece in the swimsuit competition, so it's accurate enough. I'm going to add a "Miss Wasilla" sash for a little extra authenticity. And, for some REAL extra authenticity, Governor Palin is going to be accompanied by her infant son Trig:
All I need is an American flag bikini, some glasses, a brown wig, a rifle, and a Chingy!-sized onesie. CHONGAY CHONG, Governor Palin Halloween costume!
Labels: Britney Spears, intentional buffoonery, Lil' Kim, nudity, United States of Asskickery
Friday, February 01, 2008
La Fea Mafia
I love convicted justice obstructor/perjurer and cunnilingus aficionado Kimberly "Lil' Kim" Jones dearly for her contributions to the canon of cutting-edge feminist thought. I have been truly inspired by her tales about going from making her intro getting fucked in the Pinto to being skin-deep in the Lexus jeep, her assertions about the superiority of her self-proclaimed "designer pussy" (which apparently comes in "high-class tasting" flavors), keeping her finances and sex life independent of one another by refusing to go out shopping spending dudes' C-notes and instead staying at their cribs to provide them deep throat, and her refusal to let a man stick this without licking this. Lil' Kim is an iconic womanly figure and I love the groundbreaking achievements that she has blessed the world with.
However, it seems that Lil' Kim's self-image isn't quite as strong as her song lyrics purport, because I can only assume that abysmally low self-esteem was what drove her to do this to herself:
NOOOOOOOO!!!! She doesn't even look like a real human being anymore. When I first saw this, I thought that Marc Jacobs (who looks more like a wasting Jeff Goldblum every time I see him) had taken a secondhand, beat-down blowup doll to whatever event this was as his date. It appears that Kim's gone back to her and Jenna Jameson's hack surgeon for more facial implants, and if she doesn't quit it with the rhinoplasty she's going to look like a member of the damn Jackson family. Lil' Kim should consider the fact that she has to still use a thick shellac of foundation to look presentable as an indicator that the surgeries are NOT working in the beauty department!
What is Lil' Kim even doing at an event with a fancy designer like Marc Jacobs anyway? While she often makes claims about being into haute couture in her lyrics, she also notes that she makes questionable fashion decisions such as her penchant for "rock(ing) colorful minks" and proceeds to wear the most garish trash imaginable every time I see her. The last time I checked what was on the cover of Italian Vogue, it wasn't purple pasties and giant diamond Queen B necklaces. It's a pity that Michael Kors wasn't at this event so that he could dispense some succinctly bitchy critical advice about her taste. He could probably craft some wickedly hilarious zinger simultaneously referencing the Crypt Keeper, 80s music videos, cheap prom corsages, and mothers of the bride. Lil' Kim needs his help in every way. BADLY. Starting with him changing her clothes and forcing her to sign away her rights to any future elective cosmetic procedures.
Lil' Kim needs to quit with the surgeries now, because she's ruining her entire mystique (in fact, that ship may have already completely sailed). If her face is any indication, her vagina is neither tight nor right, and that is a blow to mankind. For the love of God, Lil' Kim, love yourself enough to steer clear of the scalpel from here on out.
However, it seems that Lil' Kim's self-image isn't quite as strong as her song lyrics purport, because I can only assume that abysmally low self-esteem was what drove her to do this to herself:
What is Lil' Kim even doing at an event with a fancy designer like Marc Jacobs anyway? While she often makes claims about being into haute couture in her lyrics, she also notes that she makes questionable fashion decisions such as her penchant for "rock(ing) colorful minks" and proceeds to wear the most garish trash imaginable every time I see her. The last time I checked what was on the cover of Italian Vogue, it wasn't purple pasties and giant diamond Queen B necklaces. It's a pity that Michael Kors wasn't at this event so that he could dispense some succinctly bitchy critical advice about her taste. He could probably craft some wickedly hilarious zinger simultaneously referencing the Crypt Keeper, 80s music videos, cheap prom corsages, and mothers of the bride. Lil' Kim needs his help in every way. BADLY. Starting with him changing her clothes and forcing her to sign away her rights to any future elective cosmetic procedures.
Lil' Kim needs to quit with the surgeries now, because she's ruining her entire mystique (in fact, that ship may have already completely sailed). If her face is any indication, her vagina is neither tight nor right, and that is a blow to mankind. For the love of God, Lil' Kim, love yourself enough to steer clear of the scalpel from here on out.
Labels: Lil' Kim, plastic surgery, Project Runway, rap, sluts, you're ugly
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Two Halloween costumes making beautiful music
Well, I wasn't going to do much blogging, but this is something I can't ignore. The internets have informed me that my last year's costume remixed a hit song with this year's costume, and it's smoking. Basically, you can't get much trashtastically hotter-assed than these two hot-ass bitches in their VMA outfits!
Well, those two hot-ass bitches are actually both me. What I meant is these two hot-ass bitches in their VMA outfits:
It starts off with "It's Britney, bitch...and Lil' Kim, ho!" All I need to hear after that is "It's 50 AKA Ferrari" and/or "It's Kells from Chi-town, Japan via satellite" and my life is pretty much complete. In the meantime, I'll settle for the "Gimme More" Lil' Kim remix. Trust that when you get the Queen Bee collaborating with the legendary Ms. Britney Spears, there's some lyrics about cunnilingus, being "such a dirty whore," and "dancin' like a slut."
Hells yeah! Go to STR8UPHIPHOP to take a listen. Everyone on the internets seems to think it sucks, but that just goes to show you that the average person has no taste. I smell Grammy!
Hells yeah! Go to STR8UPHIPHOP to take a listen. Everyone on the internets seems to think it sucks, but that just goes to show you that the average person has no taste. I smell Grammy!
Labels: Britney Spears, Halloween, hot chicks, I LOVE IT, Lil' Kim, sluts
Monday, August 06, 2007
This Kim's sex tape will be freakier than Kardashian's
Apparently this has been going on for a while, so I don't know how I missed it. I devour celebrity gossip like Polyphemus does shipwrecked Trojan war heroes, and I'm always on the lookout for news concerning my favorite cunnilingus aficionado Kimberly "Lil' Kim" Jones, so it's a dreadful oversight on my part that I missed the news that she is now dating Ray-J.
If you're like, "Ray-J who?", Ray-J made a sex tape with socialite skank Kim Kardashian, and then helped Whitney Houston's cracked-out ass rebound from her divorce with Bobby. Apparently Whitney said an emphatic "hell to the no" with regard to her burgeoning romance with Ray-J, and he started going out with Lil' Kim! They've been spotted out and about together acting all couplish:
Good thing on that last occasion (a birthday party Ray-J threw for Kim) they didn't let Brandy drive, because nothing spoils a party like a deadly car accident. Keep that vehicular manslaughter-causing ho safely in the backseat and away from the steering wheel!
Anyway, I can't believe I didn't know that Ray-J is now one of the buffoons who eats Lil' Kim's pussy while she watches cartoons. This is breaking news and should have been on the front cover of every gossip magazine in America. Also, when is their sex tape coming out? Because as much as I imagine Lil' Kim's vagina looks like Charybdis and is equally treacherous to penises and ancient triremes, I know this chick will get way freakier than Kim Kardashian's spoiled, petty little ass could ever dream of doing. I'm having visions of Ray-J motorboating on Lil' Kim's clown tits and that is inducing some serious internal snickering. Also, it;s high time Lil' Kim finally actualized her dream of fuckin' a R&B dick, though it's sad she didn't get to bust nuts all over D'Angelo or find out what exactly is "the deal on that Prince cat" (who "be lookin' fruity, but you still could eat the booty.") I guess she can't have everything.
If you're like, "Ray-J who?", Ray-J made a sex tape with socialite skank Kim Kardashian, and then helped Whitney Houston's cracked-out ass rebound from her divorce with Bobby. Apparently Whitney said an emphatic "hell to the no" with regard to her burgeoning romance with Ray-J, and he started going out with Lil' Kim! They've been spotted out and about together acting all couplish:
Anyway, I can't believe I didn't know that Ray-J is now one of the buffoons who eats Lil' Kim's pussy while she watches cartoons. This is breaking news and should have been on the front cover of every gossip magazine in America. Also, when is their sex tape coming out? Because as much as I imagine Lil' Kim's vagina looks like Charybdis and is equally treacherous to penises and ancient triremes, I know this chick will get way freakier than Kim Kardashian's spoiled, petty little ass could ever dream of doing. I'm having visions of Ray-J motorboating on Lil' Kim's clown tits and that is inducing some serious internal snickering. Also, it;s high time Lil' Kim finally actualized her dream of fuckin' a R&B dick, though it's sad she didn't get to bust nuts all over D'Angelo or find out what exactly is "the deal on that Prince cat" (who "be lookin' fruity, but you still could eat the booty.") I guess she can't have everything.
Labels: Lil' Kim, oh the horror, perversion, rap, sex, sluts
Monday, July 23, 2007
No more surgery!
Every time I bust on Lil' Kim's looks, it pains me a little. I love Kimberly "Lil' Kim" Jones. She is one of the bravest, most noble, most pro-cunnilingus feminist heroes in the history of women's liberation, and I applaud her many efforts at bringing women's sexuality to the forefront with her patriarchy-challenging lyrics ("he wanted me to suck him, but I didn't, I ain't frontin'") and creative personal style.
Unfortunately, Kim keeps shooting herself in the foot--or more accurately, the face--when it comes to her plastic surgery choices. It stared with fake tits, then moved on to lip injections, skin lighening, and facial implants. However, I think that it's time for the internets to step in and take some action, because what Lil' Kim has going on these days is downright wrong. I just saw this picture on Dlisted, and in spite of being familiar with her current level of aesthetic (or lack thereof), I couldn't help but be a little bit shocked:
She's finally moved into straight Michael Jackson territory. Her face is so horrifyingly distorted that it actually makes her weave look natural. Whether her dramatic painted-on eyebrows, the blotchy pigmentation of her complexion, the botched eye job and/or facelift that resulted in those frighteningly wide eyes, the bizarre shrinking nose, or the general puffy bloatedness of the whole package is more of an embarrassment to her surgeon is up for debate. I can't imagine why she's like, "My last procedure went really well, I think it's high time I got another one. My (insert unadulterated body part here) hasn't been rendered hideously deformed yet, maybe I'll get that lifted/implanted/grossly reshaped," except that she has some serious body dysmorphic disorder.
I must BEG Lil' Kim to not visit her surgeon any more. Eventually she's not even going to be able to rap raunchily about how fresh her pussy is (sha right), because you know that's on her "to surgically ruin" list, and I wouldn't be surprised if she is going to Jenna Jameson's surgeon. Word on the internets has it that Jenna's vaginoplasty went badly, and now her cooze is collapsing like a tunnel in the Big Dig. Avoid the vadge work, Kim...your vagina doesn't need to get any tighter or righter. Also, given that one of her implants is reportedly leaking silicone into her thoracic cavity, I suspect she has lupus or rheumatoid arthritis. I'm fairly convinced that her puffiness is the sure sign of an anti-inflammatory steroid regimen, and though I'm not a physician, I would say that treating an autoimmune disease with an immunosuppressant is counterindicative for invasive elective surgery. Just stop.
Unfortunately, Kim keeps shooting herself in the foot--or more accurately, the face--when it comes to her plastic surgery choices. It stared with fake tits, then moved on to lip injections, skin lighening, and facial implants. However, I think that it's time for the internets to step in and take some action, because what Lil' Kim has going on these days is downright wrong. I just saw this picture on Dlisted, and in spite of being familiar with her current level of aesthetic (or lack thereof), I couldn't help but be a little bit shocked:
I must BEG Lil' Kim to not visit her surgeon any more. Eventually she's not even going to be able to rap raunchily about how fresh her pussy is (sha right), because you know that's on her "to surgically ruin" list, and I wouldn't be surprised if she is going to Jenna Jameson's surgeon. Word on the internets has it that Jenna's vaginoplasty went badly, and now her cooze is collapsing like a tunnel in the Big Dig. Avoid the vadge work, Kim...your vagina doesn't need to get any tighter or righter. Also, given that one of her implants is reportedly leaking silicone into her thoracic cavity, I suspect she has lupus or rheumatoid arthritis. I'm fairly convinced that her puffiness is the sure sign of an anti-inflammatory steroid regimen, and though I'm not a physician, I would say that treating an autoimmune disease with an immunosuppressant is counterindicative for invasive elective surgery. Just stop.
Labels: Lil' Kim, oh the horror, plastic surgery, rap, ridiculous absurdity, you're ugly
Sunday, May 20, 2007
A man who will eat it
Ladies everywhere cheered back in 1996 when my sometimes idol Kimberly "Lil' Kim" Jones said with the sagacity befitting the fountain of wisdom that she is, "If you ain't lickin' this, you ain't stickin' this." She went on to say, "And I got witnesses. Ax any nigga I been with...they ain't hit shit til they stuck they tongue in this." I think that one thing the world truly needed was a song exhorting men to consider performing oral on their lady customary, and Lil' Kim delivered by announcing triumphantly, "I don't want dick tonight...eat my pussy right."
In terms of finding a partner who meets this rigid criteria, Lil' Kim need look no further than today's copy of the Post for a man who has no qualms about going downtown on his "lady loves":
Well, hello there, handsome! Has anyone ever told you that you look like the product of a forbidden and ironic late-night tryst between Albert Einstein and Adolf Hitler? I can see why there have been five previous Mrs. Arthur Shawcrosses...that coquettish, seductive pose you're striking from your cell upstate has me logging into meet-an-inmate.com to find your profile as we speak. I cannot fathom how any woman would say no to a roguishly handsome serial murderer like yourself, and not immediately try to fulfill your "smorgasboard of requirements." I'm within the specified 24-100 age range, and I'm smart and employed, if you consider slaving away in the lab seven days a week for no money "employed." Unfortunately I don' have a car, because nobody who lives in NYC has a car, but I could rent one! And I'm blonde and have an Ivy League pedigree, so that should make up for my dubious job status and lack of vehicle. And I'm VERY touchy-feely...not only do I kiss and hug, but twelve years in Catholic school taught me how to give one hell of a bitchin blowjob. I'll even do anal if you get me drunk enough in the right mood. Oh wait...I guess I DON'T want Mr. Right to be a geriatric sociopath with a life sentence. Too bad, because Arthur Shawcross sure is a looker.
I would be stunned that this man actually convinced five women to marry his prostitute-strangling cannibal ass if I didn't believe that there are some women that would feel the way stated in the previous paragraph. Most likely there are a bunch of certifiably crazy women just dying to have a conjugal visit--complete with a side of fava beans and a nice Chianti, no doubt--in a trailer at Sullivan Correctional Facility with this psycho killer. That's probably why this loser can be so particular about not wanting any dumbasses or deadbeats, and generally act like a picky, discerning epicure of marriageable women.
On the other hand, I think Lil' Kim should accept his collect calls from the prison, because she is totally up to his high and exacting standards. She lives in the greater NYC area less than 150 miles from Fallsburg, she has discussed her proud ownership of several types of luxury whip (E-class Benz, Mercedes SLR McLaren, a fleet of gaudily-hued Lamborghinis, a Bentley in which she lays gently, Ferraris, etc.), she is within his demographic age range, and without question she'd be down to get it on in a trailer. Besides, as an ex-con herself, they could bond over their respective incarcerations and swap prison survival tips. She also is smart (as evidenced by her nearly Confucian level of wisdom concerning sexual politics), employed ("Search for the Next Pussyclot Doll" was renewed for another season, so Lil' Kim, Tranny Antin, and that guy from Sugar Ray will stay off the public dole and not have to retain Morrissey'sHair's bankruptcy structuring services for at least another year), and has been rocking a supremely busted carrot-colored weave as of late, so she even meets his phenotypic requirements. A legendary romance is imminent.
In terms of finding a partner who meets this rigid criteria, Lil' Kim need look no further than today's copy of the Post for a man who has no qualms about going downtown on his "lady loves":
I would be stunned that this man actually convinced five women to marry his prostitute-strangling cannibal ass if I didn't believe that there are some women that would feel the way stated in the previous paragraph. Most likely there are a bunch of certifiably crazy women just dying to have a conjugal visit--complete with a side of fava beans and a nice Chianti, no doubt--in a trailer at Sullivan Correctional Facility with this psycho killer. That's probably why this loser can be so particular about not wanting any dumbasses or deadbeats, and generally act like a picky, discerning epicure of marriageable women.
On the other hand, I think Lil' Kim should accept his collect calls from the prison, because she is totally up to his high and exacting standards. She lives in the greater NYC area less than 150 miles from Fallsburg, she has discussed her proud ownership of several types of luxury whip (E-class Benz, Mercedes SLR McLaren, a fleet of gaudily-hued Lamborghinis, a Bentley in which she lays gently, Ferraris, etc.), she is within his demographic age range, and without question she'd be down to get it on in a trailer. Besides, as an ex-con herself, they could bond over their respective incarcerations and swap prison survival tips. She also is smart (as evidenced by her nearly Confucian level of wisdom concerning sexual politics), employed ("Search for the Next Pussyclot Doll" was renewed for another season, so Lil' Kim, Tranny Antin, and that guy from Sugar Ray will stay off the public dole and not have to retain Morrissey'sHair's bankruptcy structuring services for at least another year), and has been rocking a supremely busted carrot-colored weave as of late, so she even meets his phenotypic requirements. A legendary romance is imminent.
Labels: assholes, crazies, crime and punishment, gross, large exclamatory font, Lil' Kim, Morrissey'sHair, oh the horror, overcompensation, ridiculous absurdity
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Stick Wit sUicide
For some reason, after Dateline's "To Catch a Predator" ended, I flipped the channel over to the CW network where "The Pussycat Dolls Present: Search for the Next Doll" or whatever that show is called was on. I have no idea why I ended up watching this instead of Primetime's expose of up-and-coming porn stars, except that I caught a glimpse of Lil' Kim as I was channel surfing by, and my jaw just dropped. That bitch is fatter every time I see her. She's expanding like a fucking Hungry Jack biscuit in a hot oven. I swear to God she got lupus from her leaking breast implant and is now taking massive doses of steroids; she can't really be that fat now, can she?
Anyway, my fascination with the transformation of Lil' Kim into Mo'Nique got me to watch 5 minutes of this show, and it transfixed me with its train wreckishness. The girls, who all cry at the slightest provocation when their lackluster performance of "Buttons" failed to win excessive praise from their "mentor", the slut who currently sings lead for the Pussycat Dolls, are complete and total fucking morons. They make the girls on "Top Model" look like the committee of scientists working on the Manhattan Project in comparison. It's almost like the number one criterion for being cast was being utterly vapid.
Even better is when these bitches in their gangsta-font "PCD" wife beaters and cocked fedoras start rattling off Pussycat Dolls talking points to the judges about how they're here to be a "role model" (as opposed to "clap-spreading attention whore") because the Dolls are all about female empowerment and independence. And nothing says "womyn power" like a camel toe and a "Property of Stick Wit U" midriff-baring scoop-neck baby tee. At least it measures up to my old professor Saratoga120's interpretation of feminist actualization: "when there are many mediocre women as there are mediocre men in important, visible, or powerful positions." When I see Saratoga120 at LL Cool Jew's upcoming wedding, I'll inform her that finally gender equity has been achieved in the music industry and cite this as the most compelling piece of evidence.
The girls can't hold a candle in the "hot mess" department compared to the Pussycat Dolls' creator and producer, choreographer Robin Antin. I can state unequivocally that Robin Antin DEFINITELY AND FOR SURE was once a man. This isn't just a s/he-has-an-Adam's-apple kind of tranny. S/he looks like David Leisure (thespian noted for his work on "Empty Nest" and the seminal "Joe Isuzu" ad campaign) with one of Tyra Banks's discarded weaves on his/her head. S/he may not have had his/her gender reassigned as an adult, but I can picture him/her being one of those babies born a hermaphrodite, whose parents just picked a sex and ran with it when s/he was a baby. Whatever the scientific explanation, bitch definitely is packing a Y chromosome.
Bolstering the medical anomaly argument is Robin's general demeanor. The way she nods vigorously while smiling this vacant, open-mouthed grin makes me wonder if s/he didn't spend childhood riding the short bus with Corky Thatcher. Something is definitely amiss upstairs when a person shows that much primal, drooling, mouth-breathing joy listening to a trio of fake-titted, overtanned prostitutes perform atrocious covers of Ciara's "One, Two Step."
And then there's the aforementioned used-to-be-Lil' Kim. This woman, known for irresistable seduction lines such as "somethin' I wanted, but I never was pushy, the motherfucker never ate my pussy" and "I dug him, so I fucked him, it wasn't nothin'...he wanted me to suck him but I didn't, I ain't frontin'", actually lectures these bitches on how to be desirable. She acts like she's in fact cornered the market on sex appeal. John D. Rockefeller had oil, J.P. Morgan had railroads and banks, and Lil' Kim has sexiness? Sha right. The woman looks like she just ate an entire Popeye's, and I mean the ENTIRE restaurant, including the building. Furthermore, I think the CW was so busy dressing the contestants in PCD branded hooker wear that they forgot to budget for Lil' Kim's wardrobe, because she's wearing what looks like the same busted orange top that she's worn for virtually every TV appearance since she emerged from the federal penitentiary. She looks like a really slutty version of the Great Fucking Pumpkin, and don't get me started on her hair. Her wig looks like it was made of chicken wire, papier mache, and numerous coats of some sort of shellacking agent. My money's on Epoxy.
Don't watch this show. For weeks I've been referring to it as "Search for the Next Pussyclot Doll" to amuse J-Sexy. "Pussyclot" is a term in Jamaican patois that literally means "maxi-pad", but is often as an adjective to make an insult even more derogatory (ie: "you pussyclot motherfucker"). In this case, it is totally fitting. Unless you are feeling particularly masochistic, I would avoid this shit like the herpes the contestants are probably spreading around Los Angeles in their spare time. Jumping off a bridge would be a better use of your time.
Anyway, my fascination with the transformation of Lil' Kim into Mo'Nique got me to watch 5 minutes of this show, and it transfixed me with its train wreckishness. The girls, who all cry at the slightest provocation when their lackluster performance of "Buttons" failed to win excessive praise from their "mentor", the slut who currently sings lead for the Pussycat Dolls, are complete and total fucking morons. They make the girls on "Top Model" look like the committee of scientists working on the Manhattan Project in comparison. It's almost like the number one criterion for being cast was being utterly vapid.
Even better is when these bitches in their gangsta-font "PCD" wife beaters and cocked fedoras start rattling off Pussycat Dolls talking points to the judges about how they're here to be a "role model" (as opposed to "clap-spreading attention whore") because the Dolls are all about female empowerment and independence. And nothing says "womyn power" like a camel toe and a "Property of Stick Wit U" midriff-baring scoop-neck baby tee. At least it measures up to my old professor Saratoga120's interpretation of feminist actualization: "when there are many mediocre women as there are mediocre men in important, visible, or powerful positions." When I see Saratoga120 at LL Cool Jew's upcoming wedding, I'll inform her that finally gender equity has been achieved in the music industry and cite this as the most compelling piece of evidence.
The girls can't hold a candle in the "hot mess" department compared to the Pussycat Dolls' creator and producer, choreographer Robin Antin. I can state unequivocally that Robin Antin DEFINITELY AND FOR SURE was once a man. This isn't just a s/he-has-an-Adam's-apple kind of tranny. S/he looks like David Leisure (thespian noted for his work on "Empty Nest" and the seminal "Joe Isuzu" ad campaign) with one of Tyra Banks's discarded weaves on his/her head. S/he may not have had his/her gender reassigned as an adult, but I can picture him/her being one of those babies born a hermaphrodite, whose parents just picked a sex and ran with it when s/he was a baby. Whatever the scientific explanation, bitch definitely is packing a Y chromosome.
Bolstering the medical anomaly argument is Robin's general demeanor. The way she nods vigorously while smiling this vacant, open-mouthed grin makes me wonder if s/he didn't spend childhood riding the short bus with Corky Thatcher. Something is definitely amiss upstairs when a person shows that much primal, drooling, mouth-breathing joy listening to a trio of fake-titted, overtanned prostitutes perform atrocious covers of Ciara's "One, Two Step."
And then there's the aforementioned used-to-be-Lil' Kim. This woman, known for irresistable seduction lines such as "somethin' I wanted, but I never was pushy, the motherfucker never ate my pussy" and "I dug him, so I fucked him, it wasn't nothin'...he wanted me to suck him but I didn't, I ain't frontin'", actually lectures these bitches on how to be desirable. She acts like she's in fact cornered the market on sex appeal. John D. Rockefeller had oil, J.P. Morgan had railroads and banks, and Lil' Kim has sexiness? Sha right. The woman looks like she just ate an entire Popeye's, and I mean the ENTIRE restaurant, including the building. Furthermore, I think the CW was so busy dressing the contestants in PCD branded hooker wear that they forgot to budget for Lil' Kim's wardrobe, because she's wearing what looks like the same busted orange top that she's worn for virtually every TV appearance since she emerged from the federal penitentiary. She looks like a really slutty version of the Great Fucking Pumpkin, and don't get me started on her hair. Her wig looks like it was made of chicken wire, papier mache, and numerous coats of some sort of shellacking agent. My money's on Epoxy.
Don't watch this show. For weeks I've been referring to it as "Search for the Next Pussyclot Doll" to amuse J-Sexy. "Pussyclot" is a term in Jamaican patois that literally means "maxi-pad", but is often as an adjective to make an insult even more derogatory (ie: "you pussyclot motherfucker"). In this case, it is totally fitting. Unless you are feeling particularly masochistic, I would avoid this shit like the herpes the contestants are probably spreading around Los Angeles in their spare time. Jumping off a bridge would be a better use of your time.
Labels: celebrities, fat fucks, gender bending, Lil' Kim, media whores, oh the horror, pro-apocalyptic zeitgeist, ranting, sluts, TV
Saturday, January 27, 2007
An open letter to Lil' Kim
Dear Lil' Kim,
Let me start off by saying that I have loved and admired you for well over a decade. Ever since I first heard your magnum opus Hard Core when I was a dewy-eyed radical feminist fresh on the campus of Smith College, and my dorm neighbor Ashley played your CD for me, you have brought me nothing but joy. I threw out my Birkenstock clog and fleece pullover collection partly because of your unabashed brand of slutty feminism. I've supported you through all your plastic surgeries, your less-than-spectacular musical projects shamelessly capitalizing on your past affair with the late Christopher Wallace (ie: The Notorious KIM), and your beef with Inga "Foxy Brown" Marchand. I defended your honor when you were in prison and haters decried you and maligned your character. I put up with your disparaging the integrity and mores of my boyfriend Curtis Jackson. I even dressed up as you this past Halloween, a tribute I reserve for the figures most sacred to me, placing you in the revered company of such luminaries as King Slut, a valkyrie, Britney Spears, Satan, Darryl Hannah from Clan of the Cave Bear, and the St. Pauli Girl. You are a beacon of hope and a font of inspiration to me, and I won't forget that.
However, that said, I was extraordinarily disappointed with what I saw the other day. Instead of doing something constructive, like working off that penitentiary weight with the exercise regimen you once touted (jog five miles a day then hit the sauna, rock Chanels and smoke mad marijuana), you went on TV and announced that are an integral part of what will undoubtedly be a very regrettable creative project. You are going to be a judge on the CW Network's new reality competition, "Pussycat Dolls Present: Search for the Next Doll." I am consoled only by the fact that you look as unhappy about this prospect as I am:
As if it weren't bad enough that you're doing this, Kim, I have to tell you that you aren't looking so hot these days. You should have spent your leisure time at the gym instead of getting your lips stuffed with Restalyne to the point where they're the size of Jay-Z's. Your wig looks like a hand-me-down from the closet at Whitney Houston's crackhouse, and I don't know what is going on with your left breast. It looks like you didn't get that leaking implant repaired. I would suggest shying away from shapeless blousey tops reminiscent of a flour sack in the future until you get your tits in order. The only thing that makes you look slightly appealing is the fact that you're sitting next to that stringy hooker Robin Antin, the choreographer who masterminded the Pussycat Dolls, and she looks like she rose from her grave, got some cheap extensions, and went looking for some brains to eat. It's not good that the best thing I can say about you is that at least you don't look like the tranny undead.
Are you that desperate for money, Kim? Because the only other explanation I can think of for why you would affiliate yourself with the Pussycat Dolls is that you read their name wrong and mistakenly thought they were called the Pussyeat Dolls. Being that I am very familiar with your music, I know that a prevalent theme of your music is the unending quest for receiving oral, and I can see how such a misinterpretation of the Pussycat Dolls' name could confuse and mislead you.
Also, why is another Pussycat Doll even needed? There are already six of them, and in my view that's six too many. They already have, from left to right, a chick who just came from an audition for "Red Shoe Diaries", a woman who appears not to have gotten over the fact that she isn't in junior high anymore, a wannabe goth vampire chick trying to look like the lead singer of Evanescence, an obvious fan of overusing self-tanner, a faux punk lesbian with entirely too much eye makeup, and an elderly M2F transgendered person. Is there some other variety of sorely needed costume-wearing slut that would truly improve this ensemble?
Furthermore, Kim, what are your qualifications for judging prospective Pussycat Dolls? Apart from your shared love for extraordinarily tacky, body-baring costumes and low budget hairpieces, you have little in common. Whereas you've directly addressed and revelled in your trampy ways, the Pussycat Dolls try to keep it under wraps. I went to their website today, and after the mind-numbingly painful experience of reading the girls' blogs, I realized that they are so concerned about avoiding profanity that they can't even write "grass", "competition", or "hello"without some well-placed asterisks to disguise the vulgarities within those seemingly innocuous words. They might include the odd sexual innuendo in their lyrics about pushing buttons and men looking at their "beeps", but I guarantee they never have and never will write shit like "somethin' I wanted, but I never was pushy, the motherfucker never ate my pussy", "I dug him, so I fucked him, it wasn't nothin'...he wanted me to suck him but I didn't, I ain't frontin," or "I ain't out shoppin' spendin' dudes' C-notes...I'm in the crib giving niggas deep throat." Your lyrical style is so inherently different that I can't see how you would possibly judge a Pussycat Dolls' song on the basis of lyrical content. Also, you are not the world's greatest singer. You are certainly capable of spitting lines concerning your "hard core flow that keep a nigga dick rock", but you can't carry a tune to save your life. God, there's one song on Hard Core where you can't even execute a sort-of singing imitation of Buddhist chanting. Although the existing Pussycat Dolls aren't exactly on par with, say the soprano performing in the Met's production of Die Walkure, they can at least butcher their bastardization of Sir Mix-a-Lot's classic "Swass" hook on key. What sort of experience (excluding that of the sexual variety) can you draw upon when selecting the next Pussycat Doll? It's not like you're Tommy Mottolla or Clive Davis or something. Christ, even when Diddy tried to do this the best he could produce was the caterwauling abortion known as Danity Kane. You're out of your league here, girl.
I know that you probably get letters such as this one regularly, so I'm sure this is not the first time a fan has questioned your career choices. Therefore I implore you to PLEASE drop out of this project immediately, hit the gym, cancel any appointments you might have with Michael Jackson's plastic surgeon (trust me, you DON'T need any more work done), get into the studio, and write more songs about your heroic quest for cunnilingus. If you insist on getting involved with a television project, then ask BET if they'll let you do another awesome reality show. RUN, don't walk away from anything having to do with these stank vagina-having drag queen whores. If you won't do it for yourself, do it for your fans, because it's going to be very difficult indeed to support you when you have a shitshow like this on your CV. I beg you to save yourself.
Skoal,
Razzy
Let me start off by saying that I have loved and admired you for well over a decade. Ever since I first heard your magnum opus Hard Core when I was a dewy-eyed radical feminist fresh on the campus of Smith College, and my dorm neighbor Ashley played your CD for me, you have brought me nothing but joy. I threw out my Birkenstock clog and fleece pullover collection partly because of your unabashed brand of slutty feminism. I've supported you through all your plastic surgeries, your less-than-spectacular musical projects shamelessly capitalizing on your past affair with the late Christopher Wallace (ie: The Notorious KIM), and your beef with Inga "Foxy Brown" Marchand. I defended your honor when you were in prison and haters decried you and maligned your character. I put up with your disparaging the integrity and mores of my boyfriend Curtis Jackson. I even dressed up as you this past Halloween, a tribute I reserve for the figures most sacred to me, placing you in the revered company of such luminaries as King Slut, a valkyrie, Britney Spears, Satan, Darryl Hannah from Clan of the Cave Bear, and the St. Pauli Girl. You are a beacon of hope and a font of inspiration to me, and I won't forget that.
However, that said, I was extraordinarily disappointed with what I saw the other day. Instead of doing something constructive, like working off that penitentiary weight with the exercise regimen you once touted (jog five miles a day then hit the sauna, rock Chanels and smoke mad marijuana), you went on TV and announced that are an integral part of what will undoubtedly be a very regrettable creative project. You are going to be a judge on the CW Network's new reality competition, "Pussycat Dolls Present: Search for the Next Doll." I am consoled only by the fact that you look as unhappy about this prospect as I am:
As if it weren't bad enough that you're doing this, Kim, I have to tell you that you aren't looking so hot these days. You should have spent your leisure time at the gym instead of getting your lips stuffed with Restalyne to the point where they're the size of Jay-Z's. Your wig looks like a hand-me-down from the closet at Whitney Houston's crackhouse, and I don't know what is going on with your left breast. It looks like you didn't get that leaking implant repaired. I would suggest shying away from shapeless blousey tops reminiscent of a flour sack in the future until you get your tits in order. The only thing that makes you look slightly appealing is the fact that you're sitting next to that stringy hooker Robin Antin, the choreographer who masterminded the Pussycat Dolls, and she looks like she rose from her grave, got some cheap extensions, and went looking for some brains to eat. It's not good that the best thing I can say about you is that at least you don't look like the tranny undead.
Are you that desperate for money, Kim? Because the only other explanation I can think of for why you would affiliate yourself with the Pussycat Dolls is that you read their name wrong and mistakenly thought they were called the Pussyeat Dolls. Being that I am very familiar with your music, I know that a prevalent theme of your music is the unending quest for receiving oral, and I can see how such a misinterpretation of the Pussycat Dolls' name could confuse and mislead you.
Also, why is another Pussycat Doll even needed? There are already six of them, and in my view that's six too many. They already have, from left to right, a chick who just came from an audition for "Red Shoe Diaries", a woman who appears not to have gotten over the fact that she isn't in junior high anymore, a wannabe goth vampire chick trying to look like the lead singer of Evanescence, an obvious fan of overusing self-tanner, a faux punk lesbian with entirely too much eye makeup, and an elderly M2F transgendered person. Is there some other variety of sorely needed costume-wearing slut that would truly improve this ensemble?
Furthermore, Kim, what are your qualifications for judging prospective Pussycat Dolls? Apart from your shared love for extraordinarily tacky, body-baring costumes and low budget hairpieces, you have little in common. Whereas you've directly addressed and revelled in your trampy ways, the Pussycat Dolls try to keep it under wraps. I went to their website today, and after the mind-numbingly painful experience of reading the girls' blogs, I realized that they are so concerned about avoiding profanity that they can't even write "grass", "competition", or "hello"without some well-placed asterisks to disguise the vulgarities within those seemingly innocuous words. They might include the odd sexual innuendo in their lyrics about pushing buttons and men looking at their "beeps", but I guarantee they never have and never will write shit like "somethin' I wanted, but I never was pushy, the motherfucker never ate my pussy", "I dug him, so I fucked him, it wasn't nothin'...he wanted me to suck him but I didn't, I ain't frontin," or "I ain't out shoppin' spendin' dudes' C-notes...I'm in the crib giving niggas deep throat." Your lyrical style is so inherently different that I can't see how you would possibly judge a Pussycat Dolls' song on the basis of lyrical content. Also, you are not the world's greatest singer. You are certainly capable of spitting lines concerning your "hard core flow that keep a nigga dick rock", but you can't carry a tune to save your life. God, there's one song on Hard Core where you can't even execute a sort-of singing imitation of Buddhist chanting. Although the existing Pussycat Dolls aren't exactly on par with, say the soprano performing in the Met's production of Die Walkure, they can at least butcher their bastardization of Sir Mix-a-Lot's classic "Swass" hook on key. What sort of experience (excluding that of the sexual variety) can you draw upon when selecting the next Pussycat Doll? It's not like you're Tommy Mottolla or Clive Davis or something. Christ, even when Diddy tried to do this the best he could produce was the caterwauling abortion known as Danity Kane. You're out of your league here, girl.
I know that you probably get letters such as this one regularly, so I'm sure this is not the first time a fan has questioned your career choices. Therefore I implore you to PLEASE drop out of this project immediately, hit the gym, cancel any appointments you might have with Michael Jackson's plastic surgeon (trust me, you DON'T need any more work done), get into the studio, and write more songs about your heroic quest for cunnilingus. If you insist on getting involved with a television project, then ask BET if they'll let you do another awesome reality show. RUN, don't walk away from anything having to do with these stank vagina-having drag queen whores. If you won't do it for yourself, do it for your fans, because it's going to be very difficult indeed to support you when you have a shitshow like this on your CV. I beg you to save yourself.
Skoal,
Razzy
Labels: celebrities, Lil' Kim, plastic surgery, rap, retard rage, ridiculous absurdity, TV, you're ugly
Thursday, November 02, 2006
I made my intro gettin' fucked in the Pinto...
...now I'm skin deep in the Lexus jeep. Well, as far as personal wealth goes I'm still pretty much in Pinto territory, but Lil' Kim lyrics are just fun to write. Since I've gotten a flurry of comments, e-mails, and MySpace messages from various Razzyphiles applauding my exposed breast Lil' Kim Halloween costume, I figured I'd just go ahead and shamelessly stick another picture of it up here.
Now, before all the haters come out of the woodwork telling me how fat I look, let me once again blame it on my fucking costume. After tearing apart TWO separate Ricky's locations on the Upper West Side, the only thing I could find that could conceivably be altered to resemble Lil' Kim's bedazzled off-the-breast VMA outfit from five years ago was this costume called "Ursa Minor":
Since this outfit is basically what would result if you allowed the people at Mattel to design uniforms for NASA, I assume that the "Ursa Minor" name refers to the Little Dipper constellation and NOT a small bear. Anyway, I was being jostled and prodded by the throngs of annoying Ricky's shoppers, and when I saw this after hours of searching, attempting in vain to explain my costume concept to the Ricky's staff (except the ladies at the wig counter...they got it), and feeling generally pissed-off and grouchy, I grabbed it. "No problem," I thought. "I'll just cut off that fucking ugly-ass lavender space-bib and petticoat, and since it's a leotard, it should be easy to fix it so that my right tit is hanging out." I noted that the costume said "One size fits all", but since the model wearing it on the package seemed relatively thin, I figured that the "one size" would be more geared toward women who don't shop at Lane Bryant. Why would fat people wear a costume involving a leotard in the first place?
How wrong I was. When I opened up the package, the tag on the leotard read "SIZE 14." SIZE 14?! I chided myself: Razzy, you stupid idiot, how could you not have realized that "one size fits all" obviously includes the rapidly growing ranks of the morbidly obese? As I was getting ready to hit the party at J-Sexy's house, she cackled her hearty, pealing laugh as she watched me desperately try to hide extra purple fabric by bunching it up my ass crack. Didn't work. I tried cinching the leotard with safety pins in various arrangements around my waist. Didn't work. I told J-Sexy when tying the skirt around my waist to incorporate as much spare leotard fabric as possible and "cinch that shit like I'm Scarlett O'Hara and you're lacing my goddamned corset". Didn't work. Nothing really worked, so although I managed to pull off a bold and daring Halloween look, I'm going to cringe at the illusion of fatness that this outfit gave me every time I see a picture of it for the rest of my life. I just try to channel my inner Queen Bee and repeat the inspirational lyrics to "Magic Stick" like a mantra: "this junk in my trunk ain't made for chumps."
Despite my concerns and self-consciousness, it seems that my exposed breast managed to distract everyone from the poorly fitted, relatively inaccurate approximation of Lil' Kim's purple VMA pantsuit. Yay for tits!
Now, before all the haters come out of the woodwork telling me how fat I look, let me once again blame it on my fucking costume. After tearing apart TWO separate Ricky's locations on the Upper West Side, the only thing I could find that could conceivably be altered to resemble Lil' Kim's bedazzled off-the-breast VMA outfit from five years ago was this costume called "Ursa Minor":
Since this outfit is basically what would result if you allowed the people at Mattel to design uniforms for NASA, I assume that the "Ursa Minor" name refers to the Little Dipper constellation and NOT a small bear. Anyway, I was being jostled and prodded by the throngs of annoying Ricky's shoppers, and when I saw this after hours of searching, attempting in vain to explain my costume concept to the Ricky's staff (except the ladies at the wig counter...they got it), and feeling generally pissed-off and grouchy, I grabbed it. "No problem," I thought. "I'll just cut off that fucking ugly-ass lavender space-bib and petticoat, and since it's a leotard, it should be easy to fix it so that my right tit is hanging out." I noted that the costume said "One size fits all", but since the model wearing it on the package seemed relatively thin, I figured that the "one size" would be more geared toward women who don't shop at Lane Bryant. Why would fat people wear a costume involving a leotard in the first place?
How wrong I was. When I opened up the package, the tag on the leotard read "SIZE 14." SIZE 14?! I chided myself: Razzy, you stupid idiot, how could you not have realized that "one size fits all" obviously includes the rapidly growing ranks of the morbidly obese? As I was getting ready to hit the party at J-Sexy's house, she cackled her hearty, pealing laugh as she watched me desperately try to hide extra purple fabric by bunching it up my ass crack. Didn't work. I tried cinching the leotard with safety pins in various arrangements around my waist. Didn't work. I told J-Sexy when tying the skirt around my waist to incorporate as much spare leotard fabric as possible and "cinch that shit like I'm Scarlett O'Hara and you're lacing my goddamned corset". Didn't work. Nothing really worked, so although I managed to pull off a bold and daring Halloween look, I'm going to cringe at the illusion of fatness that this outfit gave me every time I see a picture of it for the rest of my life. I just try to channel my inner Queen Bee and repeat the inspirational lyrics to "Magic Stick" like a mantra: "this junk in my trunk ain't made for chumps."
Despite my concerns and self-consciousness, it seems that my exposed breast managed to distract everyone from the poorly fitted, relatively inaccurate approximation of Lil' Kim's purple VMA pantsuit. Yay for tits!
Labels: Halloween, Lil' Kim, nudity, rap, Razzification
Monday, October 30, 2006
Nothin' make a woman feel betta...
...than Berettas and amarettas, butter leathers and mad cheddars. So says Lil' Kim, anyway, and I must agree, even though I don't have any of those things. I suppose the next time I go to a bar I could order a DiSaronno on the rocks or something and at least have one out of the four.
Despite my lack of handguns, almond-flavored liquers, upscale wearable animal products, and stacks of cold, hard cash, I still managed to portray a convincing Lil' Kim at the Halloween party I attended Saturday night. In spite of my dismay at not being able to find an off-the-breast purple pantsuit at Ricky's on Saturday and having to do some extremely amateurish alterations on the "Ursa Minor" size 14 spacesuit outfit I ended up purchasing (mainly because it included a purple leotard), as well as make a customized purple pasty, I ended up pulling it off. Here I am with the Columbia virology bitches. Left to right: the lovely J-Sexy rocking a fro as Foxy Brown (Pam Grier Foxy Brown, not the deaf rapper who wouldn't be standing anywhere NEAR Lil' Kim), myself and my tit, J-Dater (graduate from my lab) dressed as a public health grad student, and my fellow Fantasy Footballer Multiple Scorgasms in her Snakes on a Plane costume.
Okay, so nobody would probably mistake me for Lil' Kim on the street, but I got the point across. I was at least fronting to be in the same league as, in the words of the Queen Bee, "Zsa Zsa Gabor, Demi Moore, Prince Diane and all them rich bitches."
Despite my lack of handguns, almond-flavored liquers, upscale wearable animal products, and stacks of cold, hard cash, I still managed to portray a convincing Lil' Kim at the Halloween party I attended Saturday night. In spite of my dismay at not being able to find an off-the-breast purple pantsuit at Ricky's on Saturday and having to do some extremely amateurish alterations on the "Ursa Minor" size 14 spacesuit outfit I ended up purchasing (mainly because it included a purple leotard), as well as make a customized purple pasty, I ended up pulling it off. Here I am with the Columbia virology bitches. Left to right: the lovely J-Sexy rocking a fro as Foxy Brown (Pam Grier Foxy Brown, not the deaf rapper who wouldn't be standing anywhere NEAR Lil' Kim), myself and my tit, J-Dater (graduate from my lab) dressed as a public health grad student, and my fellow Fantasy Footballer Multiple Scorgasms in her Snakes on a Plane costume.
Okay, so nobody would probably mistake me for Lil' Kim on the street, but I got the point across. I was at least fronting to be in the same league as, in the words of the Queen Bee, "Zsa Zsa Gabor, Demi Moore, Prince Diane and all them rich bitches."
Labels: grad school bullshit, Halloween, J-Sexy, Lil' Kim, nudity, rap, Razzification
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Official Razzy Halloween Costume 2006
Every year my Halloween costumes get more outrageous and expository. I wasn't sure how I was going to top King Slut from last year, which was basically some gold jewelry, heavy eye makeup, a cheap pharoah hat, and three rolls of Rite Aid gauze bandages (ignore how extremely, sloppily, rip-roaring drunk I obviously am in this photograph):
All of a sudden I was listening to an old rap mix the other day, and "Big Momma Thang" came on, and I was like, "Oh, I love Lil' Kim". And then I was like, "Eureka!" OF COURSE! I'll go as Lil' Kim this Halloween. And since she's hit the bleaching cream so hard, my complexion isn't all that different from hers anymore. The only question is which Lil' Kim outfit should I attempt to reproduce?
#1. Diana Ross grabs your breast at the VMAs outfit (requiring off-the-shoulder dress, purple wig, and pasty):
#2. La Bella Mafia cover Lil' Kim outfit (requiring black wig, pasties, name necklace, and suspenders):
#3. Brand whore Lil' Kim outfit (requiring leather Louis Vuitton hood and black body paint):
I have to admit that despite my exhibitionist tendencies, outfit #3 is a bit daunting, as I'm not sure I quite have the balls to walk into a grad student party butt naked. Besides, given the designer millinery involved, I think outfit #3 actually is outside of my price range. I don't think the old "buycoachburberrylouisvuittonfendigucciprada" Chinese ladies on Canal Street sell bootlegged Louis Vuitton knockoff calf leather swimming caps.
Anyway, any of you Razzyphiles/haters want to weigh in on what may be my most important decision of the year?
All of a sudden I was listening to an old rap mix the other day, and "Big Momma Thang" came on, and I was like, "Oh, I love Lil' Kim". And then I was like, "Eureka!" OF COURSE! I'll go as Lil' Kim this Halloween. And since she's hit the bleaching cream so hard, my complexion isn't all that different from hers anymore. The only question is which Lil' Kim outfit should I attempt to reproduce?
#1. Diana Ross grabs your breast at the VMAs outfit (requiring off-the-shoulder dress, purple wig, and pasty):
#2. La Bella Mafia cover Lil' Kim outfit (requiring black wig, pasties, name necklace, and suspenders):
#3. Brand whore Lil' Kim outfit (requiring leather Louis Vuitton hood and black body paint):
I have to admit that despite my exhibitionist tendencies, outfit #3 is a bit daunting, as I'm not sure I quite have the balls to walk into a grad student party butt naked. Besides, given the designer millinery involved, I think outfit #3 actually is outside of my price range. I don't think the old "buycoachburberrylouisvuittonfendigucciprada" Chinese ladies on Canal Street sell bootlegged Louis Vuitton knockoff calf leather swimming caps.
Anyway, any of you Razzyphiles/haters want to weigh in on what may be my most important decision of the year?
Labels: Halloween, Lil' Kim, rap, Razzification
Subscribe to Posts [Atom]
