Bow Down To Saint Angelina
The blessed patron saint of being better than you glided through Manhattan last night with her halo shining bright over her perfect head. Saint Angie Jo has a look on her face that says, “Behold! Your world mother is here to save you.” Or maybe the look on her face says, “I can’t move, because I’m made out of wax.” One of those.
I always know when Saint Angelina and her band of little deities are in town, because suddenly my allergies are gone thanks to her blessing of the NYC air. She’s like a gigantic box of Claritin. A snobby box of Claritin with obese lips. I mean, LUSCIOUS, not obese. Please, Saint Angie! It was a stupid joke! I didn’t mean it! Don’t banish me to Aniston Hell!
Saint Angelina and that man thing who is under the spell of her vagina will attend the premiere of “Changeling” tonight. You know the Brangaloonies have been camping out on the sidewalk for weeks, preparing to kiss the ground she walks on by slathering their lips with blessed Vaseline.
