My extreme hate for CROCS knows no bounds, so when these evil things were brought to my attention, my eyeballs immediately queefed. I just had to share my pain with you.
I thought regular CROCS were something awful, but this fuggery is on a whole different level. I don’t know how long they’ve been making CROCS Winter boots, but production must be stopped immediately! I don’t give an eff if they feel like thousands of fluffy Persian kittens cuddling at your legs. They look like dried vomit chunks on a log made out of pink diarrhea. These things don’t belong in stores or on feet. They belong locked away in the depths of Hell. Wait….I just realized how I’m going to spend eternity. Fuck.
When I finally meet my maker, Satan, and he opens the door to the suite where my soul will rest forever, the room will be covered in CROCS from top to bottom. Then I’m going to glance over and see an autographed picture of my arch rival CHERL BURKE in a CROCS frame, sitting on a CROCS table, next time to my CROCS bed.
Speaking of Mop Head, here she is in front of her beautiful blue house in Los Angeles yesterday.