St. Tropez better declare a CODE ANTOINE DODSON (Hint: Lock up errbody!), because Kunty Karl has landed and he can’t wait to slurp up a drop of local non-fat virgin blood off his Chanel coke spoon. Don’t worry, Kanty Karl will force one of his slaves to throw themselves over his body so he won’t risk staining his pristine white jacket with mortal blood.
Speaking of Karl’s slaves, why isn’t one of them carrying his zombie clutch for him? Karl’s hand bones are much too fragile for him to carry his own clutch. Karl better punish them later by making them moisturize his culo lips with the tears of his victims.
Here’s more pictures of Kunty Karl struttin’ that ass through St. Tropez yesterday. If Dr. Claw got a job as a maître d’ at a fancy gay vampire lounge, he would look just like Karl!