My wet dreams tell me that when you take a mythical ride on the mighty hammer of Thor on ASkars’ crotch, you are suddenly shot into a magical world of wonder where all nipples look like they belong in a Maynards bag and you develop an uncanny ability to make complete sense out of assembly instructions for Ikea furniture. So the fall from that euphoric orgasm is probably a hard one and leads you to do dark and dirty shit. Unfortunately for Kate’s stomach, that “dark and dirty shit” doesn’t involve eating something other than water soup and oxygen burgers. Instead of eating her feelings, Kate is fugging up her feelings and wearing them all over her body.
While leaving a Coldplay concert in L.A. last night with movie director Michael Polish, Kate looked like a wet troll doll stuck on top of a pencil. Easter egg dye is reserved only for hard boiled eggs, not for the splintery mop of straw on your head, ho.
When you tell who ever is doing your hair that you want it to look like a melted Firecracker Popsicle without the fire and he quits your ass on the spot, you should take that as a hint. Bitch looks like the broom my abuelita used when she tried to sweep blue cake frosting off of the patio after my 7th birthday party. (Yeah, I don’t know why abuelitas always try to sweep shit that isn’t sweepable.)
Although, Kate did show up to a Coldplay concert even though there were rumors that Chris Martin cheated on Fishy with her, so I’ll give her that. Anything that makes Fishsticks Paltrow ask the concierge at her hotel in Paris where the nearest organic kitten imported from Holland is so she can punch it is fine by me. (Note: I do not condone taking out your frustrations on a kitten. Organic or otherwise.)