Note to you: Now you know that the only way to protect your brown-skinned baby boy from the claws of Madge is to line his crib with hydrangeas. Some vampires hate crucifixes, Madge hisses at hydrangeas.
During a press conference last week at the Venice Film Festival for the latest cinematic shit dingle that Madge has squirted out, a reporter type handed her a hydrangea since he knew very well that you’re supposed to bring some kind of offering to the vampire queen and he couldn’t get a hold of a basket of baby veins at the last minute. Being the refined English lady of the manor that she is, Madge graciously accepted the flowers with a fraudulent smile and when he turned away, she did the bitch squint with her eyes and then said to the ho sitting next to her, “I absolutely loathe hydrangeas. He obviously doesn’t know.”
It should warm your cunt gene to see that Madge’s oh-so-subtle bitchiness gets better with age. On the other hand, it should eat the edges of your nerves to see that Madge still talks like she’s Maggie fucking Smith in Downton Abbey. Bitch, you’ve had too much Paltrow in your life.
And right after Madge’s cold zombie hands let go of the hydrangea, it turned into death dust and was carried up into the lungs of the reporter by the airs of self-importance that she regularly queefs out. His last words were, “And I was going to give that cunt a good review.”
Here’s the hydrangea hater and her child army going through Heathrow Airport yesterday