What more could a Tommy Girl want? Tommy’s got a French man face nuzzling up against him and his eyes are sending tingles down to his Scientolohole, because he has fallen in love with that Oscar statue. If you put your ear to Tommy’s head as he stared at Oscar, you would hear Color Me Badd’s “I Wanna Sex You Up” blasting in there. The places Tommy wants to take that gold-plated tube of fun (fart if you need a clue).
Thomas Langmann, who won that Best Picture Oscar for producing The Artist, better have kept his hands on that trophy the same way I kept my mouth over my vaporizer to get through last night’s show. Because if he left Oscar by itself for a quick minute, Tommy Girl would’ve un-velcroed the secret “easy access” flap on the ass of his pants and made it disappear by sitting on it. Tommy’s no-no would’ve sucked the gold right off of that thing and left Thomas with nothing but a grey shell of a trophy that smells like a bath house floor. So it’s a good thing Thomas didn’t let go. Actually, I take that back. Thomas should’ve given Tommy that Oscar, because it’s wrong to deny someone of true love.
Here’s more of Tommy with peen on the brain (no, seriously, that forehead looks like the imprint of a peen lying on his brain) at the Oscars and later at the Vanity Fair party with Stepford Katie. Katie looked like shit. Was she serious with those clip-on bangs and that polyester hair tail from Sally’s. Who does she think she is, Ambular from Clueless? Whatever.