Dozens of professional picture takers are in the emergency room right now after they broke most of their bones while stampeding over each other to get the first shot of the reason why the Emmys exist. If there was no Phoebe Price, seats wouldn’t be filled at the Emmys, the theater wouldn’t be balanced, the world would tip over, everyone would fall out and explode into stardust, and the Emmys would never happen again! Chicken Cutlets is not only saving the Emmys, but she’s saving the WORLD!
The scent of burnt breaded chicken cutlets is filling the air in L.A., because PP and the sun had a competition to see who could burn more skin and make more hos sweat. PP easily won by setting fire to the air with her piping hot pose game while wearing the mullet of meringue dress you wore to your prom in 1986 and donated to the Salvation Army a couple of weeks ago.
Since PP’s at the Emmys, every ho there can have a seat and stay there. I don’t mean that, because if hos stayed in their seats, PP wouldn’t have a job. And I don’t know how I wrote any of this shit, because I think my corneas got scratched the fuck up while staring at Giuliana Rancic’s sharp ass shoulder bones on E!.