I shouldn’t have even bothered to stick Dennis Rodman’s crusted-over scab face on Carmen Electra’s titty knob, because we’ve all seen it. Anybody who has breathed in oxygen has seen Carmen Electra’s nipple. Anybody who has committed cold-blooded murder after getting email #4,907 from LinkedIn in one day HAS seen Carmen Electra’s nipple. Anybody who has fapped to the Property Brothers and felt slightly weird about it afterward HAS seen Carmen Electra’s nipple. Anybody who as a kid told their friend’s mom to drop them off at another house because their front yard always looked fucked up HAS seen Carmen Electra’s nipple. We’ve all done all of those things and we’ve all seen Carmen Electra’s nipple. And everyone who ate dinner at Crossroads restaurant in West Hollywood last night saw it for the ten billionth time.
Because we live in a strange society where running around naked is considered not right and sometimes illegal, Carmen had to put on clothes before going to dinner with Travis Barker. But Carmen got around that whole “must wear clothes in public” shit by putting on a sheer dress that showed the nipples we could all sketch from memory even if we fell into a coma for 10 years and woke up not knowing much.
Carmen and Travis make sense together, but I have no idea what they talked about. They probably sat there pushing their food around until she heard the whistle from the paps she called. They went outside and she posed POSED posed while he got the car. Since she’s done Dennis Rodman on the regular, they drove to the nearest Hazmat facility where they boned on a tarp in a temp-controlled room (Fact: Germs grow in heat) before getting sprayed down with a mixture of bleach, ammonia and liquid antibiotics. Strangely enough, besides the paparazzi shit, that’s pretty much how all my dates have gone too.