At the BAFTA Awards (or “The First And Only Annual American Hustle Appreciation Awards” as we should call it since that mess is winning everything) in London tonight, the crowd parted as the holiest couple since Mary and Joseph sashayed through in matching tuxedos. Just like a power bottom’s b-hole after a busy weekend, I’m sort of torn about St. Angie Jolie’s look.
On one hand, I’m into it, because it gave me lukewarm shades of the greatest cinematic event of 1986 My Chauffeur and Shiloh probably styled her and at least she gave her fame whoring leg the night off. But on the other hand, she kind of looks like a malnourished and parched lemur lounge singer and the part of me that didn’t get My Chauffeur vibes got zombie Lady CaCa in Born This Way vibes and I never want to think about zombie Lady CaCa in Born This Way.
But on a more positive note, I am starting to sort of kind of like the bow-tie shaped grandma pube patch on Brad’s chin.