The Cities of Beverly Hills and West Hollywood recently banned Mickey Rourke* from wearing his signature, taint-hugging Spandex leggings, because their hospitals could no longer fit all the hos whose pussies fell out and whose heads nearly cracked opened when they hit the concrete after fainting from seeing this plastic pillar of raw sexiness. So during a little shopping trip to Beverly Hills over the weekend, Mickey decided to keep the Spandex leggings at home and instead he strut the streets in some sensible khakis, a demure v-neck that I’m sure is the exact shade of peach as his no-no lips and a Louis Vuitton clutch for him to swat the desperate whores who themselves at his feet.
Mickey Rourke’s face is looking smoother than a Reborn Doll’s butt and that may or may not be because The Property Brothers recently did some renovation work on his mug. But the real star of these pictures is his hair. That hair is both edgy and sophisticated. It’s the hair a grandma would get if she opened up an art gallery in the 80s. That hair is giving me flock of seagulls. No, I don’t mean the band. I mean it looks like an actual flock of seagulls. But Mickey’s hairstyle is making everyone sing, “And I raaaaaaaan…to the nearest salon to get this look.”
* No, they didn’t.