Donatella Versace may be my pick for best dressed mess at last night’s Meth Gala and that’s only because sources (that only exist in my head) tell me that she trolled the shit out of the KarJenners.
Because Anna Wintour will invite any ole’ trick with 10 million Instagram followers or more to the Met Gala, Kylie Jenner went again and looked like the low-tide baby of Draco Malfoy and Travis The Singing Trout who got caught in a barf-colored fishermen’s net. Donatella Versace is partly responsible for that busted look since she designed the dress, but that’s not the trolling I’m talking about. I’m talking about Donatella posing next to Kim Kartrashian’s fame whore apparent while looking like a really glamorous piss stream.
The original Kim Kartrashian was there last night, so I’m surprised that her packing peanuts-stuffed ass didn’t act on instinct and immediately rub themselves against Donatella’s golden showers gown. My only complaint about Donatella’s stunning sopissticated look is that she didn’t finish it off with a boomerang fascinator on her head. Then she’d really look like piss coming out of Ray-J’s boomerang dick. Next time, Donatella. Next time!
Fashion’s lone savior, Kanye West, wasn’t at the Met Gala last night because he’s still doing something that goes against everything the KarJenners believe in: he’s taking time away from the ho stroll. So Kim went without him and since she’s simple ole’ Kim now, she wore a plain Vivienne Westwood dress that looked like the liner that was supposed to go under Kylie’s dress. Kim is a leather corset and a turkey drumstick-between-the-titties away from looking like a Renaissance Faire wench. I also refuse to believe that Kim went to a fancy party without wearing millions of dollars worth of jewels, so I’m guessing that she had her bleach b-hole bedazzled with real diamonds.
Pimp Mama Kris has a rule. If several members of her koven go to the same event, the majority of them have to show their asses, literally. Kim is in her nun phase, so it was up to Kendull Jenner to show up with her nalgas out in La Perla netting.
If Kendull’s ass could speak, it’d scream, “Forget about Pepsi! Forget about the Fyre Festival! Talk about me instead!” It kind of worked. I forgot about Pepsi and Fyre for a second, because I was too busy yawning over her wearing the Frederick’s of Hollywood clearance section version of Rose McGowan’s legendary VMAs dress.