Usually Christina Hendricks uses scaffolding, two tire jacks and five rolls of duct tape to hike her magnificent chichis all the way past her face until they’re touching her eyebrows. But at Vanity Fair’s Oscar party last night, her Mount Everest titty balls weren’t suffocating and they weren’t touching God’s feet and hos probably said to her, “So that’s what your face looks like, bitch!”
Christina Hendricks’ chichi domes look magnificent when they’re squeezed up to the roof of heaven or when they look like two extra large mounds of uncooked sourdough cooling on a rack (see: above), but what in Mrs. Roper’s cleaning dress HELL is that on her body?! When I was in the 4th grade, I had a friend whose mom didn’t have money to buy her a Halloween costume, so I helped her make a witch costume using a nun’s gown I wore the year before (yes, I was a nun for Halloween in the 3rd grade, don’t ask how much shit I got for that), a black curtain panel from Ikea and black construction paper. My friend’s costume cost zero dollars, was busted as fuck and was made by two brats whose hands were shaking from eating too much candy and it still looked more luxurious and fashion forward than that shit Christina wore. That dress looks like something Endora would wear to the funeral of a whore she hated. It looks like something from the American Horror Story: Coven collection at Dress Barn.
With all that being said, Christina Hendricks, hausfrau in mourning dress and all, was still the hottest look at that VF party (no, it wasn’t), because mostly everybody else (just Kate Beckinsale) looked like the last place loser at the Miss Bolivia 1993 pageant.
When you think of Donatella Versace it’s probably because you’re watching The Hunchback of Notre Dame or eating a bowl of charbroiled sausage coins and spaghetti, but that’s besides the point. When you think of Donatella Versace, you automatically think of the question, “What is the secret to her looking like Iggy Pop’s torso in a white blond weave?” You must share a brain with The Telegraph’s Lisa Armstrong, because she thought the same thing. During interviews with The Telegraph and WWD (via Fashionista), Donatella, seen below at Madge’s concert in Milan, told them that she stays young from cutting down on cigarettes, sleeping in a chilled meat locker and injecting her beautiful Play-Doh mug with Botox.
On how she keeps her face fresh so the Health Republic of Italy doesn’t recall it:
At 57, she looks astonishing. “How do I keep young?” she growls in a dust-bowl of an accent so thick it sometimes requires subtitles. “Haven’t you heard? I sleep every night in the deep freezer!”
On how she keeps the Botox needle away from her labia:
And in truth, she can look a bit fearsome. But to know her even a little is to understand that 70 per cent of her armour – the flaxen, waist-length extensions, the fake lashes, the Botox (“only on my face, not on my body, that’s the result of hard work”) and stormy expressions – is a front she has been cultivating ever since, aged 11, her big brother Gianni goaded her to peroxide her hair.
I see the Death Eaters pin-up ghoul wants to keep all her beauty secrets to herself. I get it. I mean, Botox, exercise and sleeping in a freezer? That’s shit only simple mortals do. Most of us know that Donatella keeps herself young by lacing her cigarettes with the fear of skinny children, sleeping in a vacuum sealed coffin and going down to the studio that makes Wallace & Gromit every other week to get her clay face re-molded. But don’t worry, Donatella, your beauty secrets are safe with us.
And Donatella also had something to say about feminism:
“Feminism is dead in the world. It comes from another time. I’m a feminist. I want to fight, but I don’t see many people with this desire to fight for something. Women don’t help each other, especially in fashion. I know Miuccia [Prada]… but that’s it. Nobody else.”
I think what Donatella meant to say is that feminism is dead, because there’s just way too many fat bitches in the world and it’s really, really hard for her to look at a fat woman let alone help one!
I know. I know. It’s Met Ball bukkake on Dlisted today, but this is hopefully my last post on this mess and I’m going out on a terrifying note by giving you things that do bumps in the night. While human hos at the ball sipped on calorie-free champagne, these vampires, zombies, charbroiled trolls and grandma witches sipped on calorie-free carbonated souls. If you put your ear to the screen, you can practically hear the screeches from a pristine young virgin running naked through the halls of the Met as these scary bitches chase after her. Where was Scooby-Doo and the rest of the Mystery, Inc. gang when hos needed them most?
Grab your crucifix, put your garlic bulb anal chain around your neck and get close to the Royal Court of the Death Eaters. In order: Mary-Kate Olsen (looking like the Snow White witch after the dwarves dropped that boulder on her), Anna Wintour, Ronnie Wood (with his toddler-aged girlfriend), Sarah Jessica Parker with Tan Mom’s skin idol Valentino, Donatella Versace, Chupa Zoe and Lana Del Taco.
The New York Daily News (via THR) planned to do a picture spread featuring non-models wearing some of the hideous tacky shit from Versace’s collection for H&M, but that idea was crushed into fine powder and snorted up by Donatella Versace after she refused to let size 6 fatties represent the Versace brand. That’s right. If you want to be photographed wearing a skirt that looks like it was made from the curtains of a HoJo’s in Boca, your body better be thinner than my will to live when I stare at Donatella’s Shroud of Turd face for too long.
The NYDN says that when they presented the idea of showing off the collection on the size 0 to 6 bodies of New York types, H&M told them to hold that thought, because they had to get Versace’s permission first. H&M didn’t think Donatella would approve it since she’s made it clear that she doesn’t want “real women” modeling the collection. The NYDN sent H&M pictures of the women they wanted to use. H&M was right, because Donatella declared that all but one of the women didn’t fit “Versace’s branding.”
You’d think that Donatella would bend her cunt rules a bit since: 1) Her daughter Allegra has suffered from anorexia for years; and 2) Ugly hos, fat hos, skinny hos, pretty hos and all of the other kinds of hos shop at H&M. But Donatella has a reputation as a nightmare-hearted cretin to uphold.
If Donatella let non-skinny people with non-alien faces wear Verace in a photo shoot, Kunty Karl would banish her from the Death Eaters’ lair forever. Then Donatella would be so upset that she’d eat actual food instead of human souls and she’d eventually turn into a normal person whose heart beats and who thinks reasonable thoughts. We don’t want this! Cunts like Donatella make our world go round.
Oh, and is Donatella wearing brown lip liner in that picture or did the person who anal bleaches her mouth miss a spot? If it’s brown lip liner, ten glamour points for Donatella. If it’s her anal bleachers’ fault, KILL HIM!
The noun “glamour” and the name “JLo” go together like Skeletor and solid foods, but Glamour Magazine still defied logic by naming her as one of their Women of the Year in some ceremony at Carnegie Hall in NYC last night. They gave her an ugly trophy that looks like a Target logo orgy and asked her to pose with the Claymation goddess who designed the dress she wore last night. WRONG MOVE.
On her own, JLo mugs the camera like the lens is an extra hung Q-tip and she’s a Botoxed Siamese cat in heat. But when you put JLo next to the exquisitely crafted Donatella Versace, her face falls into a state of natural demureness. Bitch looks so “made from the earth” next to Donatella. And we all know that natural is out for 2011! So JLo needs to follow the exit signs and let the glorious Candy Kong Muppet take in all the camera clicks.
JLo also needs to hand Donatella that trophy, because glamour IS a woman who is put together with Silly Putty and whose jowls tells us that she mines for diamonds with her mouth on the weekends. Fall back, JLo! Actually, JLo probably did fall back when she let go of Donatella and down came that bobble head toward her.