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.
While hanging outside of a house party in Beverly Hills on Saturday, human mountain of muscles and wolf hair, Jason Momoa, “canoodled” and touched lips with a piece who was not his wife Lisa Bonet. I think this is the best place for me to put the ClairHuxtableSideEyeAndFingerOnChin.GIF.
The NYDN news says that the ginger trick (who sort of gives me shades of Big Brother Rachel) is Jason’s ex-fiancee Simmone MacKinnon. Some source says that this is just a St. Angie and James Haven-style friendly kiss of love and they’re not bumping wet parts. They’re just friends, so Jaleesa doesn’t need to hold Denise’s bag while she whips a whore with her dreads. (Not that Lisa Bonet would give three shits about this.)
You know, those pictures are actually pretty tame and G-rated and not that big of a deal. You can tell that Simmone really does only see his hot ass as a friend. Because every human behavioral scientist will tell you that when greeting Jason Momoa, any peen-loving chick who feels things in her loins would grab her grappling hooks, climb his body, wrap her legs around his neck and say “hello” by kissing him on the mouth with her other lips, and she’d slip him the tongue. So there’s nothing to see here. Moving on!
Here’s Jason Momoa with a side of Zoe Kravitz and a side of Lisa Bonet at the L.A. premiere of Conan the Barbarian, which is a shit show I’ll wait to see in the comfort of my own private space so I can watch his King’s Hawaiian sweet bread pecs bounce in slow motion. But this isn’t about Jason Momoa’s King’s Hawaiian sweet bread pecs, surprisingly. This is about THOSE BROWS!
I’ve given several sermons about Jason’s hairy eye triangles, but I’m still torn. There’s the cholita lover in me that wants to wax them off with one swipe and throw them toward the Klingon homeland of Qo’noS where they belong. But then there’s a part of me that think they look like the gentle waves that carried Jason Momoa to the shores of Hawaii after Neptune made him by mating with a black pearl oyster during a falling star storm. TORN!
While I continue to tear myself apart over this very important eyebrow issue, here’s some more pictures from the premiere of this generation’s He-Man movie including some pictures of Rose McGowan and Rachel Nichols. I’m guessing it rained Crisco in L.A. last night, because everybody looks greasy as all hell. Like they were in the wrong place when Tommy Girl sprayed out a lube fart. Well, everybody but Rose McGowan was greasy. But that’s only because her skin is made of blotting papers. Rose is totally what it would look like if a sculptor with arthritis made a baby powder figure of Dixie Carter.