Last night was the Costume Institute Gala where anybody with at least 5 IMDB credits to their name sprays their pussy with perfume, throws rhinestones on their b-holes and shows up at the Met to get stared down by the likes of Anna Wintour and Andre Leon Talley. It's kind of like the prom, but instead of awkwardly jacking each other off in a stall in the boy's bathroom, they stroke each other's erect egos out in the open. But who gives a dingle about that when we've got a pair of magnificent chichis in our midst!
When Christina Hendricks hit the carpet last night, the organizers of the Met Ball announced they were dropping the "Ball" from their name, because they knew they were not worthy. Even though it looks like there's a Muppets' taint bush hanging out on her shoulder, I'm still all about this (it's the chichis).
It's like some furry forest creatureling is sniffing at her honey dew melon patch. Wait. Or maybe that's one of Rip Taylor's old wigs? Or maybe it's Aretha Franklin's merkin spying on the competition?
Christina Hendricks' Mad Men co-star January Jones also showed up last night. Although, I think she got lost on the way to the Blade Runner garden party. It looks like Smoke Monster scooted his ass over her eyes.
And here's another "Harpo, who dis woman?" moment brought to you by the fuckery makers over at Esquire!
At first, I had no idea who the hell this was. Then I thought maybe this is one of those "perfect woman" hybrids. You know, where they create the perfect woman by taking Julianne Moore's eyes, Janet Jackson's second nose, Jessica Biel's bottom lip, Carrot Top's mane, Rojo Caliente's flavor, etc.. etc.... But no, apparently this Christina Hendricks giving us just an appetizer of titty. Whoever is responsible for Photoshopping needed to stop staring at her chichis while working on her face. I know they are a magnificent sight to behold, but DAMN!
Technically, it's a Mad Men Roger Sterling doll, but it looks more like a Mah Boo action (don't ask what kind of action) figure to my partial eyes. That pucker is unmistakable.
For just $75, the price of 2 martinis in Manhattan, you can own your very own Mad Men doll. Mattel is putting out a Joan, Roger, Don and Betty doll in July to promote the fourth season of Mad Men.
There's a few things Mattel forgot to add. First of all, where is the pair of red silk panties in Don Draper's jacket pocket? Second of all, why doesn't each doll have a Lucky Strike in their mouth and a stiff cocktail in their hand? But most important of all, where in the name of Aretha Franklin is Joan's magnificent chichis and 8th World Wonder ass?! Is there a plastic drought or something? I know we're in a recession, but Joan's body never is. They did her wrong. That doll looks more like my Asian friend Frances dressed as Ginger from Gilligan's Island for Halloween.
Elton John wants his name to be on the list when he gets to Heaven, so he made sure to invite earth angel Betty White to his Oscar viewing party last night. Betty White was kind enough to mingle with mere mortals like Posh and Michelle Rodriguez (who probably tried to creep on Betty's prune cake).
Most of us would be busting into a soul seizure if Betty White touched our hand, but look at Posh being typical Posh by trying to act like she could care less. Or maybe she's busy trying to deal with the psychical pain she's suffering on the inside from Betty White's grip slowly breaking her weak hand bones. Although, that's not saying much since a handshake from a ghost would hurt frail ass Posh.
Here's a bunch of other hos who showed up for the camera clicks and free booze. They are: The world's memaw, Michelle Rodriguez, Posh, Alan Cumming, KD Lang, Stacey Dash with Jamie Foxx, Christina Hendricks, Debi Mazar, Kelly Osbourne, Sharon Osbourne, JHud, Salma Hayek, a freshly washed Joaquin Phoenix, RuPaul, Scary Spice, a trio of bossy bottoms, Niecy Nash, and Harvey's second favorite pet donkey (next to Peter Andre, of course).
Christina Hendricks is really trying to fuck with us. In an interview with New York Magazine, she says talking about her body gives her the yawns (exact quote: "It just leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Back when I was modeling, if someone said ‘I’m fasting,’ I would say, ‘Can’t we talk about something else?’”). But here she is on the cover looking like Redpunzel trying to smuggle two gigantic onions past the garden witch. And yes, gigantic onion exist. This pepaw grows them:
Back to Christina. How am I supposed to save my keystrokes and not cyber slobber on and on about her magnificent chichis. That is impossible. You can't just put a dozen cupcakes in front of STAINS and expect him to not slowly lick them with his eyes. But just this once, I won't write a long haiku about how her chichis look like the ethereal pathway to heaven. Or how if you motorboat her long enough, you will see God winking back at you. I won't do that. Instead I'll silently Photoshop myself leaping from one chichi to another like Shelley Long in Outrageous Fortune.
Oh, look.....if you slowly peel your eyeballs off of Christina Hendricks' divine chichis from heaven, you can see that she wears glasses. Yeah, I don't think even her optometrist realizes she wears glasses! You know, every time I see pictures of Christina Hendricks I try not to slobber all over her boobs o' plenty like Tila Tequila at her Twitter log-in page, but I can't help it! The chichis speak to me. They speak to everyone. They will save the world. Even the cuntiest baby wouldn't kick Christina out of his crib.
Here's Christina, her Salma Hayek approved bitties and her husband at the Directors Guild Awards in L.A. on Saturday night.
We all know I'm gayer than Johnny Weir's Swarovski anal ring, but every time I see Christina Hendricks, my eyeballs immediately turns into a dehydrated baby. And last night was no exception. Christina's ethereal breasteseseseses made her dress look like a cloud of peach parfait that was whipped up in heaven by the hands of cherubs.
For a split millisecond, I actually forgot such a thing as peen existed (ILLEGAL, I know). But then the camera panned to the flaccid penis known as Billy Bush, so I was brought back down to reality again.
I'm going to print out this picture of Christina, show it to my bed pillows and scream, "BE MORE LIKE THIS!"