Kelly Osbourne’s break-up from Luke Worrall, the Children of the Damned refugee who fell into an episode of SKINS, was about as pleasant as chewing on an aluminum foil dick (exhibit: A), and it seems like the crusty, juicy scabs on her hurt feelings are far from being healed. (Side whisper: Am I the only sick bitch who kept a scab meat collection in a Snapple bottle as a child? Don’t answer that.)
Kelly bit off the head of her engagement and spit it into the trash when she found out that Luke was passing his peen to model Elle Schneider, who is in the process of turning her peen into a poon. Kelly tells the UK’s Glamour Magazine (via The Sun) that Luke cheating on her with a fugster from the fug garden would’ve been easier to deal with than Luke cheating on her with a trans woman. That bronzer bruise on Kelly’s face that Amanda Lepore just made by throwing her a high-powered icy glare isn’t going to rub off. Kelly should just give it a name and learn to love it, because it’s there to stay. Don’t fuck with Mandy.
This is the mess that came out of Kelly’s mouth:
“Having to tell my parents my ex-fiancé Luke had cheated on me with a tranny was so humiliating. Everyone kept telling me that Luke was cheating on me, but I never believed them. It’s hard enough to get your head around someone cheating on you… but when when someone is a chick with a dick? I’d always thought the worst way to get cheated on would be with an ugly girl.”
Coming from someone whose ex-boyfriends have cheated on him with all kinds of trick, it hurts all the same, pretty much. If a bitch cheats on you with a bald walking fupa whose got moles on its teeth and eyebrows over its upper lip, it hurts. If a bitch cheats on you with a supermodel goddess whose got an asshole that tastes like candy apple and a 9-inch deep belly button that doubles as an extra fuck hole, it hurts. It hurts because you let your black heart beat for an asshole who can’t even send you a “P.S. I’m about to fuck a hole that doesn’t belong to you” text before fucking said hole that doesn’t belong to you.
The truth is, the only time I didn’t feel so bad about a ho cheating on me was when the piece he was down low dicking on the side was a woman. It didn’t feel better because she had a vagine. It felt better and I understood because her name was Crystal. My name is Michael. Her name is Crystal. What name would you rather call out while riding on a melodic orgasm? Exactly.