What In Union Jack Desecration Hell?

Taylor Swift’s relationship contract re-negotiations with Harry Styles broke down a million years ago and her b-hole is obviously still sore and chapped about it, because at last night’s Parade of Leonardo DiCaprio’s Past and Future Exes (aka the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show), she got revenge on her silent movie ingenue-looking ex-boyfriend by violating his national flag. It looks like Ginger Spice’s Union Jack dress got a severe case of the wet shits and exploded everywhere. BLASPHEMY! When Taylor is trolling the yard of a Manhattan high school while looking for a new piece today, a black pocketbook will hit her in the head. That’s courtesy of THE QUEEN who threw it from across the pond.

Anyway, while wearing a tiny hat that only looks good on Yorkies, Taylor of Sunnybrook Farms performed at the Victoria’s Secret Fashion show in NYC last night (this craps airs in December). Taylor’s BMI is probably in the negative range, but put her next to a bunch of models who weigh about as much as a baby mouse’s dry fart and she looks like me lying on my side after eating a bag of gingerbread cream cookies from Target. (It’s not my fault that Target shits out holiday crap before all the Halloween candy I swallowed has digested.)

Tommy Girl might think that acting is about as hard as being a soldier in Afghanistan, but he needs to try being a Victoria’s Secret model. Weeks before the show, they can only eat slivers of filtered air and ice cold mist. Then on show day, they’re put into panties and a bra and have to strut down a catwalk with 50 pounds of Michael’s craft materials on their backs as Leonardo DiCaprio and Adam Levine bid on them from the audience and Taylor Swift yodels in their ears. Try that, TG!

And every damn year when I look at pictures from this craft project wreck of a show, I wonder why the wish I made years ago hasn’t been answered yet. Why isn’t there an International Male UnderGear show? I want to see bedazzled dicks with heart-shaped mylar balloons tied to them. Yeah, I know I can see that at any males-only Scientology party, but I’m not down with the whole “signing over my soul at the front door” thing.

Pics: Wenn.com