Prince Hot Ginge Ends His US Tour With An Air Kiss From THAT HUSSY!

Not pictured: The dozens of hands coming for Karolina Kurkova’s blond ponytail. Somebody needed to yank that ginge-stealing hussy tramp’s hair and drag her away for shamelessly air kissing on Prince Hot Ginge in front of all of us. And if we could see Karolina Kurkova’s face, you know she’d be saying, “And he’s anointing me with his scepter too, you jealous whores,” with her eyes. It’s like eating warm hot carrot bread in front of a starving orphan.

The clouds are covering the sun, millions of genitals have gone into hibernation and we can all put our lube with SPF away, because Prince Hot Ginge has finished scooting across America and is going back to England today. The last stop on PHG’s tour was a charity polo match in Greenwich, Connecticut yesterday afternoon.

It’s a sad day in America, but PHG will be back in a few months for the birth of his quadruplets with Karolina Kurkova (yes, air kissing with PHG immediately leads to a severe case of the BABIES!!) and the birth of his ginger centaur baby with the horse he rode in yesterday’s match (yes, PHG can knock up a horse even when he rides it with protection).

And Karolina Kurkova should shellac the inside of her nostrils, because she’s obviously inhaling a huge PHG fart here. Never wash your nose again, KK.

When A Poster Child Of Plastic Surgery Met A Poster Child Of Plastic Surgery

It’s like the before and after of a collagen embalming. You decide who’s the before and who’s the after.

The chemical aroma of melting plastic, burnt Shrinky Dinks and Turtle Wax was in the air at ArcLight Hollywood last night when Demi Moore looked deep into the face of her future on Cher’s head. I’m sure that Cher and Demi have run into each other before in the lobby of a plastic surgery clinic, but both of their heads were wrapped in gauze at the time so they barely recognized one another. But at The AFI Night at the Movies last night they could finally bond over their mutual love of the scalpel. Cher probably told Demi that she really needs a third lip, because three lips are so much better than two. Demi looked at Cher’s cheeks and told her that she really needs to put more CCs of silicone into those things, because if your face cheeks can’t perfectly fit into a 32B bra, they’re not big enough.

Looking at this picture makes me wish that Demi could really, really sing. Because if she could, these two could recruit Taboo from the Black Eyed Peas and start a Morticia Addams doo-wop group. If only.

And here’s the lucky ones who got to bask in the plastic beauty of Demi and Cher. In order after D and C: Shirley MacLaine with Sally Field (doing the “friends at the prom” pose), Kevin Spacey (he really needs to rethink his toupee situation), Harrison Ford (he really needs to rethink that earring), Kathy Bates, Samuel L. Jackson and Kurt “I Want To Swim Naked Through The Silvery Hair Waves On His Head” Russell.

That Trick Cressida Bonas Is Back!

This past summer, I waived Cressida Bonas away when she was spotted getting on Prince Hot Ginge at a club in London. Just like that wart on my taint, I didn’t think Cressida would stick around for long. And just like that wart on my taint, she came back and it doesn’t look like she’s leaving anytime soon. Cressida Boner really showed me to not underestimate her skills at luring the hot ginger one, because here she is snuggling up to his ass on a ski slope in Switzerland yesterday.

I know, how can Prince Hot Ginge canoodle with a chick named after a mid-size Toyota sedan in public, in front of the cameras, in front of our eyes! How can a hot ginge be so cold? I want to scream the same thing my ex-boyfriend’s mother screamed at him when he brought me home for dinner, “How dare you bring your WHORE into my house?!” The audacity! But whatever, that is just the jealousy talking.

I mean, look at this bitch’s life. After a long day of skiing with PHG, she gets to warm her frozen hands on his piping hot flaming dick bush. Then after warming her frozen hands on his piping hot flaming dick bush, she gets to sip tea while the Original Fergie gives her the juice about THE QUEEN. Then after the Original Fergie gives her the juice about THE QUEEN, she gets to burn her tongue on PHG’s stovetop nalgas. The life: she is living it!

But The Mirror and their insiders are wrong for calling her “the one.” Unless she’s a puppy wrangler who shoots vodka from her butt and can beatbox the European house song of his choice on command, she’s not the one.

Another Day, Another Blonde Kissing On Prince Hot Ginge

At the Salon nightclub in London on Wednesday night, British model type Cressida Bonas (whose eyebrow situation registers as a Brooke Shields on the brow scale) and the fire in the loins of my soul Prince Hot Ginge tried to be sneaky bitches by showing up to the club just minutes apart. But the Daily Mail says that once they both got inside, they got on each other like Fred Willard’s hand on Fred Willard’s peen at a stank porn theater in Hollywood. Bonas got a (lady) boner for PHG! The DM puts it like this:

Inside the club, according to onlookers, it was not long before she and Harry ‘hooked up’ and were seen kissing in a corner.
Dressed in a clinging white dress and vertiginous heels, and with a plait in her hair, Miss Bonas left at just after 4am, jumping alone into a cab. Harry departed with his bodyguards just ten minutes later.

Cressida Bonas is the daughter of the really hot named sixties model Lady Mary-Gaye Georgiana Lorna Curzon. If I didn’t look like this in drag, then I’d be a drag queen and Lady Mary-Gaye would be my name.

There’s no need to pull out my shank, because the sun rises in England about as frequently as a dirty blonde runs into a copy store and screams, “QUICK! QUICK! Somebody laminate my entire crotch, because Prince Hot Ginge has been on it and I never want to wash it again! I’ll pee through my butt!“

So we shouldn’t get to know Cressida Bonas, which kind of sucks, because I like her name too. It makes her sound like a Bond girl or like the name of a contest for the salespeople at a Toyota dealership circa 1991.

Cheryl Cole’s Vocal Cords Were Singed By Prince Hot Ginge’s Presence, Obviously

Above is a video from The Queen’s Diamond Jubilee concert of Gary Barlow and Cheryl Cole kicking, choking, stabbing, murdering, skinning and eating the face off of Lady Cerebellumorwhatever’s “Need You Now.” If a pile of shit could sing, it would sound like that video. If you’re looking for the perfect way to say “I hate you” to your ears, just press play on that mess. Cheryl’s vocal cords sound like they’re hungover and sad. But in Cheryl’s defense, she was talking to Prince Hot Ginge backstage.

The Daily Mail says that Cheryl and PHG got close and talked for a long time before exchanging numbers. If you were standing in front of PHG, your vocal cords would start tingling, your tonsils would swell up (because the tonsils are the clit of the mouth…why did I type that?) and you’d have to use all your strength on keeping your jaw shut since it naturally wants to open when in front of his royal ginger hotness. So this time, Cheryl has a valid excuse for sounding like a deaf, drunk walrus doing bad karaoke.

And more importantly, why in the Hell are they singing that song for The Queen? I bet when 1:15 rolled around the next morning, The Queen was really disappointed that neither Gary Barlow nor Cheryl Cole drunk dialed her ass.

Prince Hot Ginge Really Knows How To Pick The Finest Flowers In The Garden

Somewhere in Buckingham Palace, THE QUEEN! is pacing back and forth and is filled with so much worry that she’s about to order one of her maids to queef into her pocketbook over the rumor from The Daily Mail that the third in line to the throne is tapping his fiery scepter on the common pussy of an American (OFF!) cocktail waitress (‘ER!) who wears white Juicy Couture sweatsuits (‘EAD!).

A source tells the DM that two weeks ago, Prince Hot Ginge took a break from his helicopter training to guzzle down on the sweet nectar at the Andaz Hotel in San Diego. That’s where he met 26-year-old Jessica Donaldson, a “VIP cocktail waitress” at the Ivy Club who captured the royal loins of PHG with her vast knowledge of the American cinematic classic Laguna Beach and her ability to suck out a Jell-O shot from across a crowded room. The source says that since they met at the Andaz Hotel, they had lunch and went to see some jazz thing at The Belly Up Tavern.

I know I should be writing this on a Greyhound Bus as I make my way to San Diego to rip out that SoCal skank’s swap meet weave and force her to spit in my hand (Well, if she touched tongues with PHG, that means she has some of his saliva on her!!!), but I don’t mind this. Kate Middleton is a stick of boring with a dollop of pretty hair on top. Princess Jessica is just the kind of demure and delicate flower the English people really need. Kate is like Talbots and Princess Jessica is like a Frederick’s white sale. It’s meant to be. Princess Jessica is even inked with the crest of the English roses and Blue Curacao runs through her veins, which is the same thing as being a blue blood.

And Princess Jessica is already the luckiest slut on the planet since she can now tell her grandchildren that Prince Hot Ginge fucked her on a military base once.