Did anybody else read this in The New York Post today?
1) Who does your hair? Très weedwacker. I hate it.
2) Great halter top. I just googled you. I love that you apparently have a halter “thing.”
3) Who exactly are you and why should you be a celebrity? No no no, I mean really. And you have to answer the question without using the words “Lachey” or “reality TV” or “Koi.”
4) And lastly, this. I realize that’s it’s difficult to feel bad for Sir Paul McCartney’s [allegedly] gold-digging, once-racily-photographed, now-$56-million-dollars-richer ex, but DAYUM girl! These backhanded compliments about a legless lady just make you seem like a big ol’ halter-topped bully. What’s going to happen when taping starts? Are you going to yell “Hey Heather! Wanna be my partner in the three-legged race?” from across the dance floor? Why not just chase after her with a spitwad launcher while taunting, “Monopod, Monopod…”
Keep it clean, Carol. Sorry, CHERYL. CHERYL. I’ll get it right next time, I promise.
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