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Oh, THERE you are Bobby Trendy!
I didn’t see you there.
Oh wait, let me restate that: I didn’t want to see you there.
Great AMAs aesthetic.
We have been dying for you to cover your shit up for years. And now, look! You look fabulous!!! And FIERCE! Never better.
Keep up the good work! Don’t stop it if it’s workin’.
Filed under: AMAs, American Music Awards, Awards Shows, Bizarre Sartorial Choices, Bobby Trendy, Cover-Up, Crazy Faces, Face, Famous-For-Nothings, Good Moves, Photo Op Victims, Red Carpet Whores, Shit On Your Face, Ugh, What Does This Person Have To Do WIth Music?
If the tumbling world economy doesn’t kill the luxe House of Chanel (Lawd, please, no!), I do worry that an icky epidemic of sublebrity surrogates will.
I mean, as if this display alone isn’t bad enough…
…then (Ewwww!) THIS should do the trick:
Ultra-shame is the nail in the coffin, guys. The nail in the coffin.
Filed under: Bobby Trendy, Bringing Down the House, Chanel, Economic Crisis, Famous-For-Nothings, Heidi Montag, karl lagerfeld, Lindsay Lohan, Paris Hilton, Puke, Shame by Celebrity Proxy, Sublebrities
Price and Bobby Trendy shop for garish trimmings in Los Angeles
BOBBY: Tuck and roll, baby! And, ohmigosh,what’s-your-name, you arm poufs are smashing. SMASHING!
PHOEBE: We look hot. My name’s Phoebe.
BOBBY: [forgets instantly] I don’t care. My name’s Bobby.
PHOEBE: [forgets instantly] Right.
PHOEBE: So did you hear about that bitch, Diana, at DISGRASIAN?
BOBBY: Ooh! What happened to her? Is she muerto?
PHOEBE: Oh–nothing. She just went away for a week. Didn’t you notice that the blog got about 100 times funnier while she was away? Anyway, she’s back.
BOBBY: I never think that bitch is funny.
PHOEBE: No. But the other bitch is hi-larious.
BOBBY: Which bitch?
BOBBY: [confused] Oh–oh.
PHOEBE: You look confused.
BOBBY: Wait, you can read?
PHOEBE: You can’t?
BOBBY: [dramatic pause] No.
BOBBY: [with dismay] I can only read two words: “Juicy” and “Couture.” No wait, I can also read: “Hump” and “Day.”
PHOEBE: Oh, THANK GOD! At least you have that.
BOBBY: It’s all I need.
PHOEBE: What about this? Y-O-U A-R-E A N-E-R-D.
BOBBY: Um… does that spell “unicorn?”
BOBBY: Oh, goody!
PHOEBE: How about this? Y-O-U-R F-A-C-E I-S T-O-R-E U-P!
BOBBY: I–um, red-headed ginger lady–you are going a little fast for Bobby!
PHOEBE: Oh, I’m sorry, love. L-I-P G-L-O-S-S I-S F-O-R L-A-D-I-E-S.
BOBBY: Stop it! Stop it!
PHOEBE: Oh, I’ll stop it.
BOBBY: [sobbing heavily] STOP IT!
PHOEBE: [cackles] O-H-K-A-Y.
BOBBY: You’re the devil!
PHOEBE: [laughing to tears] Y-E-S I A-M! A-N-D Y-O-U A-R-E A D-I-S-G-R-A-C-E T-O Y-O-U-R R-A-C-E!
BOBBY: [collapses in a pile of leopard spandex]
The wait service in Los Angeles is notoriously bad–this, however, takes “bad” to a whole new level.
A pair of shorts, darlin’? Is that too much to ASSk?
I don’t wear perfume. I find it too sweet and cloying, like Brooke White on American Idol. For that reason and, um, a few others, you won’t find me dabbing Kimora Lee Simmons’ latest
self-promoting pile of ‘ca ware, Fabulosity the fragranzzz, behind my ears any time soon.
What did grab my attention regarding Kimora’s new perfume was its description on several sites as a “fruity oriental.” I was, like, come again? Who ya callin’ Fruity Oriental?
But then the Great Google Oracle told me that Fruity Oriental is actually a common classification in the olfactive arts.
Shows you what I know about fragrance.
at the launch party for Tori Spelling’s new book, sTori Telling
BOBBY: We are faaaaabulous!
KHLOE: Who are you, again?
BOBBY: Who are you, again?
KIM: Bobby, your bony hips are blocking my ass.
BOBBY: Girl, the sun couldn’t cover your ass. Does anybody ever call you Kim Kard-ass-ian?
KHLOE: People call me “the fat one!”
KHLOE: It’s my fault, though… I should never wear pants like these.
BOBBY: Listen, Chubs, you have nothing to worry about. The one on my left is pushing maximum density here. If her face gets any bigger, her ass is going to start getting mad.
KHLOE: (laughs evilly) You’re BAD!
BOBBY: I AM! (snaps fingers)
KHLOE: That almost makes those icky shoes excusable.
BOBBY: These shoes are FIERCE!
KHLOE: When you say “fierce,” your eyes cross a little.
KIM: (snaps to) Guys, are you talking about something? I was busy trying to remember my middle name.
KHLOE: Did you remember it?
KIM: No. Wait, yes. It’s Kardashian.
KIM: (To Bobby) Augh… thinking is so bad for my skin. I think a lot and stuff, and like, I get this way all the time. It’s like, how am I supposed to remember the difference between left and right? Why do I have to know that the Earth spins around the moon? One night, I was trying to count how many guys have peed on me and I got so frustrated and tired I just fell asleep without Cecilia taking my makeup off.
KHLOE: (To Bobby) She can’t really count above forty.
KIM: Thirty-eight, Thirty-nine… shit! Um. Forty, Sleventy.
BOBBY: Wow. For the very first time in my life, I’m actually not the biggest mess here.
KIM: My name begins with a “K!”
BOBBY: Aren’t you guys Asian?
KIM: Kind of!
KIM: Yeah-huh. Kourtney told me were part Asian, technically.
KHLOE: Yeah, but remember when we met that bitchy girl Diana from DISGRASIAN? She pushed her glasses up her nose and told us that we should never call ourselves Asian in public. Then she said a bunch of big words that you didn’t understand, and you asked her if she was talking China-ese.
KIM: Oh, right.
BOBBY: (whispers to self) Oh thank you baby jesus. And thank you, Diana Disgrasian.
KHLOE: Take the picture! We’re starving!
Filed under: Ass, Bobby Trendy, Girls You Wish You Could Un-Meet, Messes, Ohmygod Shoes, Peeing, Really Dumb People, The Fat One Is Usually The Nicer One, The Kardashians, Tori Spelling Got A Book Deal?
After Britney’s most recent meltdown, Booby Trendy held a public candlelight “awake” for her, perhaps believing (or hoping) that she had gone the way of his late friend Anna Nicole, or perhaps because he knows neither the meaning of “wake” nor “awake.”
Every time he says, “I’m HERE FOR YOU,” it sounds like another malapropasian, and what I think he really means is:
I’m fuckin’ crazy. I’m really fuckin’ crazy. I’m so totally fuckin’…hey! What the hell happened to my lips?!?
Sure, I’ve surmised that the slippery little lady toppled over on some secondhand Vivienne Westwood platforms while drunkenly trying to flash her underthings to a passing city bus. Sure, it made me smile a little. But that’s burying the headline.
And that headline is:
…which fills my brain with all sorts of horrible, horrible images.
I had some thoughts about your “look” today. For starters: I do not like your haircut. It’s flat and makes your head look fat. Your lips are an atrocity; they are gucky and disgusting. Lisa Rinna saw those things today and said, “Ech! Can he speak?”
Oh God, your jacket hurts my brain. I love a glue gun and taffeta too, baby, but that lapel makes your chest look like pale-pink squeeze-tube flesh, and shows off that hideous neck accroutrement. And those boots. Boots! It’s the middle of summer! Faux Pas City! It’s tragic. I realize those boots were $125 on Hollywood Booly, but they LOOK like they cost $45! That’s right! Cheap to cheaper! Awful! Everything! Awful! I’m exhausted just thinking about it!
My mother always forces me to say something nice, so: I like that your eyebrows remind me of Grandma Munster.
P.S. So your fly is open. Big whoop. As you can see, that’s the least of your problems.