Listen . . . players – they’re gonna play. And haters are gonna hate. And that’s where I come in.
Heaven forbid! You might be sick of the catty Katy show. I know what you’re thinking: Yikes! Babygirl is a jealous, bitter, cold-hearted snake who loves throwing shade around even more than she enjoys sipping crispity Chard in the company of ambiguously gay semi-midge laxtastic tools in perfectly-frayed Nantucket Reds.
Fine, you got me! And as we Slytherins down in the dungeon layer of Hogwizzie’s like to holler in our native Parseltongue: Passssthhhhaysppp ss saaaaasshhhhhshtthhhseee.
Which roughly translates to “deal with it, skank.” People sometimes insist that I have a blurred sense of right and wrong. I say it’s normal to simultaneously badmouth yet adore shiz. Because we often judge what we love. At least thats what Feinbergs tell eachother when we’re being snarky dickbrains.
I Hate/Love a lot of stuff, and you probably do too. Myself on weekend mornings, for starters. But certain tricks really tow the line between punch in the taco/copy her every movement. It’s this juxtaposition of good and evil that keeps shit interesting, in my book. Take a gander…
And last but not least, the evil style genius known as Olivia Pa-lame-o. She never really looks fugs and I have yet hate a single on of her costumes. But I don’t think we’d have much in common. She looks far too composed and wound-up. And I bet she never mows Changs. Or watches GCB in the nude while putting hot rollers in her weave.
Oy, the Jesus of Pinterest herself. If I read one more blog or tweet or self-important musing where some idiot sociology major is *OBSESSED” with the Palermo’s style, I’m going to puke up Sunday’s Cadbury Cream Eggs all over my damn self.