You think you shit glitter, but you’re nothing but a fish-lipped dirt squirrel living in a gated community of idiots. You are an emotional vampire with an eating disorder and an adderall addiction. You subsist on celery and chaos. If you ever had a conscience, you got rid of it like a prom night dumpster baby. The botox injection sites on your forehead connect to form the shape of a pentagram. I feel sorry for your hair extensions. May your death involve duct tape.

Thomas Kinkade

kincaid

 

Everyone needs to stop referring to Thomas Kinkade as an artist. He wasn’t an artist. He was a craftsman. There’s a huge difference.

A master craftsman can pump out a highly refined work product that isn’t actual art in much the same way that Olive Garden can pump out a highly refined menu that isn’t actual Italian food.

Craftsmanship isn’t artistry. That’s Kincade’s legacy.

 

Courtney Stodden

stodden

 

Part of me wishes that Courtney Stodden was a performance artist, and this is all subversive postmodern commentary on American hegemonic value systems. The other part of me is just glad someone picked up the Anna Nicole Smith torch and ran with it.

 

Fanny Packs

fanny pack

 

Fanny Packs

My fanny pack prediction is still going strong. Givenchy, Michael Kors, and Topshop Unique rocked various versions of their hip huggers on the runway.

Raffia Pom Pom Hat

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Raffia Pom Pom Hat

Head candy was plentiful at this season’s runway shows, and this item from Burberry is my favorite. The Brits don’t mess around when it comes to fancy-fuck hats and the pom pom on this one keeps the seriousness to a minimum.

Overrated Hipster Douchebaggery

twits

 

I hope Lana Del Rey and Tyler the Creator really do work on a project together. I hope Kanye West produces it. I hope Kesha is featured on it. I hope Dov Charney sponsors it. I hope Terry Richardson shoots it. I hope Perez Hilton covers it. I hope Steve Aoki does a remix.

I hope all of these things, and I hope it turns into an orgiastic frenzy of overrated hipster douchebaggery of such monumental proportions that every pop-culture consumer immediately starts recognizing soulless empty-headed mediocrity for what it is, and Coachella goes back to being just one weekend.

I hope.

 

The Shahs of Sunset

shahs

 

I’m currently watching an episode of The Shahs of Sunset, and I’m sorry, but I’m not entirely convinced these are real human beings. I think they might be papier-mâché dolls made entirely of Jersey Shore grease and leftover Kardashian shavings.

I’ve known my fair share of Beverly Hills dwelling Persians. I’ve even dated a few, and despite there being some truth to the tacky label whore and douchey mama’s boy stereotypes, I’ve never met a single Persian person who lives up to this ridiculous level of shallow ethnic caricature.

Still, somehow Ryan Seacrest managed to find a whole group of them. (What do you call that? A Flock? A Gaggle? A Pride of Persians?) Ugh. I want to take a razor to these people, in every possible way.

 

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