I don’t care if it made you famous, pick that up and put it back where it belongs. And put on some damn pants while you’re at it; I’m sure there’s an industrial-gauge denim manufacturer who can carve you a pair of supportive jeans.
Yes, Prince Andrew, Duke of York, ex-husband of Fergie, the former Randy Andy, uncle of the two reigning Royal Hunks. These two shots are living proof that the minute they discover golf they begin to go to seed. (side note: feathers are totally in this year)
I’ve held off giving this man his own Hump Day linkage, on the justifiable grounds that anyone dating Peaches Geldof must going through a terribly dark period of his life and deserves a little space, but then I thought, what the hell, maybe a little mild sexual objectification would cheer him up? And a reader sent me this, described at the only bearable 15 seconds of his appearance on Leno:
By the way, our honorary, virtual cocktail for today is the Pink Hound, which is a pink version of the classic Greyhound, ie vodka with pink grapefruit juice and ice, served in a tall glass. My current diet version consists of a tall glass, ice, and pink grapefruit juice diluted with half water. FML.
Are you a celebrity blogger who’d rather drink than link (and wouldn’t we all?) email me at raincoaster at gmail:
I’m starting a linking service to do your work for you! And I’m working on an ad network to launch in the fall.
I really, really didn’t want to link to Gawkeragain, but then they ran this:
And, well, what could I do? This is a couple of cougars-dressed-as-lamb Madonna Wannabes for the launch of Madonna’s new clothing line today at … whatever: some store I can’t get to before it’s sold out of the damn stuff but it’s okay, I STILL HAVE MINE!
If it seems insane to you that young girls ever wanted to dress like that outside of laudanum-enhanced fever dreams, let me remind you:
back then, clothing was street art. It may sometimes have been bad art, but it was still art.
And this, ladies and gentlemen, is why some people thought the Trout Pout was a good idea. If you’re thinking of telling your surgeon to do this, reflect for a moment, realize you are not Brigitte Bardot, and move on.
Whoa, they aren’t messing around anymore! I’d like to know who down at Headquarters okayed that hiring decision.
Are you a celebrity blogger who’d rather drink than link (and wouldn’t we all?) email me at raincoaster at gmail:
I’m starting a linking service to do your work for you! And I’m working on an ad network to launch in the fall.
I THINK it’s just a trick of the light, although nobody would rule out him pandering to his ferociously loyal fan pack of Floridian popcorn-hairs. You’d have the blues too, if someone just hit you in the face with a pair of granny panties!
Manolo the Shoeblogger is not Mr. Manolo Blahnik. This website is not affiliated in any way with Mr. Manolo Blahnik, any products bearing the federally registered trademarks MANOlO®, BlAHNIK® or MANOlO BlAHNIK®, or any licensee of said federally registered trademarks. The views expressed on this website are solely those of the author.