My BF emailed this
link to my best friend who’s getting married this weekend—BTW, she’s been living with my brother for 5 years LOL:
No more worry about losing your virginity. With this product, you can have your first night back anytime. Insert this artificial hymen into your vagina carefully. It will expand a little and make you feel tight. When your lover penetrate, it will ooze out a liquid that look like blood not too much but just the right amount. Add in a few moans and groans, you will pass through undetectable. It’s easy to use, clinically proven non-toxic to human and has no side effects, no pain to use and no allergic reaction.
Feature: · Easy to use · Place inside vagina 15-20 minutes before intercourse · Soluble and expandable at body heat · Clinically proven non-toxic to human · No side effects, no pain to use, no allergic reaction.
This sounds positively disgusting UGHHH.
Labels: fucking around, kinky lifestyle, trollop and harlot’s stuff
For this year’s Halloween celebration I have a special treat for you:
The glamorous and elegant wedding of 16-year-old Missy Quinn and her 17-year-old boyfriend. As you can see in the pictures, it was class all the way! LMAO
Missy went to a wedding dress designer in London and specified a two-piece ensemble encrusted with Swarovski crystals, along with a three metre-wide train. The outfit weighed an incredible 24st. The sheer size of the dress meant Missy had to spend the night before her wedding day in a hotel—as the dress wouldn’t fit in her parents’ caravan (trailer). Missy had to squeeze her way up the aisle, ripping the outfit on a pew as she struggled to the altar. “It was huge,” she says. “I wanted to outdo everyone else’s wedding dress".
But the beautiful
Halloween costumes ensembles didn’t end with the bride and her entourage. Oh, no, my friends. The guests wouldn’t be outdone by their trailer park neighbors. It seems they all went to the same tranny shop where Missy got her
crack whore designer £16,000 dress.
The £100,000 bill—around five times the cost of the average UK wedding—was picked up by Missy’s dad Simon, 35, who tarmacs driveways for a living.
Showing no signs of being affected by the credit crunch, guests’ outfits featured crystals and feathers and they were plastered in gallons of fake tan. Girls as young as nine posed proudly in bikini tops, high heels and full make-up, while babies wearing £350 dresses were carried into the church.
Guest Victoria Docherty, 23, whose £700 hot pants and bra top outfit was handmade by a Welsh dancewear company, explains: “This isn’t unusual—it’s just what we do at weddings. It’s all very extravagant. Everything is paid for by the bride’s daddy.”
I specially love these little girls (now on PETA’s most wanted list); aren’t their tans darling? They looked like they were attacked by the tanning machine:
And these girls here, the one in white seems to have popped in right after work—we can just imagine what that is LOL—and the other seems to have come by just after swimming practice.
At first I thought this was surely a joke but now I’m not so sure. WHO THE FUCK ARE THESE PEOPLE?
Labels: fucking around, holidaze
I’ve nothing to blog about so I’m sending you guys over to some of the blogs I visit frequently. Go; entertain yourselves while I find something to say LOL.
- The Pioneer Woman: As much as I love Ree and the amazing way she was with words, I love her husband, Marlboro Man, more. I keep asking my BF to pretend he’s “marlboromanesque” and wear chaps and ride horses. He has farms and livestock and is in the dairy business so, really, it’s not like I’m asking him to wear chaps on top of his suit pants at an office. You’d think my request was unreasonable! *hmmphh*
- The Pioneer Woman Cooks: Yep, Ree again and, boy, can she cook. Her recipes are fun and easy and look totally drool-worthy. They might also give you a heart attack after a couple of bites LOL.
- Trashionista: Fun book reviews and recommendations mostly on chick lit which I lurve. (I don’t really read the reviews but look up the book titles in Amazon. *wink*)
- WWTDD: Cheeky, sarcastic and funny observations about TV, movies and celebrities.
- A Book Lover: You guys know I hate book reviews—both writing and reading them—yet I like Alice’s reviews. I think it’s because she’s real. She doesn’t try to be funny or snarky or overly I’m-a-smart-and-knowledged-book-reviewer-look-at-me-and-adore-my-smartness.
Any blogs you guys love that I should check out?
Labels: blog buggery, fucking around
The Wet Spots ROCK. This hilarious duo should be more popular than, say,
Justin Timberlake. I heard he cries whenever he’s high. :/ Dude, a dude crying because he’s high isn’t so different from a dude crying because he’s scared of the dark. Well, Justin looks like he’d cry me a freakin’ river if a bee was chasing him. Or when he watches porn (
if he even watches porn). My point is, outrageous kick-ass performers like The Wet Spots should be muchos popular than singers who sing like a whiny little girl.
Labels: celebs crap, fucking around, sex and the bitches, youtubery
Wonder which of you have used these keywords... *g*
Related: Labels: blog buggery, fucking around
La Pequeña Prohibida (Part I)
This thing scared the bejesus out of me. She (he?) apparently claims to be “one hot bitch.” At this point I’m not even sure this specimen is human!
La Pequeña Prohibida (Part II)
I don’t know what the hell is going on with this “Pequeña Prohibida” character but whatever it is it can’t be good. Any time a masked Mexican wrestler shows up to dance with a midget of unidentified sex you know trouble is on its way LOL.
Labels: fucking around, youtubery
Watch this
creepy video on Defamer and then come back here and tell me: What do you reckon
John Travolta was thinking?
a) “Woah,
Cate Blanchett is lovely.” (In the 0.0078 chance he is even looking at her. *snort*)
b) “Cate’s dress is pretty. Hmmm, wonder if it comes in my size...”
c) “Nice beard,
Viggo Mortensen.”
d) “Oh, Mr. Viggo, little Johnny is stayin ali-i-i-i-iiiiive. We’d hildalgo the wild hogs outta ya!”
For the record I think Cate is gorgeous and a fantastic actress. And once, while watching The Two Towers in the theatre , I couldn't help myself and screamed “Aragorn, take your clothes off! Taaaake iiiiittt ooooooooffff!” Some rude bastard threw me out, can you imagine? Hmph.
Related: Labels: celebs crap, fucking around, mctv
Lucy Liu, you
Sarah Jessica Parker are not! Please, woman, you look like a circus tent deflated all over you. *gag*
Now, this, sweet lawwd, has got to be a fucking joke:
Can anyone from Baltimore confirm if this is (was?) an actual business because I need to know if Mr. Ray sold one of those hideous mops to some unsuspecting halfwit. Harlot, you’ve been looking for a way to keep your curls; what better than a Mr. Ray wig? *g*
I can’t stop laughing!
Labels: celebs crap, fucking around, youtubery
I just got this in my personal email:
Subject: Hello dear [real name]
Hi Dear,
How are you today i hope that every things is ok with you as it is my great pleassure to contact you in having communication with you, please i wish you will have the desire with me so that we can get to know each other better and see what happened in future.i will be very happy if you can write me through my email for easiest communication and to know all about each other, and also give you my pictures and details about me, i will be waiting to hear from you as i wish you all the best for your day.
Marie.
What. The. Fuck?
Why would some freaky perv think I’d be interested in “getting to know all about each other” and sending her my pictures?
I just know this has something to do with Harlot.
While I’ve been busy keeping the cosmic karma of the world balanced she’s done nothing but moan and complain that I haven’t posted
BBC. Well, you know, bearing the world’s karma on your shoulder is a big responsibility and it takes a lot of time to prepare big things. *wink* I haven’t had this much fun doing research for a post since “
Ding Dong, the Bitch is Dead.”
Labels: fucking around
I was over at
SBTB where they have yet another post about
Cassie Edwards and the big plagiarism brouhaha thingy that’s been going on for the last couple of weeks.
Now, I don’t know who she is or what she wrote or if she plagiarized or not. *yawn* What I want to know is: Who is
Paul Tolmé? Is he single? And where can I find him? LOL
I love
what he wrote in reply to what was “borrowed” by CE from his article
“Toughing It Out in the Badlands” to use as dialogue for her novel
Shadow Bear (jayzus, this lady needs some help with her book titles):
My story (“Toughing It Out in the Badlands”) is at the center of 2008’s sexiest plagiarism scandal.
In the Internet age, every freelance writer fears that his or her words will be appropriated without compensation. First I was angry. Then I had to laugh. To see my textbook descriptions of ferrets in a bodice-ripper, as dialogue between a hunky American Indian and a lustful pioneer woman who several pages later have sex on a mossy riverbank, is the height of absurdity.
Shadow Bear feels a longing in his loins. On page 195, after several false starts to stoke the furnaces of readers, Bramlett and Shadow Bear finally get down to business. They have sex in his teepee on some animal pelts. Hungrily, their sinuous bodies rock and quake until both explode in rapturous pleasure. When the teepee flaps are rocking, don’t come a-knocking.
This about had me rolling on the floor laughing.
That is some bad dialogue. It stands out as clunky and awkward even by the standards of romance novels. That’s because Edwards didn’t write it. I did.
As a victim of plagiarism, I am left wondering how many other works of mine have been purloined? And what does Edwards owe me? Does she owe me anything, aside from an apology and maybe a free, autographed copy of her book with an “attaboy” on the passage in question? My words did not enhance her novel. They were filler. I can imagine frustrated and horny readers cursing the ferrets and skipping ahead in search of the next nipple.
We should hire this guy to write for TBB. I’d pay him with sex *wink* and food. I knew my amazing culinary skills would come in handy one day. *g*
I’m no longer angry with Edwards. In fact, I feel sorry for her. The blogosphere is buzzing with irate calls to boycott Edwards’s books and appearances. According to an interview she did with the Associated Press, she did not know she was supposed to quote source materials. Ignorance of law and ethics is no excuse, however. Plagiarism victimizes writers. It betrays the trust of readers. It tarnishes the craft of writing.
But there is another victim here that has been lost in the discussion: the ferrets.
It’s official: I’m in luurrve! This man is smart, kind, forgiving, funny, sarcastic and freaking hot.
Do you guys think I’d scare him by emailing, and pledging my undying love to him, with an attached naked picture of myself? Maybe I could dress as a sexy ferret; that would surely get his attention!
**Editing to add a small note: People, give this CE thing a fucking rest already. Come on, let’s move on to the next person Romance Land will trash, bash, flame and make online life a living hell for. Are the movers and shakers getting slow or running out of material (if we were only so lucky LOL)?Labels: bibliophile’s affair, bitchin’ news, fucking around, romance baby
I know you have the right to believe what you want but this is OMGWTFBBQ CWAAAAZZY! Apparently this indoc-whatsis video was made when they presented
Tom Cruise the Freedom Medal of Valor. No clue what that is but I’m guessing it has something to do with him as
Scientology’s blowhard and train conductor to cuckoo culttown.
It seems like a spoof but don’t let the
Mission Impossible theme fool you. There’s a lot to watch—though nothing makes any sense—and this one in particular is worth quoting: “Being a Scientologist, when you drive pass an accident, it’s not like anyone else. As you drive pass, you know you have to do something about it, because you know you’re the only one who can really help.” Er, like Batman? And what happened to 911?
Imagine you’re in an accident and Tom Cruise is running towards you... Gah! GO AWAY, SHOO SHOO! Don’t voodoo me right back to life! I’ll be so scared I might actually fake my own death and hope that my increasing pool of blood would scare him off!
Labels: celebs crap, fucking around, youtubery
Oh, Tom, you sociopathic midget with a god complex. Dontcha know? There are a lot of fuckers out there. Or bleepers, whatever.
But really, what’s up with the media circus surrounding
Andrew Morton’s wacky new Scientology exposé,
Tom Cruise: An Unauthorized Biography? First, they claimed that Morton was
forced to sell his London house and go “underground” because
Tom Cruise threatened to eat his brain. Then they were like “
tee hee, just kidding.” And then they leaked the “shocking” allegations of the book:
- Tom’s daughter with Katie Holmes was conceived like Rosemary’s Baby, a film “in which an unsuspecting young woman is impregnated with the Devil’s child.” Morton claims that some “fanatical” Scientologists believe that Suri is the result of a sperm donation by Scientology’s dead founder, L. Ron Hubbard.
- Morton implies that Scientology executives contributed to the failure of Tom’s marriage to Nicole Kidman. He also states that she was worried that her Scientology “audit” tapes, which contained details of her sex life, might be leaked if she spoke out.
- The author says that Penelope Cruz’s father feared that his daughter would be drawn into a “cult” while she dated her Vanilla Sky co-star, and “emailed an organization devoted to helping cult members and their families.”
- Morton says that Tom’s current mission is to recruit David and Victoria Beckham. (PageSix)
Outrageous allegations? Sure. But let’s be honest here, do you see anything NEW? I don’t. Some of these have been circulating since TomKat assaulted me with their yucky nonstop PDA (my poor eyes, I tell ya!).
Where’s the hint that Tom declared himself as the New Christ? (“Worship me, people of Teegeeack!”) Where’s the tidbit about Tom restoring an alien spaceship buried under a volcano somewhere? Where’s the story of Tom luring Becks and his android wife into a foursome with an intergalactic platypus?! Where, dammit, WHERE?!?
Mr. Morton, *tsk*tsk* I’m verra, verra disappointed...
**Quote from Rolling Stone’s “The Passion of The Cruise”
***Photo source: Gallery of the AbsurdLabels: bibliophile’s affair, celebs crap, fucking around
Hola Santa,
I have been a good girl. Well... reasonably good. :/ I can’t be like Trollop who all of a sudden appointed herself as
Brit Brit’s champion. I don’t know what kind of humongous sin she had to atone for or what black magic had been performed on her person but
I’d rather be bad baaaaad baddy bad bad than be sucked in on that voodoo. My bitchy soul will shrivel and die, I tell you!
Now, Santa, this has been a verra wacky year for me so I’m thinking it’s more than fair I get what I want this Christmas. For a while I considered pushing you to finally make Prince William into HRH, Harlot’s Royal Honeybunch. But, I now realized, I could never really be Mrs. Prince William because... *long suffering sigh*
my Raoul WILL die (oh, he needs and loves me so!). So, um, for uber true love... goodbye oh-so-shiny castles... *sniffles*
You see what I’m willing to sacrifice for love?!? And I’m willing to sacrifice more if you’ll give me what I’m asking for! That’s right, Santa. I’m willing to sacrifice my wants and needs—a Bugatti Veyron 16.4, one of my love slaves named Eduardo Corrochio, shopping spree in Paris, my very own pritti yacht (you know how much I love shopping and boats *sob*)—all that for the goodness of gazillions and gazillions of people in the world!
I only want one itty, bitty, tiny simple thing: I WANT YOU TO MAKE THAT HOPPING WARTY POT TO FOLLOW J.K. ROWLING AROUND AND MAKE HER LIFE FULL OF DRAGON BOOGIES.
Now, hear me out, Santa. I don’t want the hopping pot to trample that blast-ended witch. Just torture her some, pinch her a bit (if the pot’s toes can do it), clang-clang-clang her from here to kingdom come till her ears are bleeding and she finally sees her big-big-BIG folly and make The Tales of Beedle the Bard AVAILABLE FOR EVERYONE and not just for those rich sons of banshees who have £1.95m (US$3.98m). For charity, my hopping foot! She just likes to see me suffer!
Santa, you might think I always wish JKR harm but, truly, it’s only when she’s not playing fair. I swear on the statue of Babbitty Rabbitty, that witch and those Amazonians are in cahoots together. You’d think a book I covet but can never evah evah have is enough torture already but nooooo... They have to rub it in my face by posting tons of TOBTB pics on their site *GRRR* including reviews of each of its fairy freakin’ tales! For Voldemort’s nipples, I refuse to be beaten by such nasty, cruel maniacs!
Rudolph knows I tried to do this in a peaceful manner—GOOD Harlot that I am—but it didn’t work. I’ve written JKR several times but I dunno if she’s gotten my letters because those smart-asses at the PO claim “Sadistic Evil Witch” is not a real address. Honestly, it would have been nice had they mentioned that before I spent $199.98 on postage. :@
What I’m trying to say is, this is really important, Santa. Think of all the kiddies and HP fans who are counting on me. Oh, I get warm and hopeful (and what else are the holidays supposed to be about if not hope?) with the thought of the hopping pot pestering JKR and she bawls like a baby—goody!—and it drives her crazy *MWA HA HA HA* till she gives in. Imagine, me and my own copy of TOBTB hopping off into the sunset happily ever after together forever... *far away look, dreamy sigh*
I’LL. BE. WAITING.
Sincerely naughty,
Harlot
Related: Labels: bitchy mcrant, fucking around, harry potter nutter, holidaze, under hunky mistletoe
What can be more fun than poking at badly written sex scenes? *g* This is why I soooo love the
Bad Sex Award, not because it aims to recognize the worst description of sex in literature—and to discourage it (as well they should; bad sex scenes should be ILLEGAL)—but because this is one of those instances where Romance gets to laugh at the face of those “literary” snobs. Ha! Take that, you stupid sex writer wannabes!
One of the
lucky contenders this year is
Will by
Christopher Rush. I swear it has
more than enough purple prose to make
Fabio’s lance of love to leap around like a shower dropped in an empty bath:
O glorious pubes! The ultimate triangle, whose angles delve to hell but point to paradise. Let me sing the black banner, the blackbird’s wing, the chink, the cleft, the keyhole in the door. The fig, the fanny, the cranny, the quim—I’d come close to it now, this sudden blush, this ancient avenue, the end of all odysseys and epic aim of life, pulling at my prick now, pulling like a lodestone.
Anne Hathaway’s cow-milking fingers, cradling my balls in her almond palm, now took pity on the poor anguished erection, and in the infinite agony of her desire, guided it to the quick of the wound. At the same time I searched wildly with the fingers of my left hand, groping blind as Cyclops, found the pulpy furred wetness, parted the old lips of time and slipped my middle finger into the sancta sanctorum. It welcomed me with soft sucking sounds, syllables older than language, solace lovelier than words.
The fig, the fanny, the cranny, the quim? What, no slippery waterweed? *shock* Gabaldon will have a fit! Oh, well, I was sold at “o glorious pubes.” :P
Her hand opened me. Then her hand became a wing. Then everything about me became a wing, a single wing, and she was the other wing, we were a bird. We were a bird that could sing Mozart... I was sinew, I was a snake, I changed stone to snake in three simple moves, stoke stake snake, then I was a tree whose branches were all budded knots, and what were those felty buds, were they antlers?
Huh? Me thinks—call it grasping at straws, if you will—this is a sex scene??? *verra confused* Erm, Ali Smith thinks it is. I haven’t read Girl Meets Boy; I’m guessing the story is about a girl who meets a dude who’s a shapeshifting bird-like Mozart-fan hippie and they smoke some crappy hash.
Anywho, the Bad Sex Award can’t be complete without some pervy author obsessing about the vajayjay. We’ve already established that no matter what the man’s intentions are, his main goal is always the same: to get between her legs. (C’mon, I DARE you to deny it. *g*) Apparently, the bush on top of it has its own wow-wow-wee effect. Here’s a snippet from Absurdistan by Gary Shteyngart:
Her vagina was all that, as they say in the urban media—a powerful ethnic muscle scented by bitter melon, the breezes of the local sea, and the sweaty needs of a tiny nation trying to breed itself into a future. Was it especially hairy? Good Lord, yes it was. Mountains of kinkiness black as the night above the Serengeti with paprika shoots at the edges—the pubic hair alone must have clocked in at half a kilo...
Was it especially gagging? Good lord, yes it was! Eheh. Probably why, in The Stone Gods, Jeanette Winterson suggests that inter-species illegal sex with a robot—who has a silicon-lined vagina fetish—is the way to go. And she has a point! Look at this quote from Richard Milward’s Apples:
She had on no knickers, and my heart went crash-bang-wallop and my eyes popped out. She hadn’t shaved, and her fanny looked like a tropical fish or a bit of old carpet.
“So, you just gonna sit there?” Abi asked, and I laughed nervously. I was hardening up... but my heart wasn’t into it—her cunt smelt a bit like an armpit, and when I pulled the lips open I knew I’d have to shut them numerous times or else I’ll die of Aids or I’d fall into it.
Dude, honestly, WTF? Heaven help the stupid fuck who might think my fanny smells like an armpit and looks like a tropical fish or a bit of old carpet. Swear to Xenu, I’d shoot him in the head and then plunge a dagger in his heart to make sure he’s fucking DEAD. Hi-yah! *karate chop-chop*
Whatever. Fucker. :@ The winner will be announced today where passages from the books will be read aloud by actresses, hopefully with “a commotion of grunts and squeaks, flashing unconnected images and explosions of a million little particles.”**
**From last year’s winner, Twenty Something by Iain Hollingshead.Labels: bibliophile’s affair, fucking around, ooh la la fabio, sex and the bitches
I loved this “fake” trailer between the
Grindhouse movies. It made me laugh non stop—then again, I’m a sick twisted fuck LOL. Really not for the faint hearted.
My fave part:
CSI type of detective dudes.
Dude one: (tasting blood as if it were cocaine LOL) It’s blood...
Dude two: (looking revolted and surprised that
it is blood and then getting his vengeance face on) Son of a bitch!
Anyone else thinks that last turkey looks roasted-to-perfection-yummy? *g*
Labels: fucking around, holidaze, youtubery
Since
Twilight seems to be the popular TBB topic of the week, even after all my complaints,
I have decided to join in the fray and
help Harlot with the casting. She’s not good at that sort of thing and needs a bit of guidance. *g*
I’m sure all you
Twilight fans will all agree I have done a better job of it LOL.
Jennifer Beals dancing in as
Bella Swan, with her off-the-shoulder top and everything...
Michael J. Fox in his Teen Wolf gear as Jacob, er, Jacob the Wolf (does he have a last name?).
Bela Lugosi as Edward Cullen.
Labels: and so the lion fell in love with the lamb, bitch at the movies, fucking around, i heart ya, paranormal oh joy
I love romance novels but
I have no love for its covers, particularly the likes of a
groping couple riding some legless horse or a huge beribboned mountain goat. Still, I gotta admit—IF I WAS FORCED TO, like I was trapped in a cave on a deserted island somewhere with no
handy porn or a
BOB—I could probably fiddle with myself
while imagining some hunky hero on
some romance novel cover art. But this... this...
Erm... *ahem* I’m not gonna lie to you; I’m thinking I’d get better results imagining some platypuses humping than picturing
George Clooney and
Fabio gettin’ it on because JFC, I’d die laughing!
Fabio has a big problem with birds. First he was humiliated and bloodied after a flock of ducks collided with his face as he rode a roller coaster. A few years later, he was attacked by a flying bird again after his date tried to take a picture of George Clooney sitting at a nearby table. I was seduced by the idea of Fabio and Gorgeous George embracing on the cover of one those cheesy romance novels Fabio used to pose for and I was overcome with the burning desire to paint it. Breathlessly, I held my pen and allowed the tantalizing image to pulsate through my body and onto the paper. Swoon. Medium: ink on paper, digital color and collage.
Here’s a page torn passionately out of Fabio and George’s romance novel Birds of a Feather. Written by Candace Kirby, it will leave you begging for more. (Source)
Labels: celebs crap, fucking around, ooh la la fabio
