Olsens

I am not the one to judge a bitch for how they choose to spend their money since I may or may not have been known to spend mine on an autographed Phoebe Price portrait from eBay and a whoopie pie pan (It makes whoopie pie shapes!!!!), but how astronomically fucked in the brain do you have to be to spend the price of two Khias (the rapper, not the car) on some shit designed by the Olsens?! You might as well roll 39,000 $1 bills into a giant butt plug and shove it up your culo, because that's a better way of shitting on $39,000 and it looks more attractive than carrying around a bag that can be mistaken for a giant cockroach with eczema.

Ashley Olsen told WWDD the other day that their high-end line The Row started selling the crocodile-skin bag at Barney's last July and it doesn't stay on the shelves. Ashley stopped prune-ing with her mouth for a second to explain, “It was the first thing that sold off the shelf. During our last economic crisis in the U.S., the only thing that went up was Hermès."

If I had $39,000 to spend on a bag, I wouldn't carry a bag in the first place. A bedazzled kangaroo would carry all of my possessions in her pouch. But if you want to spend $39,000 on a bag, then I'm sure there's higher class shit out there than what the Olsens are peddling. I mean, Lisa Frank makes a limited-edition fanny pack made out of acid penguin hide and that's a better investment than anything sold by the Olsens is. Do you really want to tell people on the street, "Oh, this thing? No, it's not from Wilsons Leather, darling. It was $39,000 and made by those troll twins who got their start by shitting in their diapers on national television!"

And Crocodile skin?! Is that what those evil swindling minions of hell are saying that mess is made out of? Troll, please. We all know that the Olsens are just mutated geckos. They each shed a new bag off of their body every three weeks.

When I said a silent prayer asking for two child stars of yore to join together in the name of love (and a blurb in UsWeekly), I was thinking more along the lines of Harriet from Small Wonder and Heather from Mr. Belvedere. But sadly, that's not what we were given. We were given Justin Timberlake and Ashley Olsen instead. I mean, if you're going to pair someone from Full House and someone from The Mickey Mouse Club, why couldn't it have been Kimmy Gibler and T.J.?

Despite the denials from Justin's rep, a source tells UsWeekly that he's definitely hooking up with Tangina's true biological daughter. They apparently spent time together at two Broadway shows, a restaurant and a hotel in NYC. Because Ashley barely broke up with Justin Bartha and Justin Timberlake split from Jessica Biel, the source says they are trying to keep shit on the down low.

This is a pairing as bizarre as cayenne pepper lube. I just cannot picture Ashely Olsen cooing the word "pruuuuuuuune" into Justin's no-no in the middle of the night. And my thoughts are powered by the top users at Consumption Junction, so I can usually picture some screwed up shit. Justin has to be dating Ashley Olsen as some sort of dare or challenge. Justin wants to make everybody laugh and laughing in a happy tone is against Ashley's beliefs. This is either going to end with Ashley owning Justin's soul, or Justin winning the right to cross any bridge at any time.

Andre Leon Talley is the most influential person in the fashion world (as Tyra Banks tells us every single week on America's Next Top Model) and he really didn't disappoint at last night's MET Costume Gala last night when he floated onto the red carpet like the ethereal gay dream version of some University's mascot. You can tell that when his farts billow through that gown, they smell like blueberries dipped in melted grape chapstick. When ALT is done with that old gown, he can donate it to the entire graduating class (EVERY SCHOOL) of 2011! There's room in there for all of them.

The Vixen of Vogue wasn't the only trick who served scalding hot fuckery on a plate of fuckery last night. There were others who made it their night's goal to summon a wave of WTF faces from the photographers. They would not let ALT be the only one. No, they would not!

Wednesday Addams snatched this shit from the rack marked "Morticia's freakum dresses" in The Addams Family costume closet many years ago and she's been waiting for the day to wear it.

Kate Hudson's dress is pretty normal, but that crap on her head looks like a rhinestone sea urchin that crawled out of Andre Leon's Talley's glitter hole and found a new home on her hair.

Miranda Kerr's mess of a dress is like Lara Flynn Boyle's balleriNO look meets the White Swan meets Mimi's slutty bridal gown costume.

Ashley Olsen brings us the news that Brenda Walsh's prom dress moved to Switzerland and got a morning job as a milk maid.

Christina Hendricks... Christina Hendricks... Christina Hendricks... I'm just going to focus on the beautiful pair of sunrise chichis and then move right along before I get rust poisoning.

A slew of ICANTS go to Fuggie Fug, Freida Pinto, Kristen Stewart, Marc Jacobs, Robert Duffy and Serena Williams (who thinks she's at a HoJo's Royal Wedding party).

Lastly, I can't say one mean thing about Basement Baby's look. Beyonce accidentally left a bag of Cost Plus impulse buys in front of the basement door and Solange made a DRESS out of them. Not a dress, but a DRESS! No comment on the make-up which makes her look like a constipated lady bug.

Tonight is the Met's Costume Institute Gala (this year's exhibit is devoted to Alexander McQueen) where supermodels, movie stars and bitches who don't even belong at a costume party on Staten Island slip into dresses that cost thirty times more than the liquor & guns drive thru store in Texas I want to buy. Then they slobber on each other's nipples about how gorgeous they look before turning around and whispering to their assistant/culito wiper that they wouldn't even wear that shit as their menstruatin' dress.

And it wouldn't be a fashion gala without the Death Eaters' designer of choice Kunty Karl. Even though Kunty Karl had a bushel of stale and starched wheat at his side, he still managed to fill the air with the intoxicating scent of crushed dreams and boy toy saliva that wafts off of his glorious carcass. If you don't believe me, then just get a closer look at the woman behind him. Homegirl has got the vapors in a good way and just wants to lose her nose in Kunty Karl's coke white hair.

Or maybe she's falling asleep at the sight of Blake Lively in a half toga/half Cirque de Holeil leotard. Yeah, that's probably the culprit.

And here's a few other tricks who fell to their knees and put their lips on Kunty Karl's claws tonight. In order: Bradley Cooper with his hot mom, Kunty with Blake, Iman, Mary-Kate Olsen, MiserAlba, Jennifer Hudson, Colin Firth with his wife Livia, Michelle Williams, Taylor Swift, Penny Cruz with Oscar de la Renta, Mick Jagger with L'Wren Scott, Nicole Richie and Squinty Zellweger.

Long before the Olsens were wearing black veils made of the frozen nightmares of their victims, they were just little tiny trollings committing acts of accidental racism in family friendly direct-to-DVD movies like To Grandmother's House We Go. You know, full on fuckery aside, where did they get those fried chicken drumsticks? Who knew that the pre-KKK playgroups served fried chicken during snack time. But more importantly, what human being with at least half a working brain cell throws a chewed up drumstick into a dude's money case?! I know some people who will get hit upside the head with a spoon if they bring their grandma a plate of dark meat instead of white meat. And the Olsens think this is okay?!

If you're bold enough to throw a chicken bone into a street performer's money bin, you're strong enough to take an ass whoopin' from said street performer. To quote what a wise homeless man said after my friend handed him a bag of her leftovers: How the FUCK am I supposed to get drunk off of leftovers?

via Best Week Ever (thanks to everybody who sent this mess in)

See how they prune. See how they prune.

You know, they say that the The Metropolitan Opera House is haunted by the booming voices that have scraped along its walls over the years (I have no damn idea if they say that). Well, those haunting voices scattered like crabs after a Hilton queef when the Olsens came floating through the front door last night.

Both of their looks confuse me. From some angles, they both look like E.T. coming home from a Botox party at an after-hours drag club. And from other angles, they look like tiny mice fetus lining up for a Joan Crawford costume contest. Whatever look it is they're going for, it's scaring the shit out of me.

Now I know what visions La Bruja saw on the car ride to NYC.

It's a fact that Death Eaters and Hutts don't get along.

And that adorable dog friend's face is totally saying: "I've gotta Frontline these bitches already." Here's Gollum's second cousins happily frolicking through LAX yesterday as though the paps' cameras were daisies and they were butterflies looking to sip on sweet nectar. But no, you'd cover your troll mug too if you just returned from Middle-earth where you had to crawl through the tundra and make coats out of Hobbit scalps in order to stay warm. Besides, a camera flash is just like the shine from a silver crucifix to the Olsens. It hardens their veins and makes their souls itch.

It's not a big deal, though. Their dog is doing enough posing for all of them. That bitch is a star.

When Noah arrives in Los Angeles with his ark, I really hope that in addition to saving one In-N-Out's chefs and Angelyne he also saves one of the Olsen trolls. My back-up for that argument is this picture of Mary-Kate Olsen sucking on a baby-sized cigarette outside of some building in Culver City, CA yesterday. The new world needs to see this mess and they're getting a four in one! They're getting a little Stevie Nicks, a little Gonks, a whole lot of Treasure Troll and a creature who pretty much only survives on the sludge at the bottom of every Venti Americano. That means one Olsen can keep the entire Starbucks food chain alive! Take her, Noah!

That is the terrified face of a dog who knows he's only hours away from being chained up to a wooden slab under a lightning-filled sky so that the Olsens and their fellow vampire trolls can repeatedly chant "You got it dood" in between nibbling and spitting out pieces of his soul (never swallow...even souls have calories) to make themselves STRONGER!

Before boarding a flight to Voldemort's castle, Ashley Olsen, who weighs about as much as Kimmy Gibler's scrunchie, summoned the dark evil powers within to give her the strength to carry a fat dog through LAX last night. Hopefully, the poor dog was able to get away when Ashley got into a fight with a TSA officer over a vial of blood they wouldn't let her bring onto the plane. Waddle, doggy, waddle!!!!

Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen slithered out of the Death Eaters lair last night to attend Stand Up For Scleroderma at Carolines On Broadway in NYC and they ran into Bob Saget on the red carpet! They could all do lines together off of Stephanie's Mr. Bear without worrying about that tight ass prude DJ calling TPS (Troll Protective Services).

Nevermind that the Olsens look like they gnawed off a squirrel's crotch hairs and pasted that shit over their eyebrows or that kinky Bob Saget's thinking about how he wants to role play as Willow characters with them, where is Kimmy Gibbler? Even the tiniest Full House reunion is not complete without Kimmy Gibbler. Eh. Maybe watching the Olsens nibble on roach antennas and hiss at small children is much too real for Kimmy to bear. Kimmy always had a weak stomach.