What A Fucking Lady

The Mona Lisa has had a good run as the First Lady of High Art, but the time has come for her to slide off of the wall, because a worthy replacement has emerged in Desperate Scousewives star and my personal deity Layla Flaherty. You can't tell me that you wouldn't wait 2 hours in a line outside of the Louvre to see the stunning portrait above behind bulletproof glass:

It's meant to be, right? It's like the Mona Lisa is only meant to be a preview for the true work of beautiful art that is to come. I'll add your name to the "Layla Flaherty To Replace The Mona Lisa" petition I'm going to send the Louvre.

In just a couple of weeks, Layla Flaherty has made me a believer of whatever she's preaching by carrying herself with dignity, grace and class. Take the other night for instance. Most whores would spend their night getting so fucked up on the sweet nectar that they'd suck off anything, make an ass out of themselves in the middle of a Subway and eventually pass the hell out on a street barrier before getting carried to their car (like all of us!). But not Layla. Layla spent her night cleansing that dirty, slutty city with her vat of holy water mouth. Layla baptized the head of a lip gloss peen! Layla baptized the wrapper around a foot long (I bet that foot long was so pissed it was wearing a paper condom)! Layla baptized a Sprite bottle! Layla baptized the glass door of a Subway that probably has already been baptized by the piss splatters of a hobo! Layla baptized a dress bow! And after all that baptizing, Layla grew so exhausted from all her charitable deeds that she passed out and had to be carried back to her church by one of her disciples.

If this isn't proof that Layla is the second cumming coming, then I don't know what is.

Layla, you've got me on my knees and worshiping at your pristinely exquisite feet.

You can pick up your cape from off of the floor, because I know that when you see such a refined lady like this your instinct is to throw some cloth down so her gentle feet won't sweep against the dirt of skanks. But Layla Flaherty of Desperate Scousewives (and the newest sparkly charm that hangs on the edge of my soul) is of the people and the Goodwill Ambassador of Ho Shit spread world peace as she spread whiskey saliva from her tongue on trick after trick when she left a club in London last night. Lady Layla not only wrote a new definition for elegance by humping a cab seat, but she also showed us that she's multilingual by articulately signing the phrases "fuck you," "eatin' pussay," and "dirty sanchez" in ASL. Words are cheap when you've got two fingers you can use to make the symbol for cooch.

Why is Layla not teaching children?! Our future needs to look just like this. I'd get my dead body cryogenically frozen so that I could come back and live in a world where everyone is as gracefully demure as Layla. Finally, a lady.

The world is about to find out whether or not it has enough supplies of titty gel, rayon hair, pecan skin varnish, Lamisil cream for vaginas and industrial strength antibiotics for two Katie Prices. Because when Katie Price wet humped with reality TV, a throbbing genital wart grew and out popped 19-year-old Amy Willteron! Amy is the winner(?) of Signed By Katie Price and has won a glamour modeling contract as well as learning everything there is to know about building a multimillion pound empire when you've got the talent of a nipple pimple.

Usually when Katie Price takes someone under her wing, they later fall out with full body syphilis and Agent Fake Tan syndrome. But Amy Willerton is safe, because Katie Price only means it figuratively. Amy is Katie's new protégée and she's set to take the glamour modeling world by storm one camel toe flash at a time.

That's nice and everything, but I'm going to tell Amy the same thing I tell the free clinic nurse when he goes down to my down low bits to find out where the hissing sound is coming from: GOOD LUCK and BEA ARTHUR BLESS! Amy will get a two-page spread in Nuts Magazine, a crawl-on role in Katie's next sex tape and that's it. Amy just doesn't have the no-so-secret secret to Katie Price's success. I'm talking about HARVEY!!!!!!

Harvey is who a four leaf clover goes to when it needs good luck. Harvey can make a broken mirror glue itself together. Harvey is really what you find at the end of a rainbow. Katie Price is nothing (stop right there and that would still be a factual statement) without HARVEY!!!!

"This is what beauty can be! Beauty celestial the best you'll agree..." are not only the lyrics to a Stephen Sondheim song, but those are also the words that fell from my head like rose petals on a silk pillow when these pictures of demure Irish noblewoman Layla Flaherty of the UK reality show Desperate Scousewives graced my monitor. Nope, it's not a swan gracefully twirling on a puddle of crystal ice nor a virgin flamingo balancing an iridescent bubble on her knee. It's a lay-deeee.

Layla (the real inspiration for Eric Clapton's song) left a refined establishment (a titty bar named Platinum Lace) in one of the poshest neighborhoods in London (the West End) wearing a couture dress straight off the runways (of New Look) and carried herself like a true lady (she took an invisible dump on the sidewalk and got into a fight).

The pay phone outside of Layla's room will be ringing any day now and it will be a call from the Queen who will invite her over for tea in exchange for a lesson on how to air your pussy out in public while keeping a ladylike composure.

"You're welcome." - Ireland to England

The bill collectors must be shoving themselves through Ellen Kardashian's plumbing pipes to get into her house, because she's throwing up all the secrets she knows about the Kardashians to Star Magazine. First came Ellen's accusation that Khloe is not a Kardashian by blood and now she's saying that if you crawled into the back of Bruce Jenner's closet, you'd find a wardrobe fit for a night time queen. After a long day of getting his nuts twisted by the devil claw attached to Pimp Mama Kris, Bruce loves to wind down with a marabou boa around his neck and the size 15 heels he stole from Khloe's closet on his feet.

Ellen apparently heard from Bruce Jenner's ex-wife that when the lights go down and the bedroom door closes, he transforms himself into Brucella Jenner (and you know he looks better than Kris)! This is what came out of Ellen's mouth about Bruce's not-so-scandalous secret:

“'Of course Bruce was every woman’s heartthrob when he was that age, right? But Chrystie said, ‘Yeah, until I went on a trip and I came back and he had gone through all my clothes. And I found my bras… He’d clip them together and wear them.' I couldn’t live with that.

And Ellen went on, "No, I couldn't live with that. But I can totally live with telling everyone about it! Now, can I get those stack of hundreds you promised, because these bill collectors are totally up my ass! No, I mean that literally, because when I sat on the toilet this morning one of them crawled up there."

And I think it's about time that I show you what this Ellen Kardashian looks like:

Yeah, are you thinking what I'm thinking? Let me put our thoughts into picture form:

Dim your monitor, sit all the way back, tilt your head, squint your eyes and hold your breath until your brain becomes slightly dead (like a Kardashian!).... You see it, right? Bruce Jenner IS Ellen Kardashian. Ellen Kardashian IS Bruce Jenner. It all makes sense (but it only makes sense because your brain is slightly dead from holding your breath that long).

Your eyeballs deserve to be fertilized with drops of pure elegance this morning, so please use your mousepad as a Ouija Board and tell it take you to natural beauty. Your mouse will drag you to this NSFW link featuring England's Finest Rose posing as a tundra slut in the middle of a frozen dick garden. Doctor's recommend a daily dose of sophistication as part of a healthy lifestyle and you will get a week's worth if you stare at Jodie Marsh's nibbled-on sausage coins long enough.

Jodie brought her completely organic titty domes out for the prestigious journal of refinement called The Sun and she also gave them an interview where she talked about how she's been virginized. It's been so long since anybody has tapped on Jodie's pristine oyster (or as the Health Department calls it, "A free pass to the clinic!") and a cherry pearl has magically grown inside of her sugar shell making her a virgin again.

"I find it so hard to trust men now that I always wait for ages before agreeing to sex. I've had so many shit men in my life that I get scared of letting go. I'm basically celibate and like a virgin again. God knows what it would take to sleep with me now! If I could kiss anyone under the mistletoe this Christmas, it would have to be Gerard Butler or Tom Hardy."

Every maker of topical ointment for genital warts just opened up their windows and jumped to their death since there's no reason to go one. It's true, though. Jodie is as pure on the inside as she is on the outside. She has left her shameless slut ways behind her. Need some proof? Well, during this photo shoot, she did get gang banged by those giant dickcicles, but she only let them stick the tip in, so you know she's a changed whore.

Because Courtney Stodden's whore master of a mother sold her to a has-been Hollywood actor at the age of 16, she never got to go to prom like other teenage amphibians. So the delicate lizard slut made up for lost times by buying a truly exquisite gown she found bundled into a ball at the bottom of a clearance box in the back of the Frederick's of Hollywood Outlet at the Ontario Mills. Some might've dropped the dress after reading the line "Sold As Is (mysterious bodily fluid stains, etc...)" on the tag hanging off of it, but Courtney wasn't going to let that stop her from bestowing a Classy Old Hollywood moment upon The Grove in L.A. Why do I have a sinking feeling in my colon that this is what Rosie O'Donnell's wedding pictures are going to look like? Complete with awkward "kneeing in the pussy" pose and everything.

There's a serious civil war going down on top of Courtney's head. Courtney's ashy real hair is trying to fight with her fake hair. One of Courtney's tooth is also trying to emancipate itself from her mouth. And her toes are desperately trying to break free from the clutches of her elegant silver whore heels. There's just a whole lot of uprising on Courtney. Courtney is truly the most gorgeous battlefield I've ever seen.

And here's the latest gifts to alliteration from the head writer of Pugs with Courtney Stodden Tweets:

Secret Santa: Id love to lure you in by caressing my red lips up against your rosiness as my lustrous legs lie on top of your levitating lap

Had such an erotic afternoon after being elegantly bound with whips & chains for a brand new foxy photo shoot... XOs

Tenderly trembling my tantalizing tongue up - down - & all around the sugarcoated candy-cane of Christmas! XOs

I'm calling it now. The last one is my Christmas card. Stay away, bitches.

Kate Middleton was shoved to the side and a new fashion icon of Britain was declared last night when TOWIE's Lauren Pope floated onto the red carpet at the Breaking Dawn premiere like a pristine panty-less goddess riding the satin crimson wave to sophistication. Lauren Pope became my new religion and I was ready to pray to her tonight while only wearing two pillow cases cinched together with a sweatpants drawstring, but then I came across a ginger flower that bloomed in the German section of the Garden of Stunt Queens. Everything has changed!

Meet actor type Peer Kusmagk and his girlfriend Isabella Recke (wreck is right). Don't ask me, I don't know who they are. Even if somebody tried to explain them to me using penis puppets (you know how my brain perks up at penis puppets), I still wouldn't know who these two are. But it doesn't matter. Everything I need to know about Peer and Isabella they eloquently communicated to me at some event in Berlin last night.

The two photographers there got up close and personal with Isabella's freckled and moly nalgitas every time she or Peer parted her sheer black curtains. You might be thinking that Isabella would've saved herself some time if she just left that dress on her bedroom floor and came to the party wearing only those black chonies. But that would've been tacky and that's something Isabella is not. A certain seductive mystique filled the air when Isabella exposed her ass cheeks the same way a patient lifts up his hospital gown right before getting a suppository from a nurse. This is performance art!! (It was also performance fart when Isabella flexed her ass cheeks a little too much.)

It was a long search, but finally the German Phoebe Price has been found!

If the lady behind you is not preparing her nostrils for the scented current of snatch that is about to blow her way, then you're working the red carpet wrong. This is Lauren Pope, of the British reality mess The Only Way Is Essex, at last night's London premiere of Twatlight: Breaking Hymens, Part 1.

For those refined ladies out there who want to look like their body is luxuriating in expensive glamour but don't have the budget for it, take an economical styling tip from Lauren Pope. Sneak into your local brothel, rip two satin curtain panels from their rods, slap one on each side of your body, cinch it together with a luggage belt around your waist and BAM! Lauren calls it "The Scarlett O'Whorah." You don't even need double-sided tape to keep your dress from flying up and exposing the goods for free. Just do what Lauren did and dab a little of your natural coochie glue on your thigh.

Not wearing panties will tell the world that you've got a resilient pussy that can handle the elements and your labia lips flapping in the night wind will provide a romantic soundtrack. This ensemble is everything. Thank you, Lauren.

Lauren is the only Pope we should be worshiping.

Kate Moss is a seasoned drunk who knows very well that sometimes you can get to a party to find that some rabid disrespectful piles of scab trash have sucked down all the good sweet nectar and have left you to make a cocktail out of melted ice and window cleaner. So Kate always comes prepared just in case disaster should strike, and last night in London she stumbled into the Dazed & Confused (too easy) party at the W Hotel with two human crutches to keep her from spilling her goblet of wine.

Kate was not about to spill one drop. Jodie Marsh could've come by and made the wind barf by flexing, and Kate's hand would've stayed steady and kept the wine in. Pete Doherty could've slithered up from the gutters to make tongue love with Kate's nostrils (how they used to greet each other in the old days) and that glass would stay as stiff as a zombie's dick. Bitch could go through a Wipeout obstacle course and come out with a full glass. Unlike that wrong bitch Kate Winslet in Titanic, Kate Moss is never letting go.

In the glory days, Kate could throw that wine around like nothing, but IN THIS ECONOMY you have to cherish and respect every precious drop. You don't waste that shit. You fight for it, you lie for it, you walk the wire for it, you dieeeee for it.