Photos posted on eBay show what can be viewed as a lemon that is claimed to look like a male genital.
The seller claims that the disfigure lemon fell off the his lemon tree the same day Michael Jackson died. He believes that it also looks like the penis of Michael Jackson. Images were posted to prove that the lemon had not been altered in any way, shape or form.
[via my pal, George]
Of course I frown on manscaping–especially in the armpit/chestal area–and ordinarily, I’d pass right by this clip. However, you gotta admit it’s a pretty weird thing when Gillette spends a wad of cash on an animated spot to convince impressionable young guys that they ought to trim their pubes just so their ‘nads will look bigger. Not a weird and wonderful thing, mind you. Just weird.
Personally, I blame Vin Diesel and Brazilian waxes for all this anti-hair sentiment. How long will it be until my worst fear is realized and I awake to a world of Zac Efron clones?
What can I say? I’m a sucker for amped-up dancehall. (FYI, the rest of the album is pretty good, too.)
Dear Lil’ Kim:
I heard you turned 34. Again.
Sorry. That was mean. However, I’m pretty sure you were 34 last year, too. Don’t you think I can count? Just let it go. MILFs are hot right now. Ride the wave.
Anyway, I was planning to write and wish you a happy birthday, but then I stumbled across this photo. Please take a look at it:
I hope you’re as concerned as I am. Because when I saw it, I gasped. Seriously: gasped. I was all, like, honeychild, what’s up with all this fakeness, this body mod? You look like a press-on nail.
For starters, you’ve straightened your hair and bleached it to chicken-fat yellow. Or maybe you’re sporting a weave, which means you’re wearing (a) someone else’s hair or (b) a petroleum byproduct. Either way: if you’re trying to impersonate the checkout girl at my local Walgreens, mission accomplished. Classy.
In the eye area, I see that some ketamine-friendly drag queen has gone tweezer-happy on your brows. Those ginormous artificial lashes are millimeters away from Liza territory, and…are you sporting blue contacts? Lady, please, what is this, 1997? Just because someone still makes them doesn’t mean you should still wear them.
Moving on.
The lips. Lordy, those lips. Need I remind you of the plastic surgery disaster known as Mickey Rourke? Let me refresh your memory: old Mickey. New Mickey. Old Mickey. New Mickey. Old. New. Now, side-by-side. The slope you are on is slippery, and you are slathering it with bacon grease every time you visit the dermatologist.
The boobs. Okay, I’ve seen worse, but yours are still kinda like two grapefruits in dress socks. Which is making me hungry for breakfast, even though I hate breakfast. (Although I dig the special serrated spoons they give you at restaurants. That almost makes up for the fact that grapefruit tastes like a bowl of lizard shit, with a hint of citrus.)
As for the abs: look, I know that you did 366 days in the slammer, and I know you probably butched out and did a lot of weight-training so you could keep your bitches in line, but that was years ago. If I’m wrong, and it you’re still maintaining that gym routine, props to you, but from where I’m sitting, it looks like someone got an airbrush for xmas.
Finally, your skin. Most people aren’t genetically inclined to sparkle, sweetcheeks. Yes, you could be wearing body makeup, but I wouldn’t be surprised to hear that you’d had your DNA adjusted so your pores ooze glitter instead of sweat. I’m sorry to think that way, but I have no choice.
I can’t see your teeth, but I’m guessing they’re real–I mean, you’ve lived a long life, but you’re still a little young for dentures. As for your vagina, reports vary, but whatever. Live your life.
One final suggestion before I go: in addition to the epidermal warfare you’ve got brewing from the waist up, I also have a problem with your name. Specifically, the “Lil'” part. Don’t you think it’s time you became just “Kim”? Or possibly “Mid’l-Aged Kim”? Or, if you’re into alliteration, “Cougar Kim”? There are a lot of possibilities. Pick one. Because your boobs may only be ten years old, but you’re 34. At least.
Happy birthday,
Richard
I do not care if Bruno is good for the gays. You know what is good for the gays? A nice dinner at a very expensive restaurant with exceptional service and a dessert on the house, followed by, most likely at a different location, some good old-fashioned ass-fucking.
I’m not sure how I missed this. I’m not sure what it means. Although I’m pretty sure it doesn’t mean anything, other than that dude eats lunch standing up, and he keeps a really clean kitchen. But maybe there’s a subplot I’m missing?
sturtle [dot] com 
