Katy Perry has sorta made a career out of reminding us how craptastic the 80’s were - but LO! here she is reminding us of everything great from that era … channeling Linda, Naomi, Cindy et al in their b&w, strong browed, bedazzled bra glory.
Image - Interview
(Source: mylocoldplay, via 3564miles)
(via 3564miles)
(Source: mylocoldplay, via 3564miles)
(via 3564miles)
(via 3564miles)
Ollie asleep under my desk
Die Antwoord - Ten$ion Review
9th January, 2024. It’s a bitterly icy Sunday night deep in the Bamboesberg mountain range, South Africa, and a mystifying fog lingers in the air. A wolf’s loud, aggressive howl cries from the distance, echoing in the mountain ranges. Something is about to happen.
Down on the intertwining road below, three hand-polished, swanky Black limousines pull up on the side. For a moment, there is silence. Suddenly, the Chaffeur of the first car opens the back door. Out steps a man dressed in patchy jeans complimented by a white and purple baseball jacket, well into his fifties, anxious and frail. His long, golden locks curtain his wrinkled, bearded face, and he sighs dolefully as he takes off his shades and throws a copy of his paperback ‘How To Blend Into American Society When Really You’re French’ into his drivers arms.
To his left, the second limousine door opens. Another man, considerably younger than the first, exits the vehicle, removing his Dr Dre headphones as he spits and mumbles incoherent rap nonsense under his breath. He notices the other man is standing next to him. “Hey, Dave, how ya doing?”. The first man replies. “I’m okay, Emm-dog. Neither here nor there”. Just as they avidly enthral themselves in sexual-orientated Rihanna conversation, the third door widens. Towering out in a whiff of mystery is a dark, inky creature closely resembling a Crow. His flopping jet black mohawk and sombre clothing contrast his ashen skin and bright red lipstick. He grunts pretentiously when he sees the two men beside him, finishing his phone call: “No, Rose, there’s no way we’re getting re-married. You rode The Manson Monster once, and that was your final chance. Goodbye.” With a brief glance at one another, the three men make their way towards a gigantic cave opening, welcomed in by an usher offering After Eight mints.
The three men enter a huge dwelling hundreds of feet high. Unlike on assumption, the space has been rejuvenated with luscious flooring and paintings of Cheryl Cole hanging on the wall. The men sit down at a large round glass table. After a moment of hesitation, Simon Cowell stands to attention. “Right, I think we all know why we’re here tonight. We need to create the weirdest album to have ever been, and there’s only one way that that can happen, so let’s make this short and sweet”, he demands in his eloquently British accent. He jumps onto the table, and with a nod of delight from the three gleaming boys below him, he unzips his pants and lowers them to the floor, out popping his pulsating member. Hands fly from all directions.
“This is going to be the weirdest music fuckery ever!”, Cowell bellows as he leaps on top, wiping the murky sweat from his forehead as he demonstrates his dominance. Guetta grins in delight, replying boldly: “Let’s make this more swagger than Joey Essex at a cocktail party - stick some fucking House and Techno beats on it. Maybe even a ‘Baby’s On Fire’ to please those Eurovision chaps. Hell, maybe even a dubstep drone or two. Yeah, ‘Never Le Nkemise’ – that’s what it’ll be called. My homeboy Skrill will love it!”
Panting heavily, Eminem adds “Don’t forget the hip-hop and rap integration, it’s gotta be smooth and like shit-hot lyrically, ya know? I’m talkin’ punchy drums supporting gritty rap on ‘DJ HI-TEK RULEZ’. ‘So What?’! That’s gonna be my four minutes of limelight!” Marilyn Manson, on the other hand, can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Fuck you Guetta, you and your dubstep hyperbole, where’s all the dark stuff at? ‘Fok Julie Naaiers’ is the one to remember, let’s sing about horrors that’ll make listeners so creeped out they need bedtime stories and a light on just to sleep! Quite literally, we’ll be singing “I’m gonna fuck you in the ass!” all night long”.
An all round suspense is gradually built as Cowell quivers boyishly too and fro as though he’s on the brink of Heaven’s gates. “Oh my god! I can’t deal with this - there’s so much tension right now!” somebody shrieks. “Yes!”, Cowell explodes, “TEN$IONNNNNNNNNNN!”.
The next ten minutes is spent in relief, smoking on what seems infinite numbers of sultry Davidoff cigarettes and snorting line after line, readjusting their uniform to the bare minimum level of dignifying approval. After a brief all-round team hug and a “thank you” here and there, Cowell watches his collaborative buddies stroll through the exit. “TEN$ION”, he smiles. “That is what it shall be called.”1.0
By Hugh O’Boyle
People in Pizza Slice Costumes Becoming Pizzas. LOOK AT THIS BABY IN A PIZZA SLICE COSTUME BECOMING A PIZZA.
(via crucialpizza)
Your Totally Stunning.
