Karen Krizanovich: An American Bitch in London


Am still stuffed from Thanksgiving dinner: bless my lovely houseperson who sourced a huge American ‘Butterball’ turkey the size of a cockapoo for me: they’re loaded with chemicals and absolutely delish…

Turkeyday UK style takes some doing. Once I invited several well-knowns over and, cuz it wasn’t Xmas for heaven’s sake, couldn’t find a freshly killed turkey for sex or drugs. So there was I, decked out in my Gucci-wear dunking a big fucking frozen bird in a clean garbage bin for four hours! Luckily not one of the minor famouses were salmonellaed into the big Groucho Club in the sky…

And now I’ve just found out that this photo shoot next week is without makeup! Outrageous! Of course I am supposed to be thrilled and grateful to be included in this round up of sex writers – but like why are they doing this now? Oh great, let’s make fun of the trouts what write about sex. I am very suspicious; it smacks of the time one TV show asked me to hold a glass of milk with a torn condom package on its rim like a slice of lime. You get the drift: I was supposed to appear as if drinking a glass of man spume. Don’t think so. What I do in my off hours is SO my own beeswax.

Meanwhile, my bespoke riding boots are fixed and my padded riding pants are at the ready to go for a nice hard go on an enormous horse this weekend. Since my first-string man is out of town, that’s the closest I’ll get this weekend to anything really really nice betwixt the thighs. How utter is that?

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3 comments to “Karen Krizanovich: An American Bitch in London”

  1. No make-up! Are they mad!

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  2. I’ll come to the shoot and pop a little gloss atop your lips if you like…

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  3. Undo another button, Kazza.

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