‘My hump, my hump, my hump, my lovely lady lumps’

Snog? Marry? Avoid? So this is Aretha Franklin partying her sweet ass(es) away at Russell Simmons’ East Hampton estate yester eve.

Now we’re huuuge fans of the legend that is Urethra, but honey those puppies should’ve been taken to the pound and put down a long time ago. The fact that the pearl necklace *gag* is firmly lodged in sweaty tit valley only serves to emphasise that our lady love needs to get off-of thine formidable booty and look after herself just a little bit more. Just a teeny weeny bit. We’re not talking Weight Watchers or Fat Fighters – just more of an ‘I’ll have ten chocolate croissants, instead of 20’ approach. Perhaps then she’d be able to get off the sofa without the aid of a prying bar and breath without that wheezing reminder of an impending heart attack.

Like daddy always said, ‘I’m mean to you because I love you’.

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3 comments to “‘My hump, my hump, my hump, my lovely lady lumps’”

  1. Harsh… but fair

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  2. I think she ate Whitney Houston.

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  3. Baps? Erm, baguettes!

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