Good God.

Eugh.

Look at the Partying Potato (TM)! Just look at her! Look!

*eyes melllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllt*

Was bigger a mess ever seen? And what the fuck is that face? That’s the face of someone who thinks she’s hot. She no hot. Not even luke-warm. Not even teppid. Not even chilblained hands popped under a Dyson Airblade for a moment (ten seconds is all you need, people. Ten seconds…). Not even a nuclear-heated McDonalds chicken nugget left out on a windy day. Not even the four-day-old dregs of a dirty cappuccino in the bottom of corrugated paper cup. On a scale of one to hot, Peaches Geldof is a very healthy Baltic.

*makes a note of that*

Oh Peaches Geldof. What will we do with you…

 

 

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4 comments to “Good God.”

  1. Nuke her.

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  2. What colour is that dress for a big night out?

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  3. Can we start a POPP campaign? Billboards, sides of buses, T Shirts, badges etc?

    (POPP = Piss Off Pixie/Peaches)

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  4. Honey, Momma’s calling you home. Please make these girls go away. I believe in lethal injections for the hopelessly useless offspring of near-famouses. If I was in a room with her and a syringe of her mother’s little helper I may just inject myself not to see her ever again. Guacamole Geldoff is a better name.

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