Oooh, polaroids. Love a polaroid. Oft missed.

Well you look familiar...

Don’t really love murderers, but Orange Juice Simpson does look rather dashing with his big ball and freakishly large fingernails and tartan shirt and come-to-bed stubble. We wish we could grow stubble like that, only ours comes out a little ginge at around 3mm. In fact, if Santa gave us three wishes they would be, in no particular order but starting with the first:

– Lovely thick stubble that doesn’t require pencil. 

– Lovely long Lindas like Cindy Crawford (we already have those. Does that mean we get a bonus ball?)

– To have a magic power that meant when you pointed, something zapped out of our fingers and people went, ‘Ooooooooooh.’

– Bonus ball: A cat called Chompers.

And in case you were wondering, all of this is relevant. As relevant as pie ‘n’ mash and sex, lies and videotape. For that polaroid up there, of the dashing if-in-need-of-anger-management O.J. Simply Delicious, was in fact taken by none other than his mum Andy Warhol. In 1977, the year Jesus was born.

And like that wasn’t enough, it forms part of a new exhibition of polaroids taken by Andy Warhol of sporting types in the late ’70s. And seeing as we don’t see colour, sexuality or sports, they’re just ‘types’. And seeing as we totally see sexuality, we’ll be waiting, usual place, tonight, 8.30ish. Don’t be late.

Anyways, he took e-snappy snaps of lots of sports people we’ve both heard of and never heard of, and they all from part of said exhibition which is taking place until 12th December at Danziger Projects, 534 West 24th Street, London’s glittering New York.

*points at New York*

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One comment to “Oooh, polaroids. Love a polaroid. Oft missed.”

  1. You made me spill my vodkatini.

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