N.B. Manolo says, the special guest poster today is John Travolta’s Hairpiece.
Forget about that gabagul kiss with Kelly last night at the Savages premiere and take a peep at me, the real star of the show…
Damn, I look good on that man’s head. Go-od. Luxurious, like a freaking sable pelt, know what I’m saying?
Course, I should look good. I ain’t some cheap rug, you know. It’s $8000 for a hair system like me, but Johnny, he spares no expense, goes first class all the way.
Yeah, okay, old Johnny’s having a bit of a rough spot now. I ain’t gonna go into it, being as me and Johnny, we go way back, but you know what I’m talking about.
But fuggedaboutit, Johnny’s a fighter, he’ll get through this, specially since I’m there with him.
What’s that you saying, Johnny don’t need me? He can do it on his own? .
Lemme tell you something. Lest you forget, I’m what made Johnny Travolta what he is…
Bada-Boom! Yeah, feel the love now, biotch. Vinny Barbarino, bald.
Imagine that chrome dome in some close-up clinch with Jessica Biel or Scarlet Johanssen.
Nah, it ain’t happening. Johnny needs me if he’s gonna remain a viable leading man.
Hey, it’s been fun. I gotta run now. I’m having lunch with Billy Bob’s hairpiece at the Grill in the Alley. Real hillbilly, but a standup guy, know what I mean? Makes me laugh.
Manolo says, she was such the nice lady, the bit rough around the edges and liked to yell, yes, but fundamentally nice. And she could throw the softball! Ayyy! Like the cannon!
But then she got involved in the complicated relationship with this horrible overbearing person…
With the screaming, and the manipulating, and the awful horrible children from the previous relationship. And frankly, the Ms. Jenner, she was the simple lady who liked sports, k.d. lang, and the occasional beer. She does not need all this drama queen nonsense.
Now, whenever you see her at your daughter’s school, she looks like she’s ready to break out in tears…
And you just want to give her the hug, and tell her ditch that manipulative woman. But you cannot, because it is none of your business. So you keep your mouth shut and hope for the best.
P.S. For reference purposes..
Manolo says, behold, the highest paid actress in Hollywood!
$34.5 million dollars for looking drippy in Balmain and Ed Grimley’s hairdo; $34.5 million for affectless performances that could be better done by the department store mannequin with the midget inside.
At least the mannequin-midget would look good in the clothes.
Speaking of which, the Manolo does not wish to be harsh, but girlfriend does not know how to wear the clothes, indeed, she seems uncomfortable in anything that does not have the drawstring. Slouching, scowling, muttering her way down the red carpet, at one movie premiere after the next; woe be to the designer who thinks he has found the perfect celebrity showcase, for Kristen Stewart’s anti-glamour makes everything look bad.
But, on the plus side, unlike the last highest paid actress, she will not be stealing Brad Pitt away from his woman.
And now the few examples, to prove the Manolo’s point…
Manolo the Church Lady says, well, isn’t that special.
The reality star, 31, compared herself to the Virgin Mary in an episode of “Keeping Up With The Kardashians” that aired Monday night.
While at dinner, Kardashian expressed her interest in artificial insemination to a group of friends, including her sister Kourtney’s long-time boyfriend, Scott Disick.
“I think if I’m 40 and I don’t have any kids and I’m not married, I would have a baby artificially inseminated,” she told Scott. “I would feel like Mary — like Jesus is my baby.”
Allow the Manolo to suggest the more appropriate Biblical lady…
Manolo says, speaking of the sort of peoples whose stage name might easily be Mercedes Luv, the Manolo presents to you the English media personality Jodie Marsh. (Imagine Tila Tequila without the talent.)
And now, just by looking at the above picture, the Manolo encourages you to imagine what sort of shoes this person might wear to accentuate this outfit…
The answer is below the fold… (more…)
Manolo says, here, from the Vanity Fair photo retrospective of Elizabethan hats, comes the most shocking photo ever of Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II.
It is 1954, and in Australia for one, brief, glorious moment, the Queen is perfectly au courant. She is not the redoubtable, middle-class matron who visits hospitals and endures the antics of her louche children, but rather the stunningly-attired, 28-year-old, semi-hotty.
Everything about this is exactly perfect, from the hat to the shoes, from the gloves to the lace. This is the example of how the woman who has not been granted great beauty, can none-the-less become mesmerizing through the use of beautiful clothing and proper carriage.
Then: The Young Howard Hughes…
Ayyyy! So dashing!
Now: The Young Mark Zuckerberg…
Manolo says, it is the shower shoes that really bring the ensemble together.
Manolo asked, whose shoes?
Manolo answers, it is the Sylvester Stallone!
Congratulations to the Manolo’s internet friend, the Victor, who was the first to correctly identify this week’s celebrity palooka of note.
And now, the Manolo takes this moment to remind you that 30 years ago, Sylvester Stallone was objectively beautiful.
Sylvester Stallone, Style Icon? Yes, it is true. He was!
It is strange, but the Manolo remembers the early 1980s as being the era of lamentable clothings, and yet, while watching again the 1981 Sylvester Stallone movie Nighthawks, with Billy Dee Williams, Rutger Hauer, the Manolo was struck by just how attractive the costumes were.
The Empress Ming the Merciless prepares to give birth to the new age of despotism!
Indeed, the Manolo is only half joking, for as the more he watched the Madonna-tacular show of the halftime, the more he was struck by the unshakeable impression that this was the sort of Nuremberg Rally for the new age of crass narcissism aborning.
Beginning with its imperial fanfare and militaristic pomp, progressing through the forced adoration of the Glorious Leader (L-U-V Madonna! L-U-V Madonna!), and culminating in her apotheosis as the goddess and chief priestess of her own cult of personality, Madonna was urging on us nothing less than her hegemonistic vision of the Madonna-based future.
“My name is Madonna, queen of queens:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.