Tuesday, October 11, 2005

A Little of the Old In and Out

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(image via gawker via reuters)

In: Anna Wintour. There's a funny thing about Anna Wintour (The Corsair motions the reader to follow him). The more one tries to catch her off-script -- the more one tries to relieve her of the automatic cruise control -- the more appealing, warm and goddamned attractive Wintour actually becomes. Take, for instance, the recent revelation that she had a torrid relationship (okay, an intense, sweaty zipless fuckfest) with Bob Marley. The news was supposed to cause her ridicule among the chattering classes.

Quite the contrary. That revelation melted the permanent veneer of icy-frost that clung about Anna Wintour like a silk georgette blouse. Anna has emotions; Anna has womanly needs. Anna, as a result, has never been more interesting and human as when we pictured her, in the minds eye, riding Bob Marley, like a Carribean Quarterhorse, the bedroom air dense with world-class hydroponic-bubonic ganga.

Now, take this image of Anna Wintour, reeling from a gooey, most probably jizz-suffused pie-to-the-face, delivered by rowdy French anti-fur activists. Is this thusness supposed to make her look foolish? Well, let us tell you, it doesn't. It's hott, people; it's goddamned hott (The Corsair drains his glass of grappa) . Control freaks smothered with a flaky pie crust and gooey unguent turn us on, big time. We'd definitely fuck Anna Wintour, with or without the incentive of the pastry by-product. Anna Wintour (The Corsair salutes his tricorn pirate hat), is definitely "in." (As if she needed us to say so)

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(image via pitfather)

Out: Marilyn Manson: The Fragrance. And what fragrance would that be? The scent of manufactured controversy? The scent of teenage exploitation? The scent of Rose McGowan's film career evaporating at the MTV Music Awards? (Averted Gaze) According to those intrepid Page Sixxies:

"WHO'D want to catch a whiff of face-painted death rocker Marilyn Manson? No one, we'd guess, but that's not stopping the poster boy for teenage alienation hoping to join the ranks of the 'Beautiful People' he sang about by bringing out his own line of fragrance. He told WWD he's 'in the final stages with one of the major companies,' and he hopes a full line of cosmetics will follow."

Nice. For those who want to smell like an abatoir in the high summer heat.

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"... With hair like a goddamned Botticelli angel." (Image via imaginarysocialite)

In: Who is "Bronques"? Just what, pray tell, is a Merlin "Bonques" (Exaggerated cough suggesting feigned detachment)? Must we apply the accent "egu" on the second syllable? How about we don't and say we did? (Averted Gaze) We've heard his name, with increasing frequency, in the bare ruined choirs of the NY bar scene. He claims, on MySpace, to be "100 years old." This may or may not explain his -- cough, cough -- Reconstruction-era sharecropper's coif. (A considerable pause)

Granted, this blog had a bit of fun with "The Bronquer (as we like to call him)," saying once, in passing, "All is tension and chaos. Hectic. New Orleans may be under water, a Supreme Court Justice may have died, and the gas prices could be through the roof by tomorrow; but (pointing slowly, admiringly) that man's hair -- mirabile dictu -- that man's hair will remain 'relaxed' through it all. God bless the lye on this guy."

Yes, God bless it; he's a colorful chap indeed. The Bronquer is not entirely without flavor. We reserve the right to continue to have fun with him in the future. Says ImaginarySocialite of the soi-dissant "Bronques":

"Pop Quiz: Why is Bronques So Psyched?

"a) Rolling Stone loves him
"b) Fight Cats made him a tee
"c) He�s throwing a party in two Tuesdays at Happy Endings to celebrate his big anniversary."

You ... do your thing, Merlin Bronques ... you ... do your thing.

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(image via worth100)

Out: Regis Phiblin, Chisler. We knew he was a chisler. How else to explain his continuing felt-need to work like a West Indian well past his expiration date, barring the advancement of new-blood at ABC. Underneath all that Brylcreme (Averted Gaze), and underneath those Vic Damone-era lounge singer good looks(A considerable pause), beats the heart of one fucking cheap-ass bastard. "Reeg," indeed (Exaggerated cough suggesting feigned detachment). According to radarOnline:

"According to a well-placed ABC insider, Philbin�who�s known around the network as 'King of the Freebies' despite a reported $20 million a year salary�used his star power to strong-arm several luxury outlets into pro-bono sponsorships of his daughter Jennifer�s wedding this past Sunday.

"We hear Philbin talked renowned dress shop Kleinfeld Bridal into furnishing seven bridesmaid gowns for free, plus a tiara when it turned out Jennifer�s Monique Lhuillier dress didn�t come with one, sources say.

"As for the event�s coiffures, we�re told the doting dad also tried wrangling complimentary services from Fifth Avenue salon Louis Licari. (A manager there did not return calls for comment.)

"Finally, for the gala reception at New York�s Pierre�produced by party-planner-to-the-stars Preston Bailey�we�re told the Live With Regis and Kelly host chiseled the hotel into giving him one of the lowest rates it has ever charged."

Jesus.

2 comments:

Bubbles, Ink. said...

that's how the rich stay rich, baby.

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