It's alright; it's all good: It's not a party until something gets broken. (image via thecobrasnake)
The Sir Edmund Hillary of Social Climbers, Charlie Rose, briskly exits his sarcophagus, aroused by the scent of billionaires and booze. (image via newyorksocialdiary)
He had us at the Neck Sweat. (image via thecobrasnake)
My good man, nothing like a freshly-squeezed glass of Peruvian peasant blood to clear away the cobwebs, eh? (image via newyorksocialdiary)
A philosophical question: Where does the plastic sofa covering end and Lisa Rinna begin? (image via fashionweekdaily)
All the "Cheek Squeezes," alas, are for naught; and the tragic irony of It All is that Paris Hilton's concave ass would have filled out considerably had she just eaten those goddam prison-issue bologna sandwiches. (image via justjared)
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