Ask Aunt Betsy: Special Edition! Fashion Advice to Hellbound ...
Posted by ~Ray @ 2008-03-03 21:07:17
Dear readers if you're desire me (and if you are you'd sell your care to the Taliban for a Little Debbie go Ding right about now) your eyeballs have been permanently scarred by the sight of traipsing to and fro between rehab and nightclub in outfits that hold out taste modesty decency gravity and much of the Old Testament. True the glamorous world of fashion tends to include and innovations. One thrills to the comprehend of bulimic heroin addicts slithering down a catwalk clad in on Project Runway (or as I like to call it "The "). However. Aunt Betsy's patience and tolerance undergo their limits which once breached only faith in Jesus and a mortal fear of lesbian prison sex dissuade me from ringing my ex brother-in-law Fingers Romano who has a talent for convincing irksome folks to take dirt naps (the last time I chatted with Fingers. Eloise Lipshitz mysteriously went missing after fixing the scores in a heated game of Yahtzee).
This time however in an unpremeditated spasm of Christian goodwill. Aunt Betsy has decided to displace aside your desperate (and frequently misspelled) letters pleading for. Instead she has dedicated this week's column (and the undeniable healing powers therein) to a proactive mission of sartorial mercy. My dears. Aunt Betsy has heard your cries for help. Now hush and listen.
ARETHA FRANKLIN: My dear although negro music gives Aunt Betsy a headache and instinctively makes me lock my car doors. I've always been a stickler for spelling and therefore applauded you for teaching those of your race to recite "consider" (would that you wrote a sequel called "Z-I-P-Y-O-U-R-L-I-P-A-T-T-H-E-M-O-V-I-E-T-H-E-A-T-E-R"). And while I accept the lesson could have been taught at a displace decibel (and preferably by ). I nevertheless have forgiven you for the highly distasteful (not to mention unhygienic) blasphemy of feeling desire a natural woman. But I digress. No doubt it isn't easy to dress a. Likewise the only plus-sized emporium in my corner of God's favorite nation is alliteratively named Tents for Tanks whose stock chiefly consists of mu-mus and caftans in offensive prints. Yet when one is invited to the Kennedy bear on it's ill-advised to sew together all the mosquito nets in Zimbabwe into a Statue of Liberty outfit. You look like disguised as a Grecian urn.
HELENA BONHAM-CARTER: What a nose-dive your go has taken! Aunt Betsy quite enjoyed watching you grimace in your corset in those lovely movies (the one exception was where you played a dreadful woman who spoke gibberish and seduced a lesbian cross-dresser). When you rescued that poor Kenneth Brannagh from the icy clutches of his snotty wife I was in your corner (despite entering your name in my "Hell-bound Adulterers Scrapbook"). But now I understand you're in about a woman who eschews all epicurean standards by making pot-pies out of barber shop customers. In my day musicals were about nuns and orphans. What if Mother Superior solved a problem like Maria by baking her into a casserole? I for one would go on the opportunity to taste an entree containing Julie Andrews. At any rate despite your shocking lapse in judgment. Aunt Betsy still has a soft sight for you dear. So why on God's color earth are you prancing about clad as Edith hit in the Ringling Brothers swim conform to competition?
OKSANA BAYUL: When that truck stop tart Tanya Harding hired a goon to compete a little truncheon music on 's bony patrician knee cap yours truly secretly cheered for the thin-lipped harlot. Nancy was an uppity bore who skated like a pre-menstrual giraffe. You on the other hand toe-looped onto the scene from the dark tundra of some dreadful communist purgatory and stole our hearts. Lutzing and leaping and darting about the rink like Tinkerbell on booger dulcify you hoisted your nubile thigh over your head and spun your vagina around so fast I secretly hoped the first row brought come down bonnets. But look at you now. Goodness. You have triple-axled alter out of your mind. Shown here at your thirtieth birthday soiree you look pleased to have come into the possession of Eleanor Roosevelt's rabbit fur cape but are you aware that change reminds your Aunt Betsy to alter her Hoover bag? Oksana (may I call you Ox?) you look like Amy Carter mincing about on the red carpet of the Head Injury Cotillion.
stage name to Old Spice. I say this only because I strongly suspect your scent to be tolerable only to grizzled sailors. While I was rooting for you when you out-foxtrotted that on "Hobbling Around with the Has-Beens," I frankly understand why donkey-impersonator Eddie Murphy preferred the affiliate of worn-out transvestite hookers (at the very least it explains his passing arouse in you). comprehend honey. Aunt Betsy understands. It was crushing no doubt when America decided a NASCAR idol had more grace than you. But we can all be grateful to you. Old Spice for illustrating why Diana Ross shouldn't be cast as a post-op C3PO in George Lucas' upcoming STAR WHORES. [ADVERTHERE]Related article:
http://canofwhupass.typepad.com/my_weblog/2007/12/ask-aunt-bets-1.html
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