The Mock Dock

Snooki, and every single one of her castmates on that trainwreck of a show, Jersey Shore.  She’s a short, trashy looking square-bodied skank.  And that’s me feeling particularly generous talking.

You know else isn’t particularly attractive?  These people:

Mr. Mock and I went out to dinner tonight, and shortly after we were seated, we watched a couple walk in who really caught our attention.  The man was probably close to 60, distinguished looking, silver-haired, and smiling broadly, because the GIRL who was with him was probably around 25, and dressed like the biggest ho-bag on the planet.

She had that bleached blonde hair that’s the kind of blonde which does not exist in the natural world, and can only be created with man-made products.  You know what I’m talking about.  Like – if it was on a shelf of colors at the Rite-Aid, it would be called Wild Skank or something similar.  This chick was wearing  the shortest dress you could wear and still use the term “dress” to describe it.  And it was strapless and strappy, all at the same time.  And it’s WINTER here, you guys.  I was sitting there in a sweater and long sleeved shirt with a scarf around my neck, and I shivered every time the door opened.  And she was basically naked.  It could not have been less appropriate, unless she was wearing shoes that had mice in them (see post below).  Actually, the shoes she had on were short boots with 6 inch stiletto heels, and you could smell her perfume from across the room.  Mr. Mock wrinkled his nose at it, and said, “Smells like stripper.”

I opted not to ask him how he knew that. 

Anyway, they were seated near enough to us that we snuck a few glances at them from time to time, and they were most DEFINITELY a couple.  There were a lot of hands under the table moments and leery smiles.  It was positively disgusting, but it didn’t make me lose my appetite for my seafood tortellini, and it gave me and Mr. Mock something to giggle about.

After dinner, as we were leaving, I told Mr. Mock that I wished I’d have gotten a picture of her for you all, and he said I probably couldn’t have gotten one discreetly, and then he reminded me about HIS discreet photo taking moment from a few months ago, which I TOTALLY FORGOT about until now.

So, you guys know Mr. Mock travels quite a bit.  And not long ago, as he boarded his flight and headed to his aisle seat, he noticed that the person in the MIDDLE seat, was a huuuuuuge landbeast.  And as he approached his seat, trying to figure out how in the world he’d be able to fit in it considering that the landbeast was taking up a good portion of it, she beamed at him and said, “Yup! You get to sit next to the fat chick!”  And since she was so happy and nice about it, Mr. Mock couldn’t help but be nice back, and said, “No problem!”

Anyway, Mr. Mock tried to go for the retractable armrest, but realized that there was absolutely no way it would come down, considering that it was covered by huge heaping piles of back fat.  So he resigned himself to his fate, and even as her slick and sweaty skin came in DIRECT CONTACT WITH HIS, he still had the presence of mind to sneak some photos of her on his iphone.  I have blurred out her face, because honestly, who cares?

Enjoy:

I mean, if you’re going to wear fake eyelashes, shouldn’t they at least be REALISTIC looking?  They are all I can look at, seeing as how the rest of her outfit is so average and everyday and regular.

Ok – those and the fake braid around her head.  But that’s it.  My eyes aren’t drawn to anything else about her.

The Rock Of Love Tourbus is almost upon us, everyone. And judging by this extended preview, we are in for the SKANKOCITY OF OUR LIVES.

I think I could get Mr. Mock to watch this with me just based on the abundance of breastularity alone. He’ll be all, “No way, Mock – I’m not watching this garbage” and then the boobs will start flinging all over the place and he’ll be so hypnotized by them that he’ll forget that what he’s watching is quite possibly the most horrific infliction of crap ever perpetrated on the human race. (I don’t even know if that made sense, but it sounded really good in my head.)

Did you guys ever watch the first season in which Bret Michaels’ diabetes is mentioned ad nauseum? You know what I hate? When people pronounce the word “diabetes” like Dye-ah-beet-us instead of Dye-ah-beet-eez. Bret Michaels prefers the former, which makes me want to punch him in the face.

Was it worse than this?  Because this is pure terror perskankified.

But even as skankalicious as these are, their whoridness PALES in comparison to the bride’s “gown.”  Check it out, after the jump.

Continue reading ‘Have You Ever Been Forced To Wear A Horrid Bridesmaid Dress?’