Before we begin, I’d like to commend you on your efforts entertaining our troops during the Second World War. At the ripe young age of 40, you gave our boys something to live for as they fought to stop Hitler from finding Jesus’ cup in that tomb with the knight who was like super old. Anyway, those glory days are long gone. When you reach the triple digits, it’s time to retire the bikini. How do I put this delicately? Your ass looks like E.T.’s stomach – but more Play-Doh-y. So Play-Doh-y, in fact, that I’m about ready to bust out my Spaghetti Factory. I like to make the stars!
The Superficial Writer
NOTE: Not sure what this is, but I’m convinced it’s our duty as a society to kill it.