This is me showing my boobs in this month’s issue of French Playboy. This makes me happy as I like the idea that weird pervy men all over the world are potentially jerking off over my tits, then climaxing all over my shiny, 2-D body, leaving their man juice to dry and get all crusty on my face. Nice one.
The picture was taken by Rankin, who is basically the epitome of the stereotypical fashion photographer. He spent the entire shoot shouting really cliched things like, “Oh yeah baby, give it to me. That’s it!” and “Work it girl,” while also occasionally throwing in the odd, “Do it. Make love to the camera, you sexy bitch.” What was most impressive, though, was that he managed to me me look this amazing (I don’t normally) without laying eyes on me one single time. Impressive. Basically, he was everything I hoped he would be and more.
I’d also like to take this opportunity to say that if anyone wants to send me creepy, dirty emails, my email address can be found in the upper right corner of this page. Any I receive I plan to make into a book to give to my boyfriend for his birthday. He’s been being a right prick lately. He came home yesterday after I’d been in the house cooking us dinner all night (I would have used the phrase ‘slaving in the hot kitchen all day,’ but that would have just been a blatant lie. I was making sandwiches.) He was carrying a white plastic bag, held it up and smiled, “I bought you some presents!” This excited me as practically never happens.
So I open the bag all giddy, and what do I find? A carton of apple juice, which I despise (we have been together for four years now. He should know this), a string of love hearts (which is basically the only thing on this Earth I hate more than apple juice), and a copy of NYLON Magazine, which conveniently has the name of his ex-girlfriend’s band printed in huge letters on the cover. Wait… let’s reevaluate the situation at hand. Do you HAVE a brain, or have you taken such an incomprehensible amount of drugs that it has completely disintegrated, leaving a crater-filled globule of crusted slime it’s its place? I know, I’ve got a great idea! Next time you want to surprise me with something, why don’t you just ejaculate into a list of all the girl’s names you’ve ever slept with, and then wrap it in a carton of apple juice? Fucking moron.
So yeah, like I said- filthy emails welcome.