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It Must Be Summer (Kristen Cavallari)
Ah, the Sunday of July 4th weekend. A time for repose and reflection. A time to celebrate the warm memories (read: haunting nightmares) of joyous Americana (read: supersaturated fats, no-carb beers and pretty explosives from China) with those family and friends you treasure most (read: drunks). Or.. for me, a time to kill several tedious hours at work by blitzkrieging this blog with a series of catchup posts... mostly relating to breasts.... and the confusing organisms that carry them around on their chests. With that in mind, lets take a moment to appreciate some new pics of one of our favorite, underappreciated (and talentless) faux-celebrities: Ms. Kristin Cavallari. Frankly, I don't care if the only talent this girl has is being photographed in a bikini. You might as well call her Henry Kissenger in my book. And no, I'm not taking anything away from the famed diplomat.... I'm taking EVERYTHING away. After all, I've been storing his corpse in my basement for two years, and haven't seen a penny from his family yet for my trouble. Sure, you could argue that graverobbing a famous American ambassador isn't a very good kidnapping ploy. But I could argue that your mom is a pickadilly whore. And between you and me, the corpse of Kissenger and I talk about it every night at tea. Don't even get me started about what Stalin thinks.
Ah, the Sunday of July 4th weekend. A time for repose and reflection. A time to celebrate the warm memories (read: haunting nightmares) of joyous Americana (read: supersaturated fats, no-carb beers and pretty explosives from China) with those family and friends you treasure most (read: drunks). Or.. for me, a time to kill several tedious hours at work by blitzkrieging this blog with a series of catchup posts... mostly relating to breasts.... and the confusing organisms that carry them around on their chests. With that in mind, lets take a moment to appreciate some new pics of one of our favorite, underappreciated (and talentless) faux-celebrities: Ms. Kristin Cavallari. Frankly, I don't care if the only talent this girl has is being photographed in a bikini. You might as well call her Henry Kissenger in my book. And no, I'm not taking anything away from the famed diplomat.... I'm taking EVERYTHING away. After all, I've been storing his corpse in my basement for two years, and haven't seen a penny from his family yet for my trouble. Sure, you could argue that graverobbing a famous American ambassador isn't a very good kidnapping ploy. But I could argue that your mom is a pickadilly whore. And between you and me, the corpse of Kissenger and I talk about it every night at tea. Don't even get me started about what Stalin thinks. 
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