As I was applying body butter to my arse this morning – a daily ritual…I don’t know whether it’s the road to the elixir of beauty or just pure entertainment for partner, but it is part of my get up and go routine and I’m hoping that’s what the cellulite is thinking it may as well do, because this woman isn’t showing any signs of a let up. Anyway, I just had a thought about Kim Kardashian. (Before I started blogging in January, Kim was hardly on my radar. I was simply aware of her existence in a world that I didn’t want to know about. Now she seems to be a regular feature Shit. What’s happening to me…?) So, my thought was twofold: firstly, it would take her ages to body butter her arse and secondly, the cost! Or, if her arse is fake, and I don’t know the facts, does it need its own beauty routine? Maybe it’s made out of play dough or plasticine and just has to be moulded and smoothed into shape by her children and their friends on a rainy play date. That would explain how she managed to balance that champagne glass on it: OK kids, listen up! You’re making my backside into a shelf today. Hello magazine are arriving in 20 minutes – get to it!
Ah Kim, I feel I’m getting to know you better now. You are my bridge to another world. A world that is so full of sycophantic bollocks, it will provide me with blogging material forever. I shall go and find you on Twitter.