Graveyard Stomp

G is for George smothered under a rug.



G is also for ghastly.

I genuinely really like these famous peeps, I do. But...what the hell happened to them? Oy. And also vey.

If you could see feelings, this is what all of mine would look like:



I really like Miss Love, seriously. Remember her "comeback" with the super cute platinum bob and the rockin' bod? I want to see her like that again. Tell her to call me, we'll have cawfee, we'll tawlk, no big whoop.



Same goes for Winehouse here. Love her voice, love her style (before it got all homeless chic), love her 'do (when she gave a rat's ass about it). She's another that needs a scrub-down and a comeback. And a bar of soap and an ass-kick and intervention and a hug, in that order.



I genuinely don't really like these guys, not so much. I'm not sure why. Anger needs no explanation, so take it.

Looking exactly like a new mom should: all painted up with supersized unnecessary whoreyness and a side of skank for the road:



I have no words. Oh wait, yes I do: ENOUGH ALREADY, MADONNA. Sweet jumping jebus, we GET it. And PS. Can someone inform her that the Lolita thing hasn't been ironic and cute since about '93. But thanks for trying too hard.



Ghastly, on a "WTF?!" level: Miley is 15, her BF is 20. Really? That's called illegal where I'm from, but I guess in Kentucky that's called over-the-hill.



Look how glamorous Jamie Lynn makes teenage pregnancy look and not at all tired, run down, haggard, and like a last-call 1:59 a.m. bar hag. It looks like someone superimposed the head of a Denny's 3rd shift waitress onto her body, only with better hair. I didn't realise not getting knocked up was that hard. Is it wrong to wish that 99.9% of celebrities should not be allowed to breed? Because when I'm dictator, that's exactly what my first order of action will be. Angelina, I'm looking in your general direction.



Speaking of mandatory sterilization...



No jazz hands were harmed during the writing of this blog.