Tuesday, August 19, 2008
The Pink Panther Strikes Again
Somewhere, buried deep beneath his Ed Hardy cap, his carefully sculpted facial scruff, his Megaman sunglasses and douche-face, there lies the soul of a poet.
And by poet, I mean steaming Latvian tree frog poo.
Kirsten Dunst wants to take me to meet Muffy and Buffy at her summer house in the Hamptons.
But what’s with the dirty foot tracks up the arm and across the Cleavite, Kirsten?
