Sad. Sad sad sad.
Sad. Sad sad sad.
The little diva should be banned for a year so she can consider the consequences of her woeful little inadequacies.
Hey, you’re not gonna let *facts* get in the way, are you?
Believe it or not, it’s not photoshop. Real shirt, and she’s actually wearing it. The fuzzies you see are because of the tonal difference between the purple and the white lettering, and the rest is just a trick of the eye. But it’s real. And sad.
Hey, at least this one sorta looks like the original… something that cant be said for 98% of the “cartoon” CG crap out there.
Oh please. This place cant go a single day without some twat or another.
Because to the tweens who run BF, this *is* new…
They’re writing songs of love…. … but not for me.
“Mr Beck? Mr. Beck? I have a question! How do you spell potato?”
Why are you surprised? The only thing that amazes me is how long Mattel ignored the marketing potential of the song and opted instead to sue, an utterly brain-dead move on their part. But you’re right: that video is seriously strange. What’s with the waddle-walk, anyway?
Poor Guido. Fell hopelessly in love with a boy in Boston, then was snubbed at the social when everyone realized he hadnt actually read Pride and Prejudice. He returned to New Jersey to the open arms (and, well, other things, I suppose) of his “roomie” Batboy. And now, despite the inevitable fact that Nick is simply looking for his intellectual equal and not just a hot bod, poor Guido, poor dense Guido feels guilty for hopping between the sheets with Batboy when he’s still in love with his Boston Bubba… It’s so sad to see a puppy-dog romance go so utterly, completely wrong.
Lookin’ sharp there, Buzz! Likin’ those new-fangled leg warmers?
Considering that a nesting magpie protecting her nest will rip the skin off your head, I’m afraid I dont find this especially funny, guys. But then most of your choices of “buzz” these days have been pretty… well, pathetic; I guess I shouldnt be surprised that you would see this as “front page worthy”.
You rarely find them in your parents’ basement.
On his taxes? His girlfriend? His final exam?
Supposedly, the skinniest house in NYC belonged to Emily Dickinson, down in Tribeca.
Please, Jason: how many people would it take? A couple of “volunteers” for each plane, a supervising officer, and a direct order from the White House. Pretty minimal.
It does look suspicious.