Tuesday, November 11, 2014

Paean to Bret Michaels


The glistening specimen of sugar-free man candy you see before you is none other than the one, the only...

BRET MICHAELS.

Crooner of three-chord power ballads!


Wearer of chalky, charcoal black "guy liner" and other glam man-makeup including (at times) foundation and pink lipstick (while not even in drag)!

Sporter of perfectly coifed butt rocker processed hair that is very likely a toupee secured by a permanent bandana without which he is suspiciously never seen in public!

Reality television star of multiple reality television programs!

Connoisseur of a two-decades long all-you-can-fuck bimbo buffet and consequent likely carrier of miscellaneous veneral diseases!

Rebounder from near death blow to relevancy at the hands of Kurt Cobain, my husband Eddie Vedder (see prior post titled: "Eddie and Me"), and the Seattle grunge movement!

Home gym and tanning salon addict!

Inspiration for horrifying tattoos like this!

Hear us O Bret!

We genuflect before thine holey jeans and stuffed package!

Hallowed be thy name!

Thy kingdom come.

Thy will be done.

On your solo tour,

As it was in Poison.

Amen.





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