Bar Refaeli and the Mash Out Posse

[Where my 15-year-old suburban Caucasoids at? Tyler, Cody, Justin, listen up--new HOV!
(I am contractually obligated to post this because I have a blog and I don't want my credentials stripped)
Jay-Z, "D.O.A. (Death of Autotune)." The download link is on every fourth website you've been perusing in the last 72 hours, so you should have no trouble finding it. Sean Carter, I know you and Yeez have been conspiring to come up with the Least Original Song Topic. You did it, Jay! Congrats! Although I must say--I do like: the fact that you mention blondes (hollerrr) with fat asses (semi-hollerrr, my ass isn't as fat as I'd like), that Crips/Bloods line, and the fact No I.D. will soon be giving me the instro which will occupy a key spot in my summer soundtrack for jaunts around El Lay.]

Moving on:


WHR game super duper proper! I have loved Bar for a few years now, as she is lovely and sort of plain and sort of exotic-looking at the same time not unlike your favorite slender nerdy girl with a web log and anatomical proportions passed down from momdukes.

I was an English major, and being a woman is one of my most favorite things about being alive, so I can endorse the scrawling of a short story on some lovely female skin. The fact that the words are from that awful Stephen King person is something I am choosing to look past at the moment.


Is it wrong that I would volunteer my body for something like this without needing more than a half-second to think about it?
My mother would not approve but I'm grown and she's not the boss of me.
"I'ma do what I wanna, quiet as kept."

Also, of course the words would have to be from the realm of hip-hop. Of course. Duh.
"Ante Up," duh.
"I'm nine hundred and ninety-nine thou short of a mil" carefully inked on my tummy, yes, that'd work out just fine.