Friday, 12 February 2016

DRAKE GOT DIESED, LET'S PRETEND HE DID IT FOR US

Drake, Johnny Roxx, Whorrified,
DRAKE'S TRAINER WORKED HARD to sculpt this Canadian bacon into muscle and, by God, he's got every right to Instagram it. Plus, Rihanna might see it ...
 INSTAGRAM

And while Chris Brown is busy honing his pitcher's arm while doing a court-ordered 90-day rehab stint, his arch-nemesis Drake is picking up every ball Breezy ever dropped, including: Making hit music, going to strip clubs with Rihanna and crunching his way to a six-pack. As this Instagram shows, he's currently at four-pack. (Hmm. I recommend easing up on the Moscato. I've cut back drastically on drinking during the week and it's made almost no difference whatsoever, but that's because I cheat.) Drizzy's trainer Johny Roxx tweeted this beefcake image of Toronto's hottest homie as he was about to go onstage in Oakland, Calif. I'm not sure what, exactly, is behind this newfound passion for sculpting and mean-mugging, but if I had to guess I'd say it starts with an "R" and ends with "ihanna." Good luck to you, Drizzy my boy. It's about damn time a nice guy didn't finish last.

Monday, 8 February 2016

PIGGLY SLEPT OVER! (THANK GOD SHE CAN'T TALK YET)

Piggly Wiggly, Brampton blogger, whorrified, marie sutherland,

As I may have mentioned in passing on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, Pinterest, Snapchat and the front porch of my townhouse, from whence I bellowed the news to my neighbours, I had a very special houseguest earlier this week. I refer, of course, to one Miss Piggly Wiggly, my granddaughter and the future Queen of England

Although I've spent many, many nights at her house sometimes invited, more often simply by dint of the fact that I can pick locks this was the first time my baby has ever spent the night at my house. Because as you may know if you follow Whorrified, Piggly got off to a rough start. There were feeding issues, there were growth issues, there were hospital visits and feeding tubes and a relentlessly devoted young mother whose own health I began to worry about, but we've turned the corner now and Piggly is on pace to outweigh all of us by the time she hits her first birthday. In fact I'm beginning to suspect they're putting straight gravy in her feeding tube, because holy hamhocks, Batman! The last time I saw thighs that plump they came with a side of plum sauce for dipping. 

Anyway, when I first learned that this visit was going to happen, I lost my natural mind. I mean, I'm hobbling around on crutches with an injured knee, yet I still managed to go organic-grocery shopping, limp to WalMart to buy a new vacuum cleaner and comb the house from top to bottom for tell-tale signs that I sometimes decorate with Crown Royal. (Not that there's anything wrong with that. It's just ... what if Wills and Kate stop by?) 

I could fill 15 posts with the fun my Piggly and I got up to, the cuddling, the tickling, selfies, the bonding, the aching melting joy of it all, but I think the important thing is that we managed to revive a once-proud tradition that had all but disappeared: the game of Things on Piggly Wiggly's Head. Yeah, that's right, that game. The one you all used to think was cruel but now that we've learned she's one click away from becoming royalty you're all like "Good lord, yes; get that helpless little head ready for a CROWN!" Hypocrites. *bows head, performs cleansing anasyrma* And yet we forgive you.

AT FIRST, IT SEEMED A BIT CRUEL, this Things on Piggly's Head game. But the child took to it like a Crown to Royal and by God, she enjoys it more than I do now. If that's even possible.