When you’ve got a two million dollar ring, and you’re planning a million dollar wedding, you can’t just throw on a virginal white gown off-the-rack. For one, you’ve got to get a six figure designer wedding dress from Vera Wang, and, secondly, you go pure virgin white Kim Kardashian and a higher power is likely to strike you down with a shazzle or two of lightning.
Neverthless, Kim, her enormous rump, her enormous sister, her tiny sister, and the commercially insidious mastermind mom all took over the Vera Wang store in Beverly Hills like 50-Cent used to take over a Queens street corner back in the day. It was like a Blitzkrieg of Opera Bouffe as the pimp mistress and her plasticine offspring went full exit lockdown on the high-end wardrobe establishment. Yeah, this is definitely going to end well.
Now, if I may, a little bit of advice to Kris Humphries, the future Mr. Kim Kardashian: Run! You stupid mofo! Run! What awaits you, my gigantic-footed friend is several months, maybe up to a couple years of purse holding of the most humbling degree. Every inch of your intimate person is about to be fodder for public consumption, reality television scripted tease. You’re going to receive orientation from Kris Jenner on your wedding night, not as to how to please her daughter, but how to work the money shot for sale both to censored television and director’s cut video. You’ll wake up in the evenings to find Khloe nibbling on your toes (and it won’t be for sexual reasons) and Bruce Jenner waxing your scrote (definitely for sexual reasons). You’re diving in deep to heavily charted waters, navigated previously by members of all major professional sports franchises. That asstastic funk will soon turn into plain old junk in the trunk and that purse you’re still carrying will not contain the antidote, peruse as you may. You’re 26, you’re tall, you’re wealthy, you’re a professional basketball player. You’re living every boy’s dream. And, yes, that dream includes bumping uglies with Kim Kardashian, but, dude, c’mon, maybe an afternoon delight in the motel no-tell, a nooner in the parking lot at the Calabasas mall, a quick poke in between product launches, but a promise of eternal love and fidelity? You do this willingness, Kris, and you are no longer welcome in our Honeycomb Hideout.