Make of it what you will, but the Elton John AIDS Foundation party tends to bring out the biggest shows of cleavage each Oscar Sunday, with the lovely ladies of L.A. saving up their funbaggery for when the more stately Academy Awards come to a conclusion.
Heidi Klum, Kim Kardashian, Kelly Rowland, Britney Spears, Ashley Greene, and Irina Shayk all came up noteworthy in the category of most chest exposed on an otherwise pretty modestly dressed night for most of the actual movie stars. The Elton John party ticket is the hottest in town, if you can get it, which you can, for eight thousand times my hourly play rate. I had to save up this year to buy a new carbon fiber yo-yo, so I skipped, but I would never miss out on hot celebrity chestiness. Enjoy.
I’m not even going to begin to speculate the means by which Christie Brinkley looks so incredible at age sixty, I’m merely going to appreciate, ogle, and imagine she’s my mom and I have a bad tummy ache that needs rubbing. It’s really something out of the inexplicable handbook of hotness. You throw in the sextastic poses of Irina Shayk in a super tight dress and suddenly you have a party.
Officially, a celebration of the 50th Anniversary of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit editions of their magazine. Hard to believe that was once a radical idea for a sports magazine has blossomed into something so wonderfully for leering each and every February. People who complain about modern times have no clue what life was like before you could see wicked hot women in tiny bikinis at the newsstand. It must have been truly awful times. Enjoy.
Beach Bunny marketing geniuses have done it again. Convinced Irina Shayk with cash to take off her clothes and put on their bikinis to pimp big time to the female swimsuit buying world, with a little side benefit for ogling gentleman everywhere.
It’s hard to think of any model that does bikinis better than Irina Shayk, though I do spend my days thinking such deep thoughts. She’s just the embodiment of allure and passion inducement. Sultry, thrilling, and one wicked fine female form. Put me down for a case of your tiniest two-pieces, good merchant. Enjoy.
I have no idea what Irina Shayk was promoting in Barcelona, I only know that (1) whatever it is, I’m buying, and (2) I would love to take Irina Shayk on a tour of one of my Top 5 worldwide cities that I’ve been arrested in before. Ah, Barcelona, your beautiful beaches and wine-scented jail cells still haunt my waking moments.
As I’ve said before, the definition of marketing genius is the guy who convinces his company to pay for Irina Shayk to don their apparel and smile for the cameras while everybody ogles her leer-worthy hot body. So simple it’s actually genius. I only wish I could afford Irina for the opening of my new home theater room, but I bought a sub-woofer off eBay instead. Not quite the same boom, but within blogger budget. Irina, let’s hit the town. Enjoy.
7 Hollywood magazine is calling this their fantasy issue. They could’ve just as easily called it my fantasy issue, because perusing Irina Shayk barely covered topless in this hot pictorial, well, it’s definitely something straight out of my REM sleep moving images. Right about 4am when I subconsciously test the resolve of my pillows in ways they are never pre-tested in the factory.
Irina Shayk is a fantasy girl quite on her own. You throw in some leather and some suspenders slung tightly over her bare fine boobtastic and you have the makings of some epic imagery that you might wake up smiling to twenty years hence. Irina Shayk has got a bottomless reservoir of the sextastic. I’d love to dive in. Enjoy.