Chicks who walk into booths at Hair Fair and then stand there for hours blocking the door with their gigantic asses and booty-swinging, hair-flipping AOs.
(Yeah, it's a sentence fragment. Why waste words.)
At first I thought she wasn't wearing pants. Then I realized her shorts were being devoured by DAT ASS.
I didn't snap her from the front, but dang, she was SPECTACULAR in all her glory.
I will never understand this blangin' thug-life girlfriend look, but then again I'm a boring middle-aged woman trapped in the suburbs, so what the hell do I know? At least she went that extra mile (or more) to give her AV some character.
To her credit, she might have been wearing shoes. SL holds all kinds of wondrous possibilities that never get around to rezzing on my computer.
Go ahead and call me mean names, but damn, I love fug-watching. I don't mind admitting it. Hell, I'm the poster child for fug these days in my 2012 retro wardrobe, so just wave at my glass house when you walk by and let me keep throwing my little rocks once in a while. I miss the fug blogs, too. I feel like I've earned the right to make that statement since I've been featured in them myself a few times. Plus, in better days I would have been the first person to give you the fugly shirt off my own back or lindens or whatever you needed if you were suffering. You can laugh at fug and still be a good person. YES YOU CAN!
Speaking of alms for the poor, much love to Whispers Magic for her gift of Slink feet. (When you gonna blog again, Whispers??) I'm looking forward to trying them out and finally having sophisticated feet like the rest of you.
I'm gonna get back to trying to wade through Hair Fair now. Even on a weekday, I crash about every seven minutes. Some things never change.
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