Beastly Beauties

Kanye excluded.

And Mamdafi, Zohan Gaddafi, the passable Persian mayor to the list.

Holla! And all those Mandami groupies out there that couldn't juice for joy.

At the sound of a chorus that should have been the rallying cry for...

There's no future! Unless Mom Donnie steals it for me.

There's no future! Unless Mom Donnie takes over...

All the real estate in Manhattan declares a caliphate, or whatever the fuck the Muslims call that, that Alexa insists on calling a positive association with conquest.

There is no future for me! Johnny Rotten lives! Holla! Basely beauties for Johnny! Thank you very much! If I caught my two sons, who I call stud alerts on the loose, they got blonde hair, blue eyes, look like primo pinup material for Aryan pedo beat, all right? My youngest one, Chosen Curls, Italian grandmas would have hit on him all the time at the Chico's back in the day, back when I was a state-owned female comedian.

One time, one of them says to my son, when you get older, you're going to have three girlfriends to juggle.

I said, lady, no offense.

If James Woods had curls like this, your estimates wouldn't be so conservative.

Can I get a holler for more? Basically, beauties holler, there's no future for unfunny has-been hack breasts.

Like Brad Pitt in my universe.

I'm not writing shit for you.

Holla.

Beastly beauties.

Thank you.

Very much.