The only thing I was looking forward to yesterday was the final installment of the Real Housewives of Atlanta reunion (don’t judge me, Phaedra actually said “you won’t know if your baby daddy is an ax murderer or a child molester; but what you will know is that he will have wanted $10 for a medium sized pizza so he ejaculated in a cup so you could have a kid. Now, check.that.” Hashtag poetry). But then on my way home Michelle Obama and Anna Wintour were cutting a ribbon for a fashion school or something and it was the Met Ball. Oh ya, that time when all of these celebrities and designers are all like look at how fabulous we are and I’m going to be Cinderella or whoever the fuck and Instagram the shit out of this. It’s a massive collection of cunts in couture and I can’t believe I wasn’t invited.

Recently, I must admit that my interest in these awards shows has waned. It might be because I’m getting older, but all of these people just look the same. Blonde bitches in jewel toned gowns with Xanax in their Judith Lieber clutches and enough double sided tape to feed Africa. But then the models make up for it and I get to share my opinion with all of you guys and pretend I don’t live in Egypt and El Sisi Ra2esy.

Kim Kardashian seems so excited to be invited again without being pregnant, it’s almost embarrassing. Kanye still looks really sad. I feel bad that she seems to constantly have to comfort him. I don’t feel bad for him because she probably uses her boobs a lot to make him feel better about life.

Kendall fucking Jenner is not even human. Where is your Illuminati contract and where do I sign over my soul? (Can you get me a Xanax from your mum?)

Lupita! You saucy little minx. This is like she reversed history; white people were the slaves in the 1920s and this bitch was having a flapper party where she would get drunk and make fun of all of her friends/white servants. I’m pretty certain she got drunk and made fun of everyone last night as well.

Who the fuck is Rita Ora?

SJP, there comes a time when you need to let go of strange buns and not let designers sign their name on your dress. Accept that you had a good run and just stay home. It’s really unbecoming.

“Look at me, I am supermodel and mogul Gisele! Look at my long legs and fabulous life. I will sit here and throw my arms up because I have just done yoga and I am zen, I am always tan and my husband and babies are perfect. YAY LIFE!” (Fuck you)

Yes, Emma, yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.

“I am Beyoncé. Who are these people? I wore black lipstick tonight because I am Beyoncé and I can do that. My veil will ensure no one looks directly in my eyes because I am Beyoncé. Will I have to deal with all these white women? No! I am Beyoncé! I am THE white woman. Where is my cognac and my rock?"