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Mary-Kate Olsen

Decide you have too much wealth to get tied up in earthly obligations. Embark on a journey into different realms. Go realm hoppin.’ Slip into a realm assembled solely out of rhythms and vibrations.

Here’s a video of Mischa Barton behaving erratically and looking STONED AS HELL while she talks about fashion or Darwinism or whatever. Honestly, I can’t tell if she’s coming up or coming down, but even Marisa Cooper would be frightened and say to her, “GET IT TOGETHER, PSYCHO!”

I just don’t understand you at all. I remember you being on the cover of Vogue once and even the interviewer was like, “Yeah. Your career’s been kind of a joke. What’s up with that?” And you were like, “IDK. I’m just a homebody, you know?”

Mary-Kate decided that she didn’t like it when food entered her body anymore so she dropped to a skeletal -50 pounds. She was then sent to rehab in Utah but it didn’t really do anything. She came back still looking insane but people were just like, “Oh Mary-Kate!” and accepted her anorexia.

In order to dress like an Olsen, you have to want to destroy everything that’s beautiful and expensive so it can look distressed and edgy. Buy a Birkin and have your driver run over it ten times with your Range Rover, curse at it, spit on it and punch someone in the face with it.

The Royal Wedding. What is it? Why is it here? Why is it taking up space on my favorite blogs? Here’s what I’ve been able to deduce so far from this whole shitshow of an event. Some balding British guy who peaked when he was 16 (#dark) is marrying a woman named Kate Middleton.

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