National Graffiti

I felt it was high time that someone had fun with a few classic images from the National Enquirer.

Let’s start with those horrid wig ads.  I decided to give each of the human chia-heads some nifty style-names.

First, there’s the one I call “The Trash-Fro (White Trash Afro)“.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Who could resist a “Poor Man’s Dolly Parton“?

A rich man, I guess.

Perhaps the poor man, also.

 

 

And finally, in this category, for those idyllic afternoons of imagining what life could be like (and hoping for f!ck’s sake it finally happens, so you can get the hell out of this godforsaken place), there’s “Trailer Park Dreams“.

 

 

 

 

We all love a good bathing suit exposé, except if it’s about us.  So of course, we love the ever-recurring celebrity bathing-suit “piece”.  I’m not sure who this is, but she might be thinking, “Hhmm….I could have sworn I left a tuna sandwich down here in one of these folds…”

 

And how do we know whether Steven’s got a “Baby On Board?”, or just some sort of massive tapeworm?

 

 

 

 

Finally, you have to admit – you were already thinking the same thing about Chaz Bono.

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