Stumble It!
SEVENTH CIRCLE, Hades -- The Queen-o-Mean (no, not Clay Aiken, silly!) is dead. Monstrous gargoyle and plastic surgery worst-case scenario Leona Helmsley's heart gave its two-week notice today, effective two-weeks ago. The homo-hating billionaire ex-con was enjoying a peaceful morning at home eating baby flesh and rubbing saddle soap into her favorite maid whip when Lucifer's icy grip yanked her face first into her priceless Steuben crystal figurine display. She was found by her butler, prone on the Turkish marble floor, her beloved lapdog Trouble Helmsley enthusiastically urinating into her open drooling mouth. The butler quickly followed suit, and after photographing her in various humiliating poses and posting the pictures on MySpace, eventually phoned for medics.
As scores of service personnel immediately began rehearsing a rousing, foot-stomping Virginia Reel to be performed to the tune of "Happy Days Are Here Again" at her otherwise ill-attended memorial service, environmental experts started a heated debate as to how best to commit the toxic harpie's poisonous flesh to the dirt without threatening the tri-state area's water supply.
Her maid, Consuela Hernandez, a traumatized illegal with post traumatic stress disorder, stammered in grief-stricken broken English that she'd consulted her Tarot cards and can confirm that Ms. Helmsley is currently being checked into the dazzling Lake-o-Fire Marriott, where she can look forward to many relaxing days being ass-humped by demons after a refreshing lava bath. Thereafter she'll retire to an overpriced room with a breath-taking view of the air shaft, where she can enjoy a glass of sparkling 2006 pink zinfandel from a box and recline on her luxurious sperm-stained Sears hide-a-way cot outfitted with 75-thread-count JC Penney poly-blend sheets with an understated Smurf pattern.
IN OTHER FILTHY-RICH-DEAD-OLD-BROAD NEWS: Brooke Astor is still dirt-napping, yet enjoying a decidedly more comfortable afterlife than her sister-in-oppulence Leona.
Comments