Last weekend, Boris Johnson and his fiancée Carrie Symonds tied the knot at Westminster Cathedral and are now officially man and (third) wife. What a triumph! They threw her Majesty’s Gutter Press off the scent by sending out hold the date invitations for next year and then slipped into church and made their vows. If only Boris had paid that much attention to, and had done as much planning for, Covid 19, maybe 135,000 people would not have died. WTF is indebted to aficionado Bindy from Wiltshire for pointing out that Carrie’s rustic wedding reception with the garden of Number 10 Downing Street decorated in hay bales and the bride barefoot in a peasant gown with a diadem of flowers around her head, was like Marie Antoinette playing shepherdess at Le Petit Trianon, only it was SW1 and not Versailles or Arcadia. As for Johnson, you would have taken him for Carrie’s portly parent, the man who gave her away and not the man who got her.
It came as something of a surprise to learn that Johnson was entitled to marry in a Catholic church, let alone in England’s principal Catholic place of worship. Most of us thought that a thrice-divorced philanderer with at least two children born out of wedlock and another one aborted by a former mistress, would never be allowed inside the porch, let alone up the aisle. But it appears that if your previous nuptials were not conducted under the auspices of the Catholic Church, they do not count. Which probably comes as news to all those divorcés and divorcées who are not Prime Ministers and who did not renounce their faith and seek confirmation as an Anglican, but who have been told to take a hike by parish priests up and down the country when they asked to marry their beloved under Catholic rites……
Meanwhile The Guardian, which has fallen headlong into foolishness, has taken to describing Mrs Johnson as the ‘First Lady’. Not even the Third Lady! Perhaps The Guardian has not noticed that we are not a Republic and we do not have a POTUS or a FLOTUS, although as someone remarked on Twitter, Johnson’s increasing girth reminds us that we do have a BLOTUS. Or as someone else remarked, a SCROTUS. Carrie Antoinette has aspirations above her station. Which in her case is East Sheen…. It becomes ever more clear that Boris and Carrie Antoinette are set fair for a long and royal reign. Nothing, it appears, can stop them. Certainly not the Labour Party with its inept failure to hit home on any subject. Whatever Johnson does, the public has long ceased to be outraged about it, or even to give a stuff. And so we now have rival royal courts, their Avignon to HMQ’s Rome. It is not the most appetising of choices, but WTF knows which one she would opt for should push come to shove…..
We start our review of the week’s sartorial stinkers with singer Gwen Stefani on set for the finale of The Voice wearing Michael Ngo.
Gwen’s hair looks like a badger’s bum, the cropped shirt is perhaps one of the silliest garments WTF has ever seen and the enormous red trousers clearly belong to a massively fat fireman.
This is singer Mabel out and about in London wearing who can even say what this is?
Memo to Mabel. Do a bulk buy on moth balls or call in Rentokil, because you have a serious problem in your wardrobe. And not just because it has this jumpsuit in it, resembling a couple of mouldy lattice-work sausage rolls.
And now we are off to the iHeart Radio Awards in Los Angeles, where we encounter rapper LL Cool J, wearing some terrible old tat.
If a teddy bear went to a fancy dress party as a cuddly Freemason, this is what it would look like. What has he done to his trousers leg? Why has he done it? And why is he wearing a cassette tape around his neck?
Here is a WTF favourite, not to say, regular, singer Doja Cat wearing Brandon Maxwell.
Compare Doja Cat with LL Cool J above. He is wearing comfy leisurewear and looks like a teddybear in a silly hat. His right calf is on show but his arse is not hanging out and you cannot see his chest. Doja Cat, on the other hand, is wrapped in a roll of chiffon with her panties on full view and her tits making a bid for freedom, like a 21st Century Mata Hari. Equality? Not really.
Either Megan’s jumpsuit was so tight that it has split across the crotch and her beau is protecting her modesty (too late, sweetie, too late) or he is copping a feel. Either way, Megan is in serious danger of a vulvectomy, because MGK has nails like Edward Scissorhands.
And that is not all because in his silver shorts suit with accessories sweetly picking up on Megan’s pinkness, he looks like a Victorian silver pageboy. As well as a total knob.
And it gets worse. Here is rapper Megan Thee Stallion wearing Bryan Hearns.
We have seen Megan a few times recently, but this is rock bottom. Literally. As we can see in this snap of Megan and her partner, rapper Pardi Fontaine. Once again, he is fully covered whilst she is showing most of what she has, not that we want to see it. This is not a tit window, this is a tit coastline AND for good measure, Hearns has given us an Imminent Minge Moment. Yurgle.
This week’s It’s Got to Go comes from WTF aficionado Leslie from Lisson Grove who sent in this horror-show. These jeans are by wetlookdenim.com and they cost £50.
Leslie writes that ‘at my age I really don’t need jeans that make me look like I’ve peed myself’. No one needs them at any age, Leslie. What WTF fails to understand is why you need to buy jeans that look as if you have peed yourself when you can simply piss on an old pair of your own jeans and save yourself the money. It’s preposterous. It’s Got To Go.
OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Let us meet again next Friday. And keep those splendid suggestions coming in for It’s Got To Go, not to mention your top comments. Be good x.