xox./ your father LOVES me. *Breaking the margins of what's a c c e p t a b l e . ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- On the outside, it's swamped by the tabloids, marketers and press trying to catch a glimpse of the showdown and possibly attempting to snap a few polaroids of the vivid art that moves on what would be the figure of an elongated swan. However on the inside, it's quiet and dark. There are a few whispers heard all over in the gallery where they're overlooking the runway. A slight shimmer dances off the stage where several artists show of their work on the human body and within a fraction of a second, they go up in full blast. Loud music starts blaring from all over the place as stomps can be heard as the women parade down the catwalk. They are volatile. They're risky yet glamourous and still work so cohesively with the peices following. The slim figures twirl in the dresses that give them the flare of a ballroom dancer, while the one's in leather chaps pose portraying their spunk and attitude. Some of them even came in pairs as the previous forms of feminine features was juxaposed with the typical wear of young American women of this century. Amongst the many faces in the crowd, we spot a few familiar ones. Obviously, the man responsible for the show, Alexander Mcqueen. Nicky Hilton, Kimberly Stewart and Paris Hilton are also some of the familiar faces, though Lola is no where to be found. They're all enjoying the different styles of dresses that present themselves on the catwalk one after the other. However, Kimberly's eyes seem to wander as she's clueless at all times. The docile blonde turns over to Paris and begins pestering her with questions and problems she seems to be going through currently. εïз·Kimmy | I need to see Lola, Paris. I need to see her now. She speaks in that Cheddar Bob from 8 mile like tone just to eb annoying. Paris tries to brush her off but Kimberly insists that she answers her right away. εïз·Paris | Shut up, Kimmy. Lola's going to be here in a few seconds, can you just hold it? Her tone is obviously low as she wishes not to disrupt anyone else or try and cause a scene. Although that would be a typical Paris Hilton move, she dares no try it this time for she will never be seen at another fashion show until she bends over and takes it like the slut. But then again, most male designers don't swing that way either. Kimmy still seems impatient and even though Paris does not wish to push boundaries, Kimberly doesn't know when she's in or out of the fine line. Sometimes even when she's far beyond it. εïз·Kimmy | I think I know some of that stuff about Sir Owen Gyles. I think he's from British. She pauses for a millisecond contemplating whether what she said was valid or not. After a while she just nods her head knowing Lola too was from that place. εïз·Paris | England, you mean? Yes, I know he's from there but we don't care about some Owen Gyles here and now is not the time to discuss him. Paris 'shushes' Kimberly by placing a finger on her lips and then sitting back to enjoy the show. Kimberly tries to say something else to prove her point, if she ever had one but gives up because neither Paris or Nicky was paying attention to her. Their main focus was now on the runway as the woman who would conclude the show drew a lot of attention to her body. She was a tall, slender yet busty blonde adorned in the most fabulous dress of all. The dress was made out of leaves, only it had a beige tint to it and flowed with her as she proceeded to walk the runway. Alexander asked Lola to come and be his celebrity guest but only after she suggested her brilliant idea of actually wearing his most stunning peice at the end of the show did he agree to it. With one of her hands placed her her hip, she lifts her shoulder to show off her open back which matches the nude color she's wearing. Meanwhile, in the crowd Kimberly points excitedly at her friend on stage and dare I say, tries to call out to her. εïз·Kimmy | Lola, Sir Owen Gyles is from your country! She shouts, covering her mouth with both her hands placed on her cheeks like how one would usually try to address the other from afar. Lola who's still on stage feeding her beauty to the crowd, doesn't pay any heed to Kimberly as she knows that Kimmy is only a fool. Although, she tries to spin around but that only causes her to fall forward and trip on her dress. She manages to stay still but there's something suddenly odd about her that leaves the audience in drop dead silence. Not even a word is able to come out of anyone as much as they try to say something but somehow, some moron from the crowd manages to shout out something that would leave you glaring at them. εïз·Kimmy | Paris, tell Lola her boobies can be seen. Surprise, surprise, it's her. The audience switches their attention towards Kimberly Stewart as she hesitates to smile and wave at them but does it anyway because it's her. Lola stands there, topless with only a pair of lace underwear covering her privates, breasts however are fully exposed. Mcqueen looks like he's about to pass out, Paris is in complete awe joining the rest of the audience and Kimberly can't help but blush. Lola takes it upon herself to finish this one up as she bends slightly and blows a kiss towards the audience. They immediately begin to applaud her bravery and Mcqueen's obvious brilliant plan, which probably wasn't one in the first place. It's simple, Lola is known for living without her clothes on and the dress almost made her seem like she wasn't wearing anything. The other models come out of behind for the the final showing followed by Alexander McQueen who takes Lola's hand and whispers in her ear, probably how she's so brilliant and amazing. The audience continues to clap for everyone's performance and possibly the most spectacular show of the year. Though only one thing was certain, it was unforgetable and Lola Star was brilliant as always. * Addressing the opposer ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- They're probably backstage in the same vicinity as the evening just isn't quite over yet. Instead, it's far from over. Isn't that obvious? Now it's time for Lola to address her opponent this week in her first match in the only wrestling company she's currently contracted with. A Sir Owen Gyles comes to mind as she recalls almost ruining Alexander McQueen's fashion show after hearing his name. Sir? She wondered why he used that term to start his name. Did his man have such high regards for himself? Or was he just one of those uptight prudes that refused to look at a woman's breasts if she flashed him. He's gay! That's probably it. εïз·Kimmy | Lola, why didn't you listen to me when I was telling you that Sir Owen Gyles was from the same place as you? He's from England and he has a British accent like you do. You know? How you guys exaggerate on certain words and speak with such complex vocabulary. Paris and Lola shoot Kimmy a perplexed look but she just shrugs. εïз·Kimmy | My dad says that. Lola just sighs as Kimberly goes on and on about absolutely nothing and how Sir Owen Gyles is supposed to be the centre of Lola's attention this week. εïз·Lola | So how big do you think his cock is? There are a few crickets heard but Paris doesn't seem to find this talk weird at all. After all, each of them have gone down on someone more than five times. εïз·Paris | I'd give it two inces. εïз·Kimmy | Eight? His english accent is hot. Lola arches an eyebrow and squints her eyes. εïз·Lola | Do you think it's as big as Nigga Jones's? I mean, that guy claims to be really big and that's making me very hungry to see that. What do you think, Kimmy? Should we see Nigga Jones's penis? Paris chuckles uncontrollably while Kimmy just looks dazed. εïз·Paris | And how do you suggest we do that? The man isn't going to show us his penis if he asked him to. I mean, he certainly carries around some kind of self respect. Lola eyeballs Paris and turns away for a moment. εïз·Lola | Do you think a man who runs around claiming to be black and talking like he's uneducated would possess this 'shyness' not respect, as I'm sure he has plenty of that. And c'mon, we're as beautiful as anyone else can get, he'll love to be fucked by all three of us at once. And so what? If he doesn't show us, we should just pull his pants down and see for ourselves. Kimmy bursts out laughing while Paris just looks disgusted. εïз·Kimmy | So now you're into raping old men? That's fun, I guess. We could visit a home for old people, what's that called? And we could also do them. Where do you think we should store the viagra though? In the left of right pocket of my pants?  εïз·Paris | Right.. εïз·Kimmy | Okay. Kimmy answers immediately assuming that Paris meant her pockets.    εïз·Lola | I don't know about that yet. I just want to get this Owen Gyles thing out of my head. Do you think I should cut him a promo right now? I have to leave for Newyork tomorrow morning, so it's only best. Se clears her throat and gets ready to address the English man who time traveled to get to here, possibly to enjoy life. εïз·Lola | Owen Gyles, is it? I refuse to call you Sir for I have no such respect for you. Who are you? Some prissy englishman from the early times who's probably more likely to ride a horse than drive a car. I've got only one thing to tell you, Owen. I'd rather ride you. Wink Wink. εïз·Lola | Owen, you seem attractive to me in so many ways. You're not like the other types of guys I see or fuck these days. Something about you is so virginal, I want to thrive and feed on it. You've probably never had a woman before, have you? Don't you want to know? How it feels, ever touch and kiss and the unbelieveable pleasure. She lets out a big moanful sigh and then smirks. εïз·Lola | You'd like to think that, would you Gyles? I'm sure you're probably contemplating what's under my clothes right now or have probably just got out and bought one of my very scandelous issues of playboy where I appear NUDE in. You're probably thinking of me right now, obsessing about me and trying to imagine what it would be like to feel my warm skin against your rugged body. But wet dreams are only wet dreams, Owen. You'll never know because you're an old crippled man like Nigga Jones who thinks he still 'got it' when he doesn't have it.. at all! Not to mention you're unbelievable and so out of date. This isn't the olden days anymore and people don't cast spells on each other like you'd probably cast one on me by making me fall in love with your old ass. Sure, you have a penis but so does every other man out there. Hey, if I wanted a man, with a swedish beard and a his pubic hair attached to the bald spots in his head, I could get him with one snap of my fingers. I'm rich, famous, idolized and put up on a pedestal amongst people in London these days. Yes, I'm sure you're familiar with England as your roots seem to dig back there. So here you are, all virgin like waiting to experience the time of your life. Lola rolls her eyes and tucks the long golden strands of hair behind her ears. εïз·Lola | Take your little goodie two shoes act back to Tinseltown because you've certainly found yourself in the wrong generation. A generation where you either work for perfect bodies and minds and follow through as sheep or set your own standards like me. While you're down there facing evil and protecting your 'people', who probably think you're a freak of nature, I was out there selling my body on your pristine streets and now I'm just making a fortune. I'm richer than you'll ever be, Owen Gyles. Go back to where you came from, you moma's boy. Lola tosses a banana at the camera lens and the last shot that is seen is that of the words 'put these in your pants' written with a black marker on the banana. xox/Cherie [c] 2006: by stealing this layout, you're only further proving my point that you want to be ME.