Karl's ipod, Number 3

To the side of your you have selections from my 5,905th ipod. Enjoy, hmm?

In defence of being Gorgeous

I have my assistants print of my daughter Jane's blog every time it's updated. They then transcribe it into blood; but they're so fashion that their blood is multicoloured. Anyway, I see there's some fat demode bully making fun of her in the comments; talking about "poverty" and all these "terrorists".

So, I need to make 2 things clear:
The only terrorist is Anna. If you have ever had a shoe hurling at you at just below the speed of light, you'll know what I'm talking about, hmm? Why do you think Vogue is so bland? Terrorism.
Anna has not looked at a single issue in more than a decade. There's no need. Just hold a shoe up to a designer, and they'll do what you want (unless your name is Karl Lagerfeld). And....well, we just assume people buy the magazine. I suppose they do. I think those magazine stores have germs anyway, because the dirty people read through the magazines and then put them back on the stand, putting their eye-germs of demode-ness onto them by looking at them.

Secondly. Well, secondly I am not sure about this "poverty" thing, hmm? I think it's just a bit of a myth, like this recession. Really, this "poverty" is just an excuse for washed up rock stars to whine on about something, non? And an excuse for tossers like the person who commented on Jane's blog to be mean to her. (And by the way, Jane's family are not oil tycoons. I mean, it's obvious where this "wealth" the poor readers of the blog* refer to comes from. There's a big picture of me on the blog! It says "Dad". Is this not enough of a clue, hmmm? And let me tell you, I am not an oil tycoon.)
When they say "Make poverty history" they're really saying: "put poverty into the history books", which implies that this "poverty" is not important to be in the history books yet; as it is a made-up thing. Replace this with "make Marc Jacobs history" and you get the same idea: Marc Jacobs is not yet important enough to be in history. Because they want to make poverty history. It's no different than kings trying to re-write history, no?

Because I know that as I sit in my ivory tower (Italian ivory), that poverty is just a made up thing, as I blow my nose on my Hermes scarf and throw it out the top of the tower; which is so high that the tissue will in fact disintegrate, and turn into gold through a process of time and Fashion. Poverty is fake! Like, imagine if someone tried to pretend to be me. Like, Fake Karl or something, hmm? Poverty is that fake. Of course, the likelihood of someone pretending be me is close to nil; my lawyers would be on them like a snake in skinny jeans to a blonde in American Apparel.

Anyway, I was defending my daughter. She's just beautiful and gorgeous and stylish, yes? And people are going to try and tear her down. But what they forget to realize, is that she's got Ann Demeulemeester boots. Two of them. Not that she wears both pairs at once, because she does not have four legs. But those boots are combat boots and they can resist any sort of bullying, like from those PETA-lovin' people who comment on her blog; who complain about "Price". If you sell your house you can buy wonderful clothes too, hmmm? So it's not a big issue! Anyway, somebody's got to pay for my Hermes scarf-tissues. (There was a couple of good comments- somebody took the time out to defend my daughter; and for that I think I'll reward them with a knighthood or something. Are they Jane's brother? Lover? Mother? Sister? Friend? Surely, they are chic; as I am a defender of the chic and beautiful.)

Right. Anyway, we are chic; and ugly person who was mean to Jane is not, huh? Let them eat cake! It will make them fat!

*Le Skinny Jeans Society members, I suppose.

Some Award

Okay. The other day I was at this thing presenting this award to this person. She had blonde hair...hmmm.....Britney Spears. That was her name. "Britney" "Spears". She had children backstage. I hate children. So I gave them a Chanel lollipop and told them to shut up. It's a quilted lollipop. I can't remember what the award was for; it was at some music-related event. It was not the opera, anyway. I'd just like to say that Anna put me up to it when we were playing Truth or Dare; and she'd drunken a lot of Vodka and said "PRESENT THAT DEMODE BRITNEY SPEARS WITH AN AWARD". That was the dare, you see. It was worth it, because I found out who Anna is....singling out...for let's say "special activities".
Anyway, this is me covering my high collar, hmm? I do not endorse that Britney Spears nor do I like her. She is demode. If it was me, the award would've went to Cat Power....no....me! Yes, I would've given the award to myself, hmm? And I don't even know what the award was for!

Note: Some assistant spelt "myself" wrong in this entry. My new assistant, Bradd (who is not Brad), is typing up entries from now on. The previous assistant is swimming in a pool of diet Coke.)

Karl Makeover

You may have noticed that in front of the fashionista who was turned into a tree, there was this young man on the left. Yes, he really is alive. I went up to him:

KARL: Oh, who has died?
CHADD: What?
KARL: Well, someone has died given the funeral garb you are wearing, hmm?
CHADD: No, this is how I dress..
KARL: So you are dead?
CHADD: No, you're talking to me aren't you?
KARL: Yes, but I have this friend called Yves and he's still dead...
CHADD: Does that mean you see dead people? Like in that movie?
KARL: I am the movie.
CHADD: Man, what's with the high collar?
KARL: All the better to see you with, hmmmm?

And then we grabbed him and put him into the demode t-shirt,
and he was eternally grateful, of course. He is very happy now.

What you see here are the before and after shots. Like one of those television shows they tell me they have!

"Your Blog is Getting Boring"

"Your Blog is Getting Boring" read a comment on one of my blog posts, earlier today.
I do say read because you must remember that this blog is, like fashion, a totalitarian dictatorship. I do not tolerate dissenters.

I imagine the person is a teen fashionista. She probably has a Marc Jacobs bag that her mommy paid $2000 for, and a Juicy Couture sweatsuit and a Versace jacket with "VERSACE" written in large print on the back, just so you know it's Versace. She probably keeps the price tags on everything, just so she can remember exactly how much mommy paid for this piece of "tacky" fashion. In short, this person is a fashion victim, 1st class.

I should be applauding her, of course. Because along with her Marc Jacobs bag I'm sure she owns a Chanel bag; one of the ones I designed badly on purpose to see what stupid sort of people would buy them. She's given me money! So, thankyou; ugly and demode fashionista for giving Uncle Karl some money.

She has a blog, of course. Where she posts pictures of herself in a blazer and leggings everyday. EVERY SINGLE DAY she posts pictures of herself in leggings and a blazer; saying "oh, how original I am." She then tries to emulate my daughter Jane and buys some shoes; apart from her shoes are tacky and bright pink and made in China. She then looks at Jane's blog and says "WHY DON'T I GET ALL THOSE HITS", goes and complains to mommy and mommy buys her some Louis Vuitton flip flops.

Worst of all, this person enjoys McDonald's.

DEMODE T

There were a few questions in the last post concerning the t-shirt to the side of you, if you scroll down a little.
1. How much will the t-shirt cost?
£35

2. Where do you ship?
Everywhere.

3. What sizes do you have?
Small, medium, and large.

4. Do you do female sizes?
Yes.

5. Is each t-shirt unique?
Yes, each t-shirt is handprinted.

6. Where do I buy?
Email me at fakekarl@gmail.com

7. All enquires will be responded to after this week.

Note the Shirt

Readers, note the chic new shirt at the side of the page. Email me if you want to purchase. Handprinted; limited edition.

Karl's Floor

Today I snuck into Karl's room, and this is what I found:

New York 2

Been in New York some more; Jane encountered some of the....delightful people of NY.

The tree just behind the young man in the picture was in fact a fashionista. She was very interesting. She'd 1) gotten so thin she had actually formed into a tree, and 2) gotten so weak that she couldn't move and has to stand there. Thus, when people go past her they think "oh, that is just a tree!" But really, it is a stranded fashionista in need. Which is why today I'm launching the "Help our Fashionista's Who Have Turned into Trees (on account of their being so skinny) appeal. I feel it's a very urgent cause, and we need your support.


Those leaves of hers are Chanel, you know.

Interview

Oh, I was interviewed here.
I would like to declare Dan Le Sac Vs Scroobius Pip demode, from now on. In fact the entire interview is out of date!

New York with Jane, and Prince

So Jane (my daughter, for anybody new to this blogging affair...and by the way, it was a one night stand and my only time with a woman and I don't really remember it.) is in New York. That means Uncle Karl is in New York too! And let me tell you, New York is very hip and cool and down with it, and the hipsters are still contained within the Marc Jacobs stores (and American something....American appliances? Anyway.)

So far in NY we've encountered Prince. Yes, that Prince. The purple one. He's doing some silly religious thing now...it's either religion or door-to-door selling, I'm not quite sure which. The two are the same anyway, huh? Vacuum cleaners and encyclopedias are worth getting excited about, to some people! Prince told us how he had "YouTube" remove all his videos from their site, and I asked him "whatever for?" He said he doesn't like to be recognized when he's doing the door-to-door thing. Fair enough. I'm actually going to sue Youtube for having videos of past Chanel collections on them, anyway. The past is not important! We must look to the future! This is why I have never understood gravestones. Once you are dead, you are gone! It is demode to be dead! You are of no interest to the world because you are in the past!

Anyway, Jane's calling me for some advice or something. Yesterday some model asked me about what sort of sunglasses they should get, and I hated that. I mean, the responsibility! Who has the right to choose somebody's sunglasses, anyway? It's a very important choice. I assume Jane's just asking about whether she should become the new editor of Vogue or something, so nothing major.

No, not American Vogue. French Vogue. The lady who edits it....the vampire...she's been sucking the blood of a few too many people lately. People start to notice these things, you know.

Cathy Horyn shops at Walmart

Dear Cathy,

I recently read that you are now buying your clothes from Walmart. I suppose this..."recession" has hit you pretty hard. What with that Chanel dress I sent you last year, and the invites that you're sent; invites to about a million dinners which obviously cannot feed your ravenous appetite. I once let you eat a sandwich at the Chanel studio, for fashion's sake.

But then I realized what you're doing...this shopping at Walmart, is very fashion indeed. How else could you help perpetuate slav- child labour, hmm? Shopping at Walmart is really a brilliant idea for this; almost Anna-like in it's genius! So I thank you, Cathy Horyn; for continuing the evil that we in the fashion industry work very hard to maintain.

I have beside me the child you made that garment for you; the one you bought at Walmart. Her name is "Walmart #455", because in this day and age, what sort of slave needs a name, huh? It's all very efficient. It warms my heart to see this kind of evil, even more than the videos that the PETA-people send me. In fact, I would like to thank those wonderful people at PETA for the free videos. They're great entertainment, huh?

Now, I am going to send this child to you, hmm? "Walmart #455". She is very fashion, hmm? She hardly weighs a thing! I don't think she's ever eaten! I thought that maybe she could make clothes for you from now on; cut out the middle factor in your wrongdoing, no? Why not run the sweatshop yourself! So I'm very pleased with this idea of mine. I do realize this will mean that you'll have less of an excuse to go into Walmart now and feel superior because you're wearing that Balenciga sample that you somehow squeezed into. To fix this, I have designed some large posters with your face on them. They are very, very large and we will hang them up in Walmart; so your gaze will look down upon the demode ones, with their mom jeans.

So let me offer you my congratulations, Cathy. A job well done.

Love,
Karl

Sometimes strange things happen

I noticed the other day that sometimes, objects begin to flicker when I look at them. People too. And sometimes, people just plain disappear.
Like, the other day I was talking to some Normal Person wanting an autograph, and they started to flicker right in front of me. Like a hologram in a cheap movie. Their image started to bend and warp; what looked like static enveloped her face. (Static is what happens in televisions sometimes; it's like grey-sand kind of. I imagine many none of you own televisions, as televisions are demode. But I got a television when they first invented, back in 1895. And static happened then; I assume it still happens on televisions these days.)
Then I was looking at a power pole; an ordinary, everyday power pole; and it just disappeared.
Later that same day I was walking down a street, and the street seemed to become less and less real; changing into abstracted shapes until there was nothing but the Chanel HQ in site and the fashion district.

Sometimes, I think I'm becoming more and more detached from reality. It figures that this will happen. I talked to a group of businessmen and they all started to flicker as well, until only the attractive ones were left.
Of course, when I am totally detached from reality; the demode world, I will simply form Karl-land which will be uber-chic, hm?

Pervs

As of late there have been some pervs writing into the blog. They say things like:
"Oh, Karl, I was to suck on your little leather gloves and lick your tough high starched collar, and unstich your Tom Ford suit thread-by-theard."
So I asked for a picture and it turnd out this perv was Marc Jacobs.

Then I got another email saying "Hallo Karl! My name is Hanz! I speak not good english but you are very sexy! U R real Karl ja? I hate if this letter goes to wrong hands! Let I dress in lederhosen and do ballet for U!"

Then I got one in French; it went like (I will translate): "Hello, Mister Karl. I am a big fan. Do you know any tricks with fans? I do. Dirty things. And the things I can do with collars will blow your mind. There's this one trick where I grab by French-chest-hair and..."

That is enough of that one, hm?

Then I got this one: "Hi Dad, can you get your assistant to pick up my new Lanvins from the shop?"
Oh, that's just Jane. Lanvin's a pretty dirty word though. I bet it turns you fashion people on.

So, I would like it if pervs (ie. you, Marc.) would stop emailing me. Thanks.

(Homeless) Ex Models

The worst conversation one can ever have in the world is a conversation with an ex model who has became a bum or a hobo.
I was just walking out of the Chanel HQ the other day when this homeless ex model came up to me; with cracked makeup and mascara down her checks; like she hadn't taken the makeup off since her last fashion show 20 years ago.
"Yo, Karl!"
"Ja?"
"I used to be a model, you know."
"Oh, for who?"
"I was a- city model"
"Oh?"
"Yeah. I dressed up and modelled around the city."
"Dear, that's what most fashion people do."
"I modelled for Kmart, too, you know."
"Pierre Kmart?"
"And Walmart."
"Madame Walmart?"
"Yeah! Do you want to take a look at my portfolio?"

And she takes out this book of children's drawings- stick figures and so on with her head pasted to the tops of the stick figures.
"This is me for Yves Saint Laurent, and this is me for uh; what's the one with the C logos called?"
"Chanel."
"Yeah, this is me for Chanel".
"You know, I do Chanel", I say.
"Ooh, this was done when Mister Dior ran the place."
"Oh, right."

She got out a weight loss pill and popped it into her mouth; and dropped to the ground and snored. There's quite of few homeless ex models around Paris. It's tragic, non? They can't help being demode. Maybe we should hold a dinner for them or something.

Drink

Oh, there are so many demode people on this facebook thing. They are everywhere! They come out from the rocks where they hide, their little fat fingers clawing on to my coat-tails; disguised as German socks-and-sandal-wearing tourists, pretending to be fashion by wearing their Karl Lagerfeld for H&M t-shirts which they have stretched; stretched beyond belief; with their fat little tummies protuding from below. And then they ask me "ARE YOU ZE REAL KARL?".

What a demode question, hmmm?

Hmmmmmmmmm?
I think I drunk the wrong bottle of diet Coke today. Specifically, Anna's bottle. We normally have a pipeline coming through, direct to the taps in the house (I've never understood the point of "water". You do not drink it; you do not bathe in it. Why bother, when you have diet Coke?).

I need Jane. RIGHT NOW. Anna's a bad influence; I think. Why do you think all those models on the Vogue covers have blank and vacant expressions? It's because they're drunk out of their brains from Anna's special concoctions.
They don't utter a single word in the photoshoots, because they're almost not conscious.
Hear that Anna? YOU'RE A BAD INFLUENCE!

Do you know what I had a dream about last night, when I wasn't sleeping? Champagne. I dreamt of a fridge filled with bottles of champagne, and then Anna was like "Karl Darhlllllllllllllling, come and have a little tipple; just a little drink. It won't hurt you"
Anna, what were you doing in my dreams, hmm?

Actually....Anna....ANNNA! There is a demode fatty outside on the street and he must be eliminated. Come back!

Anna: I was never away, dear Karl.
Bee: Mother, let me out of this closet.

And I still need Jane. It's just so chic, this "father and daughter" time. It's like being with another me! I feel....that I might......care about someone. Need to clense. Must sketch.

Interview with a poor person

I interviewed this game designer called Paul Eres, his site is here. See, I thought it would be a good idea to venture out of the closet and see what non-fashion people do; and to confirm that they actually exist.

Karl: Hello, hmmm?
Paul Eres: Hi
K: So, you make these game things. Are you fat?
P: Nope, I'm 6'4" and weigh 130 lbs.
K: How chic, hmm? Although you could probably lose 10 pounds or so. What are you wearing?
P: I'm wearing... pastel blue shorts and pastel yellow t-shirt, and a blanket and glasses
K:Blankets are very chic; but the shorts and t-shirt are demode, Paul, demode. At least you're not wearing a t-shirt made out of bed-sheets...or is it?
P: No, a shirt and the blanket over it, since it's cold, although a shirt out of bed sheets wouldn't be a bad idea.
But I don't have any bed sheets.
I'm too poor to afford such things!
K: Poor is very demode
K: Why are you so poor?
P: Because the congress in the US voted to steal 700 billion from the poor and give it to the rich.
K: So you were previously a billionaire?
P: Perhaps in a previous life, but not this one; they stole the 700 billion from all the poor collectively.
So my share of that was less than a billion.
K: Oh....there's more than one poor person in the US?
P: Yes, about 100 million
K: Do they wear skinny jeans?
P: Depends on the area, they do that near NYC, yes, but perhaps in other areas they wear other kinds of jeans
K: I heard you just got a 40 inch TV, paul. is this what being poor in the US means? Being only able to have a 40 inch TV?
P: Hahaha, yes, but the tv is dim even at full brightness, and I also have to live inside of the TV, so it doubles as my home
K: How do you produce these electronic computer games then, hmm?
P: The TV is so big that my entire computer fits inside it, along with myself.
And I create these games on that computer.
K: Is the TV plugged into anything?
P: I am not sure, I've never been outside of the TV to check.
K: So you were born in the TV?
P: No, but I meant, for as long as I can remember, I've been inside it.
I'm sure I wasn't born in it though.
And I can remember back several days. Which isn't very much.
Because of amnesia.
K: Does this mean that you have to re-start work on your game every few days?
P: No, because I keep notes in my journal about the game's progress.
K: You made...Immortal Defence, hmm? How did you do this?
P: I made it in a game maker, which is a program used by those who are too poor to program in anything else.
K: Do the people who made Game Maker live in a TV too?
P: I believe the actual creator of GM doesn't live in a TV anymore, because he sold the GM to a company named NoMoGames.
Who gave him enough money to move into a refrigerator.
K: What do you do in this game of yours, hm?
P: In the last game I made? You defend an imaginary granddaughter from imaginary monsters. Forever.
K: Does the granddaughter live in a TV?
P: No, imaginary people don't live anywhere except in other people's heads.
K: Is this granddaughter very chic? Is she thin? Does she wear imaginary Chanel?
P: It's an alternate galaxy, so she probably doesn't wear any human clothes, but I imagine she wears the best clothes of her species' fashion designers, which is probably far better than any clothes humans have created yet.
K: Non, non; my clothes are the best
P: Perhaps, but there is no way to know, since the two galaxies are too far apart to compare the clothes side by side.
K: Well, we will see about that. Chanel is pretty powerful, you know. Are you still poor?
P: Perhaps you could donate one sleeve of one of your clothes, and it would fund all the poor in the US for life!
K: But, then who would the rich have to feel better than?
P: They can still feel better than the cows and pigs and bugs
K: But some of them are cows; and I dare say that some of them are pigs, too.
That only leaves bugs...which is not very chic, hmm?
P: Bugs are the new chic!!
K: You live in a TV; so you are obviously not qualified, hmmm?
P: Yes, but! The TV sometimes has fashion shows.
K: Yes, but you are inside your TV so you can't watch them.
P: Yes, but I can hear them. And I hear the way the models walk. And from the way that they walk, I have learned all the secrets of fashion.
K: How do you know they're models? They could be obese homeless men with a particularly delicate walk.
P: I hear them referred to as models by the television
K: how do you know the television is right, hmm?
P: because no television that i live in could be wrong! K: But you are poor! obviously, you are not right if you are poor.
P: You should interview two people named Tale-of-Tales. They live in Europe, like you!
K: They're not smelly Europeans, are they?
P: I have never smelled them, so I do not know, but they make games about deer and about graveyards.
K: uh oh, they're not Goths? Or....HIPSTERS?
P: No, I think one of them even wears designer pants! So they can't be all bad, no?
K: I shall consider interviewing them. Adieu, poor person.
P: Goodbye.

Giant Runway

I got a call from my architect, Nic, today. He says we can't build the giant runway through the Vermont property. Actually my idea was to have a giant runway through Vermont; as in, all of Vermont. A giant, glowing, mirrored runway. Very glossy, hmm? Call it "LIFE'S RUNWAY" or something. I thought we could have models who walk down the entire runway, which would take a long time as you can imagine. We could have models that live on the runway, so they are Living Fashion, hmm? There would be no need for the chic to live on the streets. No, they would just live on the eternal runway. We could gather all the chic people; put them on the runway, and I could say "RUN DARLINGS RUN!" and they would never, ever have to get off that elevated peak; and therefore be cut off from the world and all of it's demode-ness. We would have planes drop off supplies-- new clothes for each season; etc etc. Diet Coke would be pumped through what currently is their "water system". The chic people would be able to have their own chic fights and bitchery; and Anna and I could laugh at them from the ivory tower built above the giant runway.
It's like the "GREAT RUNWAY OF VERMONT".
And then the models would get old and would be tossed off the runway to make room for new models; the old models would become wannabe members of the Le Skinny Jeans society, but of course they cannot be members of the Le Skinny Jeans society as you have to be in Paris for this, hmm? It would be survival of the chic-est, hmm? And tiny little sub-civilisations would appear: THE MASCARAS, THE EYELINERS, THE BERETS, THE WAYFARERS, THE TIGHTS, THE PROFESSIONAL MALE MODELS-- oh, it would be wonderful. The wayfarers would stare jealously at the tights, wishing that they had thighs as skinny; whilst the professional male models...well....let's just say Anna knows what to do with them, no? Effectively they would become a slave culture totally and utterly dedicated to trying on underwear for Anna, so the idea of wearing clothes will become foreign to them. They would stride 'round, until they turn 25, when they, like the male anorexic spider, are eaten by the queen Bee.

Imagine the entry in Vogue:
"In the beginning, Karl created the runway. And he said, "It shall be chic", and it was.

But Nic says that this plan is 1) illegal, and 2) would consume all the power in Vermont.
And I said: "Do they have power in Vermont, anyway?"
And he said: "Ummm. You were just in Vermont"
So I said: "But there is power no matter where I go; for the Chanel suit is chic."
So he assured me that the good people in Vermont have power, even when I am not there.

This is a problem. I want my giant runway. I WANT MY GIANT RUNWAY, GODDAMMIT.

What is this Vermont?

Karl told me he bought property in Vermont.

I had to look up what exactly this Vermont is.  Look!  I had the assistants research:

Vermont is a state.  It is woodsy and somewhat demode.  It has less people in it than my apartment building does.

Anyway, Karl had me out to 'hang out' as he likes to say.  And there are guns in Vermont.

GUNS.

Adoring public, I feel like I am quite intimidating on my own.  Now imagine me with a shotgun.  Apparently my assistants felt this, as they bolted.  Some were later found hiding in the cellar.  (What on earth is a cellar?)

Karl is remodeling the place...  I suggested jokingly that he could turn it into KarlLand - a theme park for the chic.  His eyes lit up (behind the Dior Hommes, obviously) and then I wished I hadn't said anything.

What's in Karl's Purse?

Doe Deere wrote a post about what's in her purse, hmm? Here is mine.

1.) Souls of the demode. Like lipgloss, hmm?
2.) Spare collars.
3.) The pencil.
4.) Chanel made paper from our paper plant in France; made by little old seamstresses.
5.) Chanel Cellphone which functions as a paperweight
6.) Spare sunglasses.
7.) 5 pairs of le skinny jeans.
8.) Diet Coke. On tap.

Plastic Bags and Clothes

When I was a child, our cook gave me plastic bags with which I stored my clothes in so I could change anywhere. It was just so demode having to wear the same clothes everyday. What if I wanted a new velvet jacket on for dinner? Or a bottle-green jacket for supper? It's ridiculous not to carry around plastic bags to change wherever you want; because what happens if there's a wedding that was planned in 5 seconds because the bride and groom are really fast people? Obviously, you won't want to be wearing just any high collar, hmm? Or if one falls in love with a particularly gorgeous girl, hm? One will be wearing the jacket I just designed specifically for falling in love with a gorgeous girl. What if one is being chased down the river (in Vermont) by a tongue-wagging Marc Jacobs. Well, in that case; one runs. But I'd first get changed into my running clothes; which consist of a Tom Ford suit modified for speed (it has red lining in the jacket), and a very dashing pair of Cuban heels.

Do you see my point, hmmmm? One needs clothes for every occasion. When I was "little", plastic bags served this purpose (see! I'm showing my humanity through the use of plastic bags, no? It's like the Greek gods and their flaws, hmm? Of course, using plastic bags is not a flaw but simply adorable. So now maybe other lesser gods can kind of relate to me. And then they'll read on and realize they'll never possibly be able to fully relate to me or be as much of a genius as I; and thus my plan would've worked and those smug little lesser gods will be not-so-smug).

Now I have Brad. And all those fashion people are being so eco-friendly with their "global warming" and whatnot; which is a serious issue according to Al Gore; who needs dressing tips. So I can't really give plastic bags to Jane to use for her clothes without Al Gore and the fashion-eco-PETA loving-scum will descend on me; which I will fight off using the shear chic-ness that I innately posses. With one glance at them (the glance you see in the picture that is probably right beside of you, or at least in a framed picture on your wall). But I don't want to fight off those demode PETA-loving-secret-fur-wearing people; because I don't really want Antarctica to melt. I want to use it for a photoshoot later this year. So it's very important nobody melts Antarctica, hmm? So those demode people with their giant magnifying glasses pointed at the ice caps better stop doing so, hmm? They're like the fat kid who burns ants. The fat kid with blonde hair, and ice-cream, and glasses pushed to his face. That kid.

So I'll give Jane transportable closets instead. With feet on the bottom. (Terry Pratchett, come around for a drink sometime, hmm?)

POLKA DOTS

i can't be bothered typing in haiku today. too bad. anyway; i'm rei! you know this; you've drooled over my designs, etc etc. we won't waste time with that.
i just wanted to talk about the money i'm fleecing from stupid (demode as karl says) people, with this collaboration with H&M. it's hilarious. i actually didn't do any work at all on it. we just got a few basics, slapped polka dots on them, and doubled (or tripled) the price. and the fashion people just say "genius! maverick!" and so on.
really though, it is pretty maverick. because i'm getting people to buy massively overpriced goods. genius. very warhol.

i'm sure some of you are reading this with your mouth open, amazed. don't make aunty rei cry, please.

actually, the designs are pretty good really....go, buy them! go now! go buy the comme goods! polka dots! POLKA DOTS! POLKA POLKA DOTS!
they're genius. They're comme des garcons. GO BUY NOW.

so anyway, next i'm going to do t-shirts with love-hearts on them; and sell them. call it "PLAY" or something...

oh, i've already done that.

"Are you FASHION?"

I was talking to some demode fashion person today, and when they dared to criticize the new Chanel bags I said:
"Are you fashion?? Are you enough of a whore to buy this bag? ARE YOU?"
And she looked at me a little weirdly. Hmm.
"YOU KNOW, HAVING WHAT IT TAKES TO PULL OFF A BAG THAT CHEAP TAKES SKILL. DO YOU HAVE THAT SKILL?"
And she started to back away.
"ARE YOU GETTING WET OVER THE THOUGHT OF BUYING THIS CHANEL BAG?"
Then she started to dial on her Dior cell phone.
"ARE YOU A FASHION WHORE?"
And then she put the Dior cell phone up to her ear.
"Do you try hard enough? Do you fawn over my daughter enough? Have you left 10 million comments on her posts? Have you!? Do you love her? Do you want to be her? Do you read all those hip little magazines that I eat and lick their contents and buy everything that's in them?
Do you take fashion seriously? You know, fashion is serious business. Really serious. Do you weigh under 50 kgs? Are you an anorexic? Bulimic? Good lord, you're not 51 kgs are you??!"
She had her mouth open at this point. Needs dental work.
"Do you, or do you not; take this here Chanel bag that's actually a joke to be your boyfriend?"
She started trying to say something here.
"Will you sleep with this Chanel bag, will you dress for this Chanel bag? Are you fashion enough?"
She was kind of shaking violently.
"Why, where are you Rayban Wayfarers (TM)? You want to be a good hipster, don't you?"
She started to fumble in her purse whilst still shaking.
"Are those FAKE RAYBANS I see? Do you think that's very fashion there?"
She got down on her knees.
"I don't think YOU are very FASHION, hmmmm?"
"Please Karl, have mercy."
"Why couldn't you behave like a good little tool, hmmm?"
"I-I-I..."
"There is no "I" in fashionista apart from the two that are there! Prepare for punishment, you fake you!"

And then I had a nice drink of Diet Coke.

Karl's ipod, No. 2

We now have the music off my 564th ipod, compiled by I, Karl. You will find it to the right of you; you might have to scroll a little if you don't have a large Chanel-made screen as I do.
Enjoy, hmm?

IT'S ABOUT BLOODY TIME.

Thank you, wonderful adopted country of America, for finally pulling your collective heads out of your collective asses and electing Barack Obama to the Presidency.

If McCain had won, the Chanel Operatives (in close co-operation with my 12,000-member private police force) would have kidnapped Sarah Palin, forcibly made her over, de-accented her and shipped her to a small island in the Arctic Circle.  She could still see Russia from her cell, so I can only assume she'd feel at home.  Thank Karl we don't have to do that now.  I can now use the money to buy small demode countries and make them chic.  I am Anna.  I have more power than you think, adoring public.

GET ME MICHELLE OBAMA ON THE PHONE.  SHE'S ON OUR COVER THIS MONTH AND IF YOU FAIL TO CONNECT ME TO HER IMMEDIATELY, I WILL EXILE YOU TO THE NAMIBIAN DESERT.  ALSO, SEND THE OBAMAS EVERY ORCHID IN AMERICA.  RIGHT NOW.

Now, if you'll excuse me, Donatella is at my door begging to dress Michelle for the cover.  I hope she practiced her groveling.

Soaking in my Bathtub

Friends, Chic ones, countrymen, lend me your...no, I don't really want anything from you anyway.
My "wing-women" told me to write a post about that new president fellow; but I think it's rude to talk about another country's president: it's like criticising the hostess at a dinner party.

Instead I'm going to have a bath in my suit and high collar, and sketch. And then I will toss the suit into a Chanel bag to be flown to my Paris apartment where it will be thrown out the back window, ready for the Le Skinny Jeans Society. They will then be rained on by my old sketches, which they will eat. My loyal little piranhas!

Un-Birthday

It was Anna's birthday the other day. We don't know when it is, to be honest; thought the newspapers claim to do. We don't have birthdays here, anyway; because as gods we are ageless.
But apparently it was her birthday, the other day. Assuming she was born. Which is a pretty big assumption to make. So it's really all rumor. Rumors. Made by the fatties and enimies of fashion: the uglies. The uglies have created this rumor that Anna had a birthday.
So anyway. Happy un-birthday to you, Anna.

FATTY: Let's create a new concept!
UGLY: Of...birthdays for gods.
FATTY: Oh Karl smite us! Smite us!
KARL: As you wish. [SMITES with KARL FASHION POWER]

AFTER:

FATTY: Is this hell?
UGLY: Noo..it's Walmart!
FATTY: Thank god.

Karl's school days

Gosh. It's been a while, hasn't it?
You know, I remember my school days quite clearly. Karl claims to have never have gone to school, and in a way that's true. He just scared the teachers so he rather ran the school rather than going to it.
Karl: Anna! Come over here, hmm?
Anna: You know Karl, I'm British. We're not even the same age. I really shouldn't be in this storyline.
Mary-Kate: Nor should I, really. I'm decades younger than you!
Karl: Oh dear. Well. I've got something more important than time paradoxes and such, hmm? See that girl over there?
Mary-Kate: That one?
Karl: The fatty, yes.
Mary-Kate: I'm just going to put my Margiela sunglasses on so I don't have to see her.
Anna: ..nevermind them not existing..
Margiela Sunglasses: We do exist! We're a real boy! We're a real boy!
Mary-Kate: Well now, mr. Martin Margiela sunglasses; you're going on my eyes.
Margiela Sunglasses: The hangover! The hangover!
Karl: Shhh! See that girl over there? She called me a snob.
Anna: I can't believe it!
Karl: Just because I'm wearing a Dior Homme jacket!
Anna: Horrible.
Karl: You know, we need to rise against this class warfare. It is so demode. Why can't they just leave the beautiful people alone? They don't get it.

And this is something that's quite true. "They" being the demode ones, don't get it.
You people who read this journal-thing-- diary? Anyway, you people who read this know what I'm talking about. It's horrible. It's so sad that only such a tiny fraction of people- and a tiny fraction of people "get" fashion. This...this...might be a tear. Don't tell.

Woman 1: Ohh! Let's buy this Chanel bag! It has lots of logos on it!
Woman 2: We must get this skirt! It's MARC JACOBS.
Woman 3: We must get this condom; it's BALENCIAGA.
Woman 2: But you're a lesbian.
Woman 3: It's BALENCIAGA.

My Bookshop

Person: Karl, can could I please buy this book?
Karl: Hmm? You want to buy this book?
Person: Yes.
Karl: Get on the scales, then.
Person: What???
Karl: We need to see if your weight suits that book. Brad! Get the scales!
Person:..?!?
Karl: Just step over here. Hmm.
Person: Hmmm?
Karl: I'm the only one that does those "hmm?"'s, hmm?
Person: ...yes.
Karl: Just stand on the scales!
Person: ...
Karl: You are 50 kgs. That's pretty fat, for someone who wears Balenciaga!
Person: but?
Karl: No buts! Run! Run! Run!
Person: [starts running]
Karl: Why are you running around my bookshop, hmmm?
Person: You [puff] told me [puff] too!
Karl: Stop it! Let's weigh you.
Person: [steps on scales]
Karl: 49.99!
Person: Is it good enough?
Karl: Are your jeans skinny enough?
Person: Yes Karl! My jeans are skinny! My jeans are skinny!
Karl: Okay. 500 Pounds.
Person: The price says $40, and this is France so what you're doing charging in those amounts--
Karl: Do you weigh $40?
Person: I weigh 49.99...
Karl: KILOGRAMS. NOT DOLLARS.
Person: I suppose you're right, then.
Karl: $600 now.
Person: what th-?
Karl: You're wasting my time!
Mary-Kate Olsen: You don't have to be around people who waste your time, Karl.
Ashley Olsen: You can be with us.
Mary-Kate: I see you've got a daughter now.
Ashley: What about us.
Karl: SCALES! NOW! BOTH OF YOU! BRAD...DEAL WITH THIS FATTY.

Englishwomen Anna

So we're in Vermont, as most of you stalkers would know; and Anna's discovered she's a really great shooter.
Ducks; birds; assistants- it doesn't matter. She's got the camo gear (Chanel, of course) and gun (again Chanel) and everything else. She reminds me of a Tory-voting British country-lady; the sort with hairs of her face protruding outwards. She rather suits this role, I think.

"RRREADY"
"AIMM"
"FIIRREE"

And then she screams "PEEETTTTTTTTTTAAAAAAAAA" really loud.
The Vogue offices are going to be a bit different from now on.
(And oh, Anna's still upset at the closing down of Men's Vogue. It provided her with...underwear models and such. I'm upset too. I thought that was the point of her little magazine?).