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This girl dazzles at all the parties, literally. We have to put on double glares to look at her. Ouch ! It hurts. The journey begins:
Which prison did she escape from? Think hard ,come on. Why hasn't the tub of lard removed her handcuffs? And the chains still adorn her bust man. She had ample of time to pour a bucket of grease on her face and kissed someone dry for the bloody red lips effect.
The dress now, the designer b**b holder could fall off any moment and embarrass the poo out of the lady. So intricate ya, the criss cross pattern and then a little piece of black lace to cover hey awesomely always pregnant belly.
So very disturbing I say. The purse is certainly a Wednesday market purchase at Goregaon station. But don't miss the ribbon in between her assets. For anything , we mean. Cut, cut, cut. The ribbon darlings, not her!
What's this now? Is she trying to fly.What tip is she trying to touch? We don't see a Taj Mahal anywhere. Or is she trying to say,' take me home, I'm homeless and clotheless. At a close look, we see two cups popping up from somewhere.
The jail look is still on , almost. Except that the chains look more stylish and golden. But how many leopards have tried to escape from underneath her dress. The dress was so tight, the hide got left behind. Poor beasts.
Has Ms. Fishnet escaped from rehab via Koliwadi? Depleted the poor fishermen of their nets ya. If in the last pic, she was reaching out to the tip, here she's stretching in some direction to look at the sunset, we assume.
While on the run, after the fishnet smuggle, she quickly picked up the nondescript skirt and ran faster. Why? She didn't pay for it. Nothing much to write home about.
Just before we thought it was over, she returns to spook us once more. YIKES! The handcuffs are back.She's taken a fancy to them for sure. Or maybe it refuses to leave her wrist.
The pancaked face remains as pan caked as ever with the same bloody lips. Check out the accessories. They seem to be heavily inspired by the Komolikas and Ramola Sickands of yore (almost).
We beg a designer for this catastrophe. Who is designing her clothes? The Bitch wants to slaughter her/him. It's so not happening with some frills at the helm. What was the intention, we fail to decipher.
One feels sad for the sandals though, they can barely take her weight. Look! One is about to break...help her!
Ritu, please go back from wherever you've come. We'll try to deal with the damage you've done. For the moment, disappear! Zap!
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