STFU Mickey Roarke

56381084Is he running a western-themed casino?

Planning to sell snake oil cures in the 22nd century?

Did he dress in a mescaline-fueled rage?

Metallic jeans?  METALLIC JEANS?  Not since NKOTB, mister.

And the Karl Lagerfeld collar-on-growth-hormone-and-starch is nice in white, but really insanely grotesque in pee-colored satin.

I haven’t forgotten that pocket swatch, cowboy.  It points upward toward the invitation to “Witness the resurrection of Mickey Roarke in Darren Ar….fsky’s deeply affecting film.”  Couldn’t say “come back” another time, could you?  A little misleading slash crazy, no?  Are you sure you mean “resurrection?”

Thanks, GFY, for nothing.

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2 Comments

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2 responses to “STFU Mickey Roarke

  1. The French unaccountably love Mickey Rourke, whom they see as a kind of modern-day James Dean or Marlon Brando.

  2. Jenn Lena

    Jerry Lewis…Johnny Depp…Mickey Rourke…Beaujolais nouveau…there’s a pattern. An “account”, as it were.

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