Monday, July 26, 2010

Friday Night at the Wax Museum


My friend Roth recently celebrated her 30th birthday, which of course means only one thing: a visit to the wax museum. (Don't even pretend that you didn't spend/don't plan to spend your 30th birthday at the wax museum.)

So our band of sweaty merrymakers twirled on down to Times Square (for the last time EVER) and paid monies to the nice people down at Madame Tussaud's Celebrities 'n Sorrow Emporium to see how we measured up standing next to the great famous people of our times like Carrie Underwood and some slut in a sling (oh yeah, Britney Spears).


Remember that Prince song "Darling Nikki"? That was written about my friend Eddie (above).

I have that same pantsuit!

Once again, the Hulk wins me over with his beguiling green aggression.

Yao Ming kept trying to ignore me, successfully.

Little known fact: me and my bros in 'N Sync broke up because Timberlake was always trying to hold my hand in public.

I had a nightmare last week that looked exactly like this.

It's not often that a wax figure looks better than the person it is trying to represent. Jon Bon Jovi should be proud/embarrassed.

Hold on, Tina, I found one.

Jimmy reliving his days as a backup singer/xylophone player at the Opry.

Lucy teaches Sarah how to make a good paste.

James Dean and me, his puppy.

F. Scott Fitzgerald's wife Zelda is really tired of him carrying that fucking book with him everywhere.


I can't take me anywhere.

We couldn't figure out who this bartender was supposed to be, but Roth picked a fight with her anyway.

This photo needs no caption.

Jimmy was determined to get a picture of me with Abraham Lincoln. "He's my favorite president!" he said. Which is funny because I thought his favorite president was Bette Midler, who was in a different room.

The Obamas with an adorable Indian family.

The Clinton's with an adorable Indian man.

Jimmy's all hifalutin now that he's been hanging with so many C-listers.

Yikes.

Actually, the Robin Williams figure is pretty endearing and I didn't feel compelled to scream in his face to "JUST SHUT UP" like I always thought I would.

Some bitch's boobs. I think Beyonce's? Or Tyra's.

The Jolie-Pitts are tired of this party.

God I fucking hate Julia Roberts.

Me and Woody, who is rightly off in the corner away from other humans.

"It's time to lip sync for your life. And girls, don't fuck it up."

Roth searching for a treasure map on Nick Cage's chest.

You can see J.Lo's ass from across the room. Not even lying.

Sometimes you find yourself at a party looking around for your friends and then you turn your head and all of a sudden find yourself nearly lips-to-trembling-lips with Harrison Ford. Or at least I do.

This is the saddest figure on the staircase.

The Hulk is a two-timing monster!

Evander Holyfield. Is. Terrified.

This picture needs no caption.

Roth and I in a Bollywood scene. This picture took three hours to take.

Yeah, that's right, fuck Rachel Rae.


That "Papa Don't Preach"-era Madonna is obviously doing something nasty again. Andy Warhol wants to be moved to another room.

1 comment:

I'm HP Wood said...

Delightful photo essay! Can't believe they let you degenerates get so close to the statues! And where are the Wilson sisters?? Or did you steal those?