Last night the good people at Virgin Mobile (who previously allowed us to bear witness to K-Fed’s penny panhandling) invited us to their big VMA After-Party at Gotham Hall, promising free booze and a performance by The Rapture. Armed with press passes, low-end cameras and our own lacking photography skills, this is all we managed to show for an entire evening of suffereing through the antics of the pseudo-famous and those who love them. Behold our cell phone’s photographic documentation of the misery you missed, then go to Gawker to see the same event through the lense of a photographer who didn’t spend the majority of the evening at the open bar, drowning their discomfort in free hooch.
Thank god there was at least one relevant “real celebrity” on hand, otherwise the waiting around and general douchebaggery would have all been for nothing.
If you look up “awesome time” in the Dictionary, this is what you see.
How sad is it that the paparazzi are dressing more ridiculously than the people they’ve been sent to photograph?
If there’s one thing tranny dudes love more than dressing up in women’s clothing, it’s showing up at D-list parties and having their picture taken. Also, in the sober light of morning, I bet this other chatch is having second thoughts about his impulsive decision to “bum rush” the red carpet.
Diana Ross showed up, but she moves too fast to be captured on camera.
This is that idiot who takes pictures of even bigger idiots and posts them on his website, which he’s given a tough and scary name. We’re bro’s now.
And to think that many of these people waiting outside were unable to get into this exclusive soiree, and went home having never known the wonders and joy that were taking place inside, only a few short feet away from them.