Me, too, kittens. And, apparently, there's a little something that Pixie herself has been yearning for: Sapphic tongue-tangling.
So, she indulged recently--and how. Yay for Pixie! Yay for us!
'Twas a chillin' night at a palatial pad belonging to one of Pixie's many fake friends. Just a few chicks gathered around the glass table, snorting and gossing--alas, not playing much mah-jongg, as these babes are way too young and tirelessly cool for that.
Suddenly, assorted rail-thinistas looked across the room and saw P.M. making out, "hard-core, tongues heavy," with a gal-pal, so blurted one of the babes who hasn't eaten since Cher had her real body parts. Too hot.
Perhaps our daring dahling has grown tired of boys? Heaven knows she ain't had the greatest year in the man-love department. Or maybe there was some magical potion in the blow she was vacuuming up her delicate nose?
In any case, my dilated eyewitness has run around with Pixie and her pals for a long-ass time, and she offered her interpretation: "I don't think she was just screwing around. I think she's gay and repressing it."
Oh, Pixie-doll, haven't you seen Brokeback Mountain? Don't you know what all that pretending will do to a girl's complexion/career?
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