I am not saying that I condone gun use, but if I had a firearm it would be encrusted with Swarovski crystals and glitter, with the word Bitch-Tits picked out in conflict diamonds along the muzzle. Yes, it’s safe to say that designer guns have become a thing. Let the inner redneck inside all of us rejoice.
Have you ever listened to one of those stressed-out Manhattan fashion girls as they wait in line at Starbs for a double mocha machiatto expresso with light foam and cinnamon dust for a bitch-boss that they loathe? Even Bethenny Frankel’s assistant isn’t as stressed. I am kind of scared of girls that work in fashion, because they know that they are expendable, and always one wrong coffee order away from being canned, snapping, and lighting up a fashion showroom with a few rounds from an assault rifle rather than heading back to Ohio with their stylishly coiffed head hung in shame. I am absolutely not trying to make light of gun-related tragedies, but I will say that it’s a tragedy nobody has thought to create designer guns before.
Big haired Texan label-whores must be jumping for joy right now.
