I think my lips are pretty awesome. They’re luscious and full (but in a non-anal spinchter kind of way), they’re shaped perfectly (I think), they’re naturally flushed (they used to be, like, red but almost eight years— z0mg, it’s been eight years?!— of smoking kinda dulled the rosiness) and they look soft. And they’re yummy. My lips are so hot, I’d date them if I could.

PUCKER UP!

Lookit those two hotties! Bad photo, I know. That’s how I look like when I don’t Sally-Hansen my femstache for a day and zap my zits with Panoxyl every eight hours. But aren’t my lips gorgeous? Angelina ain’t got shit on me.

I love my lips and I maximize their loveliness by making sure that they’re super prominent. This entails monthly collagen injections (when I’m short on cash and time or when my brother changed the hiding place for his Calayan gift certs, I just ask one of my housemates to punch me. Hard), whipping out a brown eye pencil and drawing an arrow (pointing towards them kissers) on my face whenever I’m in a room full of beautiful women, and making Zoolander lips everytime I see a camera pointed at my direction. If none of the abovementioned succeed in catching people’s attention, I shift to plan B which is usually me standing on any elevated surface with my shirt rolled up above my breasts while chanting “I need to reroute the encryption modules” over and over again.

MY LIPS. ON A GOOD DAY. SUCH UNEQUALED DICK-SUCKING LIPS.

Alina: PS: How can you have such a perfect big lips?
Tracy: Because God knew she’d give a lot of blowjobs

Yeah, that was pretty pointless.

More VH LOLs (side-by-sides made and sent by the insistent mancandy— who seems to have a thing for borderline jailbait cases):

MY LIPS ARE SO RED, I MUST’VE GIVEN SOMEONE HEAD. I RHYMED!!!

Truly? I sort of see it now.