I’ve been stuck staring at this…ummm, story…ever since Ace first brought it up the other day.
Mum trolled as boobs ‘steal spotlight’ in ‘indecent’ dress at son’s birthday party
A mum claims her own cleavage “stole the spotlight” from her son’s birthday party.Raquel Dicuru, 37, was throwing a party for her son’s seventh birthday last month while her sister-in-law filmed her lighting the candles on the cake.
It wasn’t until the mum, from Tonbridge, Kent, watched it back that she saw her purple sundress revealed much of her chest.
Happily, the comely (and hoo boy, is she ever that, as can be seen in the several other pics included with this bodacious article) Ms Dicuru has boucoup chestage to reveal, and it looks to be well worth the revealing, bless her perfectly proportioned, shapely heart.
Raquel’s riposte to the juiceless, withered old killjoys who took umbrage with the inadvertent display of her succulent fun-bags was spot on:
In response, Raquel has told her followers to “get a life”.
Attagirl, you tell ’em. I could be mistaken, I admit, but I can’t help but get the distinct feeling the bluenoses’ unsolicited critique just might have been motivated primarily by envy—the males, because they ain’t got anything like that waiting for ’em at home, and the females, because ditto. Certainly, it’s a pretty safe bet that young master Dicuru saw quite a lot of those tig ol’ bitties early on, or at least until he was weaned off of ’em—one assumes under extreme, kicking-and-screaming protest—and was therefore already quite familiar with the edifying spectacle anyway.
For some strange reason, this feel-good story puts me in mind of a certain RAB classic.
Now as it happens, among a crap-ton of other artists the Stray Cays covered that one early in their illustrious career, with Setzer tacking on one of the coolest verses yet written as a bonus:
Well, I’m smoking past the filter
And it’s burnin’ my lips
Yeah, I’m smokin’ past the filter
And it’s burnin’ my lips
My whole body is a-shakin’ right to my fingertips
Yep, you go on and try and tell me that ain’t just like mama used to make. Knowing Brian as I do, and I know him pretty well, he would be extremely gratified that I’d thought to include him in this particular post, and for all the right reasons too. A little extry rockabilly twangerrifickness for ya.
Lots and lots of excellent, obscure stuff on that album, but it’s that first tune I particularly wanted to call y’all’s attention to. If you’re into it, the fifth song—”Hot Rod Baby—is another one of my all-time faves. GONNA SUCK THIS CAT RIGHT UP MY PIPES…
Update! Yes, I know, I’m obsessing here, but can you blame me? Actually, I been mulling it over trying to come up with some conceivable downside for the kid here, seeing as how all those green-eyed bluenoses claim to be upset about how his hot MILF ruined his birthday for him by the heinous, hateful sin of letting ’em breathe without malice aforethought, and I confess I’m drawing a blank on that.
I mean, the child doesn’t look to be terribly upset in the two (2) pics he appears in in the article, as far as I can discern. And honestly, why would he be? Mama made the both of ’em famous the world over because a bunch of self-righteous Holy Joes got their panties in a bunch over nothing whatsoever.
Think of it: for the rest of his life, he gets to tell his buddies the funny story about that time he and his mom made the newspapers and got everybody all in a dither because, even pushing 40, she was still a sexy, eye-catching lass. He’ll be laughing over this tempest in a teapot from now on; he’ll consider Year 7 the greatest birthday party he ever did have. It’ll be a long, long time before he has to buy his own beer once he’s old enough to belly up to the bar for a pint of stout at his local pub with a story like this to recount.
And like I said earlier, it ain’t as if he didn’t already KNOW his mom was sporting a righteous shirt-full long before now; he didn’t just learn of it after every swingin’ Richard in once-Great Britain got all frothy and fizzy-lipped over it and pointed it out to all and sundry with great outrage and vexation. If there’s any real downside to be found here, for anybody at all except the aforementioned Holy Joe and Jane—who really ought to just shut their yaps and mind their own beeswax—be damned if I can find it.
- Entries
She’s a heater.
Next time she should wear a thong bikini and really give the prudes something to have heart attacks over.
[…] Cold Fury: LAWDY indeed! […]
1) It’s England, not Florida. Rather different social rules apply across the pond. Starting with “time and place”.
2) (Overwhelmingly probably) single mom? Blue hair? First (and only?) kid at 30? Swinging ta-tas at a kid’s party like she was still 20-something on the beach at Aruba during Happy Hour?
Without digging deeper, I suspect the kid’s whole life is already a sh*tshow and FUBARed now, and the next 14 years will merely ratify that unavoidable outcome. She might as well just transition him to dresses now, and buy herself a box of cats.
That says nothing about what’s on display. Enjoy it if you please. I just feel sorry for that kid. And it only gets worse for him from here.
Naw, she says she’s happily married later in the piece. Plus this:
Of course, as you said, it’s Englishters we’re talking about here. For them, “hot” means around 73ºF or so.
Heck, when I was a kid, my own mom was generally regarded as a hottie. She’d take me to the grocery store and men would just fall all over themselves trying to flirt with her. When I was in high school I had friends who would remark on how good-looking she was–politely, of course, that was a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. Never bothered me any, it’s just how it was.
“Heck, when I was a kid, my own mom was generally regarded as a hottie.”
One of my best friends would introduce his mother as his slightly older sister and we all believed it. She looked like a 19 year old when she was in her early 40’s. A hot 19 year old.
Fair enough.
And two thumbs up on what the English* consider “hot weather”.
But my follow-up would be “Happily married? To the boy’s father?”
*(It’s just as bad as people from Scanda-Merica, anywhere from upper Iowa to Canuckistan, and over to the western Dakotas:
Bunch of winter interterm college kids from Mpls-StP were wearing shorts and t-shirts in January, heading out on a weekend day to go to the beach in Santa Barbara. It was 50 outside at noon, and the CA kids were in sweaters. The water temp is low 50s year-around (which is why anyone overboard longer than 6 hours is transitioned from rescue SAR to body recovery mission). They couldn’t figure out why they were the only ones on 3 miles of beach except the hardcore surfers in winter-weight wetsuits. But as one of them noted when asked, “Hell, man, where we’re from the lake is frozen two feet thick right now!”)
She’s wearing a sun dress on a warm day.
I will never forget my first trip to England, London to be precise. 1980 or so. I get off the plane and everywhere I go girls have hair dyed in unnatural color. She is not the least bit odd in that country.
Shit, she ain’t odd in THIS country. It abounds at WalMart, of all places. “Mermaid hair,” they call it, which I learned when I finally broke down and just directly asked some girl who was sporting some herself what, if anything, it signified. Something to do with some movie or other, I gathered.
True, but It’s not what I’d call mainstream here, like it is there. Every time I’ve been through England you see over half the women there with some color streaking. It’s just the norm.
Yup, t’is. Which, what the hell, I’m fine with that. Ain’t necessarily my bag, but it don’t bother me none. Heck, back in the day I used to blue-black my hair like Elvis did in his glory years, until I gave it up for being too much danged hassle. My mom still asks me to this day when I’m gonna start doing it again; all my grey makes her feel old, she says. Never have asked her how she feels about that great big ol’ bald spot on top of my haid. 😉
“…great big ol’ bald spot on top of my haid.”
I resemble that remark 🙂
Shave the rest and say Who loves you baby I do
I would, but shaving is too damn much trouble 🙂
You should have lit the fuse with Johnny Winter RIP