R.I.P. Mr. Blackwell

Heaven needed a crotchety old man with a rapier-like wit when it comes to dissing Hollywood's worst dressed. Now who's gonna pick up that mantle? I would myself, but sadly most of my barbs would probably come from one liners from Anchorman or something like "Hey Britney! Why don't you just go back to your home on Whore Island?!". See? And I think I topped myself there so I'll quit while I'm ahead.