The UK premiere of The Island turned into some kind of bizarre porno bride convention:
You can see this woman's glee at attending a major premiere in her very best hacked-up handkerchief-- pure delight is written all over her face (did I mention I am fluent in botulism?).
But then I imagine her face made a desperate (but ultimately fruitless) attempt to fall in disappointment when she noticed the following woman on the blue carpet:
It's a frighteningly similar theme: wedding gown gone wild. Although this one looks more like she got out of bed with the sheets twisted around her pelvis and decided she didn't feel like changing, so she threw on her best tube top and bolted.
I like to think the whole thing ended happily, with the two of them swapping numbers, bikini waxers, and collagen suppliers before disappearing arm-in-arm into the pages of Maxim Bride. But I suspect there was really just a lot of glaring and jealous huffing, followed by migraines induced by trying to furrow their paralyzed brows in a simulation of anger as they fired their stylists.
