Lagerfeld & Friends

KARL: Kate. PET. My hash-slinging waitress at a space diner. Tonight's blue-plate special is sass. SEASON IT.

KATE BOSWORTH: Oh, Karl, you are a scream.

KARL: You are the divine intergalactic crisping sleeve on my Hot Pocket. TOAST.

KATE: Hahaha! Magical. You are a delight.

KARL: The man in the moon needs a lover. Be his concubine. ROMP. He'll leave some green cheese on the dresser. Now stand back for a moment so I may contemplate whether I want popcorn.

KATE: Oh, like Jiffy-Pop? Yes! I'm actually following along with you!

KARL: Well stop, because if I saw you in an anti-gravity machine, my belts would start howling and I would demand roast beef. LAUNCH.

KATE: ... Yes, okay, I can work with that. Yes!

KARL: Now leave me unless your skirt dispenses toothpaste.

KATE: Yes! Wait, no. Shoot, I blew that.

[Photo: FlynetOnline.com]

KARL: There has been a mistake. Those breasts are not possible.

SALMA: Hi, Mr. ... Karl... listen, I just have to... I PROMISE this was not my idea.

KARL: Promises are for liars, pet. JUICE THE TRUTH, you naughty orange.

SALMA: No, I'm serious, didn't you hear? I lost a bet!

KARL: Never gamble with the produce section, darling. If I saw you on a parade float I'd say, "Lo! Bring me a melon-baller and some velvet shoes." Do you juggle?

SALMA: I'm not kidding -- they had this backstage. It's not even mine. Please understand.

KARL: Comprehension is where intrigue ends and the yawning begins. MYSTIFY. Then kill the wardrobe servant.

SALMA: I can't believe you had to be here the day this happened. You're never going to take me seriously again, are you?

KARL: There are two kinds of people, you divine flesh balloon -- those who snort majesty and those who buy cantaloupes. You know who you are. If I tug your braid, will there be milk?

SALMA: Everyone who booked me on this show will be fired. SO VERY FIRED.

KARL: Shhh, pet. Your heaving agony disturbs the egg basket. RELEASE. And then pause while I contemplate making a meringue out of your bosom.

MAX AZRIA: Hello everyone! I am here with Taylor Momsen, the hot twenty-eight-year old star of Gossip Girl!

TAYLOR: Actually, I'm fifteen.

MAX: Nonsense! Come on, Taylor, talk about this look. Inspire the crowd!

TAYLOR: Do you really want that? Really?

MAX: Out with it, darling! Tell the world!

TAYLOR: Okay. I look like Pat Benatar.

MAX: We belong to the night!

TAYLOR: Crossed with Debbie Harry and one of the chicks from Heart.

MAX: Oooh, barracuda!

TAYLOR: With a bit of Bret Michaels and Kim Cattrall from the opening scenes of Mannequin.

MAX: Yes! Talk dirty to me! Nothing's gonna stop us now!

TAYLOR: Times someone whose mouth has been erased.

MAX: Right! Wait... um...

TAYLOR: And a dash of E.G. Daily.

MAX: You're losing me... Um... er... smelly cat!

TAYLOR: Close, but I had another one in mind.

MAX: Hmm. You'd be better off dead?

TAYLOR: Bingo.

KARL LAGERFELD: Lens-monkeys! Snap me here standing with Wax Claudia.

CLAUDIA SCHIFFER: No, Karl, it's really me.

KARL: FLESH Claudia? Can it BE? My shock is written like the Kama Sutra on the page of my face. BOOKMARK IT. There will be an essay question. BRING CHEESE.

CLAUDIA: How are you, Karl? Are you enjoying yourself?

KARL: You look like a frail wedding cake sneezed on by an eagle, and this dildo bores me. TANGO.

CLAUDIA: Um, not right now. That's not a... that's an award, Karl. It's a trophy.

KARL: Pish. To be literal is to die. DREAM. BE the sex toy.

CLAUDIA: Maybe let's just get off-stage.

KARL: You are a vision of rigid ice. If I saw you in a harness I would say, "Hark! Send that woman a ham and some ointment."

CLAUDIA: This is getting awkward.

KARL: Embarrassment is the birthplace of lust, darling, and you are crowning. PUSH.

[Photo: BauerGriffinOnline.com]

GIORGIO ARMANI: Tina, Tina, TINA! Your dress! It's caught...

TINA TURNER: It's not a dress, baby, it's...

GIORGIO: No no, Proud Mary, do not finish that sentence. It's a DRESS and it's CAUGHT between your legs.

TINA: What? That's not...

GIORGIO: Caught, and then knotted at the knee like a tourniquet because they're bleeding. They bleed MAGIC and you're not ready to reveal your private sorcery. Say that.

TINA: But...

GIORGIO: SAY IT!

TINA: I can't. You're crazy.

GIORGIO: Tina, WHY? WHY do you do this to me? I tried to help you. Look at me! I'm pale with shock! I'm practically beige!

TINA: Is this a bad thing?

GIORGIO: You are Tina Turner. You make Oprah weep. You sweat GLORY. You do NOT need a jumpsuit made of harem pants. And you definitely do not need to ADMIT you are in a jumpsuit made of harem pants. We don't need another hero!

TINA: But I'm simply the best! You love me!

GIORGIO: What's love got to do with it?

TINA: Aw, G, I don't really wanna fight.

GIORGIO: Let's stay together. I can't stand the rain.

TINA: It's a dress. Caught between my legs. And then knotted.

GIORGIO: Good girl.

KARL: Hustle, pet. Tonight we RIDE.

KATE: I'm coming, I'm coming, I just... people want photos...

KARL: Photos are lens vomit. You pose for ART. It's like I told Victoria: "You are a still life with melons. BE THE BOWL."

KATE: Okay, "art," then. They want me to let them take some art. How does the dress look?

KARL: Like a swirl of pain. Agony on a cracker as painted by a drooling child. But SHINY. I would drink you if you came with a bendy straw.

KATE: Only a bendy straw?

KARL: Do not pester me. There are stupid questions, and tonight the answer is YOU. How is my jacket? Does it gleam like a gun-toting seal?

KATE: Actually, it kind of does.

KARL: LOOK ALIVE. I think he's got real bullets. Do you need your hair, or can the maid have it for a casserole?

KATE: Ha ha, um, why don't we go inside? These shoes aren't super comfortable. I'm not sure about this plastic stuff. My boyfriend always says...

KARL: Pish. Your boyfriend is life's dental floss. BRUSH.

KATE: He's great, though. He just doesn't like the shoes.

KARL: Poison him and make a necklace of his teeth.

KATE: I trust his opinion.

KARL: Trust is a drunk driver's highway, darling. TAKE THE BUS.

KATE: An open bar will help. It MUST help.

INTERN GEORGE: Hello, Giorgio. Julia, you look lovely.

JULIA: So do you, George. Happy birthday!

GIORGIO ARMANI: BIRTHDAY! HOW DELICIOUS! LIKE CHOCOLATE FROSTING ON SKIN!

GEORGE: Funny you should mention that, because... I mean, are you WEARING chocolate frosting? You look awfully tan. Like, abnormally tan even for you.

JULIA: Actually you both look sort of unusually brown tonight.

GIORGIO: I AM A CHOCOLATE-FROSTED CAKE OF A MAN! PUT A CANDLE IN MY EAR AND BLOW ME OUT! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

GEORGE: Yeah, Sarah bought me some bronzer for my birthday. I'm not sure why.

GIORGIO: Because you are PALE! LOOK AT YOU! YOU ARE WASTING AWAY BEFORE MY EYES! SOMEBODY PLEASE BURNISH THE GEORGIE!

GEORGE: Is he talking to himself now, or me?

JULIA: Sometimes I can't tell.

GIORGIO: GOOD BOY!

JULIA: Go on, George. Go with the man.

GEORGE: Pipe down, Roberts. Maybe he's talking to YOU.

GIORGIO: QUICK, SOMEBODY, SQUEEZE SOME SUMMER ONTO HIS FACE! PUREE A YACHT AND SPREAD IT LIKE PASTE!

GEORGE: Oh my GOD, if I put on any more bronzer, people will start calling me Leatherhead for REAL this time.

JULIA: Let's just back away and go get some champagne. We have much to celebrate. You're looking great, everyone's forgotten about your last movie already, and you have an exciting internship that affords you new and wonderful mail-answering, foot-rubbing, and mixology opportunities every day.

GEORGE: Perfect. On three, let's escape. 1....2...

GIORGIO: WHEEEEE!

GEORGE: Close enough. RUN!

ASHLEY: People will get this, right? That I'm going as a superhero's VICTIM? With the ripped clothes?

CHRISTIAN LOUBOUTIN: POW!

MARY-KATE: You know who'd have loved this? Frankie Sinatra. Oh, he was a card.

ASHLEY: What?

LOUBOUTIN: ZAP!

M-K: It all reminds me of the time I did Carson with a lit cigarette in my hair. How McMahon did laugh! He was all hands, that Eddie. And what a tongue!

ASHLEY: I don't understand.

LOUBOUTIN: KER-BLAM!

M-K: Somebody get me a scotch, neat, and make it a double. God, that reminds me of that night with Carol Channing and the Hardy Boys. I've got stories about that hussy that would make your toes curl.

ASHLEY: How is it that we're related? Sometimes I think this whole thing is a bizarre accident.

LOUBOUTIN: WHAMMO!

M-K: It's like Bette Davis used to say: "If you can't take off your clothes, then it's not worth having dinner." Or was that Paris Hilton?

ASHLEY: The worst part is, people might think you're ME. Clearly I have to dye my hair again.

M-K: You want to talk about buying new drapes? Let me tell you about the day Phyllis Diller came over for canasta and absinthe -- we'd both been having these WICKED hot flashes, see, and...

LOUBOUTIN: SPLAT!

ASHLEY: Time to go.

[Photo: Splash News]

LAGERFELD: PET! Let me clutch you.

KIRSTEN: Hi, Karl. Dig my Ray Bans? They're so Risky Business, so Tom Cruise.

LAGERFELD: Cruising is for drunk people. DO A SHOT OF LIFE.

KIRSTEN: I think I already did -- it feels good to be out and about looking showered and cute.

LAGERFELD: How DIVINE you look. A vision in cranberry.  To touch you is to cleanse the urethra. SPIN.

KIRSTEN: It's good, right? And the purple purse? I'm adorable!

LAGERFELD: If I'd never seen you before, I would say, "Dear GOD, who is that WOMAN? Send her a goldfish."

KIRSTEN: That ... means a lot, I'm fairly sure.

LAGERFELD: I can't squeeze hard enough, Miss Scarlett. Promise me you'll do it in the conservatory with the lead pipe.

KIRSTEN: You're a kick.

LAGERFELD: Kicking is for the mobile, darling. BE A STATUE.

LINDSAY: So wait... where am I again?

KARL LAGERFELD: Imagine an astral Woodstock, pet. A DIFFERENT PLANE.

LINDSAY: Uh, dude, I'm getting on ANOTHER plane? I just got off this one.

KARL: No, I mean an EXISTENTIAL plane. Where are you? No: Where AREN'T you? I need to feel your elbows NOW.

LINDSAY: What the hell am I wearing?

KARL: What AREN'T you wearing, you PISTOL of GLORY! A dolphin, that's what!

LINDSAY: Why did I trust you to staple a sequined trash bag around my waist? God, I look so bloated in it.

KARL: Bloat is for sad people. DANCE!

LINDSAY: I can't. There's a bike chain on my head and it's giving me an f'ing headache, dude.

KARL: Then tighten it and climb inside. You're FASHION, darling! BE the bike.

LINDSAY: What I would like to BE is lying down on the astrology plane or whatever you said before, and NOT auditioning for the new Hell's Angels ballet. I think this is turning my forehead green. And the gloves itch.

KARL: It's like I told Michael Jackson: "If you can't love your glove, then GET OUT OF MY SIGHT, and also, only floss with real unicorn hair."

LINDSAY: Mom! MOOOOOM! Oh, wait. She's NEVER awake before midnight. God, I feel so alone.

KARL: Like an owl, she flies only at night...

LINDSAY: Hey, I actually understood that!

KARL: Well, accidents are the blueprints of fashion, luscious. Now SMILE before I staple a beak to your face.