Holy Sodium!
Thanks for all the latest screenshots, gorls. If anything will motivate Chantal to jump in the lifeboat and start paddling, it's these pics. Our Chinny is nothing if not face vain and boy howdy, she is looking worse than I've ever seen her. Droopy Dog jowls and marionette lines coming in hard. Florid, bloated and old. The "cutie toddler" image that she has cultivated has turned into grandma real fast. Gotta love that iPhone. I can't say I am optimistic about Fatso's chances of seeing life past 40, unless she is in a Canadian nursing home.
BUT!
I know, I know, cockroach, 9 lives, yadda yadda, but the delicious irony is that Chantal's life dream is going to be the death of her...lidurally! She has secured a trophy husband and can now totally isolate herself and never have to move from anywhere other than the trough to the bed. AND! pretty soon, the bed and trough will be combined. Her lover/servant/carer Salah can bring her everything she desires, Fresh! pickles and chips and BK and bags of chocolate and bedpans and vibrators and rodents and she can lounge like a treasured princess on her exotic middle eastern blue velvet couche. Funeral arrangements? Nah. Just open the floor drain and let the sewer rats feast!
OR!
Stop with the pickles and chips, Fatso. Drink nothing but water. Fuck Ramadan, you are too unhealthy to perform this fast. Oh nevermind...I am talking to myself. Chantal knows what's best for her....HEE HEE!