She’s an icon amongst icons. A gay man’s favourite: Man loving, alcohol swigging, chain smoking, power dressing magazine icon. Patsy Stone we love you.
“Smoking is good for you…”
On Her Drinking
“The last mosquito that bit me had to book into the Betty Ford Clinic.”
“My ring needs resealing, I know the gutters sagging a bit but how about a quick plunge up the waste pipe?”
On Work Ethics
“It’s 7– 7:30? In the…? Why, that means nothing to me!”
“Keep driving, Eddy. You haven’t hit anything yet.”
“Are you mad? I’ve got nothing to wear on public transport?”
“You may dress like a Christian, but the similarity ends there. I think you do it on purpose. How long does it take you to get the crease so crisp down the front of your jeans, you torturer?”
More on Safi
“Oh you little BITCH TROLL FROM HELL.”
“She’s emaciated, like her brain!”
As A Fashion Editor
“The only label she wears is “Drip Dry”.
“One wiff of a cocoa bean and our customers would fly like vampires before garlic. Jeremy’s must remain a sterile oasis, free from street eaters and coffee carriers. Aseptic and razor-sharp as our customer’s hipbones. These women shop for lunch! Labels are their only sustenance! Their skeleton legs in Manolos have worn trenches down the pavement of Sloan Street. Their arm sinews have just enough muscles left in their arm to lift up a credit card.”<
“Nothing, and you shouldn’t have to. I mean, look at you. You’ve been a fantastic mother. You’ve let them ruin your figure. Your stomach’s stretched beyond recognition, you’ve got tits down to your knees, and what for, for God’s sake? For a potholer who’s worn nothing but a purple nylon tracksuit and a Gazza t-shirt for the past two years. Cut the cord, darling.”
So are you Patsy? Congratulate yourself sweetie.