Just letting you know my love, you need to make a fuckin’ T-Shirt already.

Thanks, babe. That’s not my style. My shit’s not gonna get screened onto American Apparel.

If I ever decided to put out a line, seamstresses would be involved. Some lucky designer would get to cross brands with me and make a funky fresh high fashion love child. Bitches would be able to write me questions on the wall by the Coke Talk racks at Opening Ceremony.

I don’t fuck around.