Omarosa Manigault-Fugworth

Omarosa appears to be taking great, fiendish joy in wearing a denim frock whose wash is forcing our eye toward that prickly cave of danger she calls a crotch:

Are we being forced to endure her 15 minutes of fame in dog years, or something? If she inches forward onto that mark, will an anvil or a piano or a hunk of plaster the size of Montana please drop from the sky onto her head?