Let’s rate Melbourne Cup pleb fashions!
Posted by clubwah on November 3, 2009
I hope Messrs Murdoch and Blunden don’t mind me borrowing a pic gallery from the Herald Sun (look I attributed and linked it) to rate some of the fashion choices amongst the Melbourne Cup crowd.

This is good to see. A nice, well-dressed couple. While I don’t like the red tie he gets points for matching her hat. His hat works too.
Can’t see the whole outfit on her, but it looks elegant, though a wider brim on her hat could have improved things a little.
Is she showing too much bosom? No, you can never show too much bosom.

Oh how fucking original, dress up as a bishop. That is so fucking 1988. At least he never dressed as a nun.

Mix Shane Warne with a mentally reatarded zebra and a white pork pie hat, and you get cunt!

The plastic cup is the only thing that works here.

These girls were dressed by the wardrobe department of production studio that specialises in barely-legal-teen porn. For fuck’s sake this is the races, not some nightclub at Docklands that lets underage girls in because the big Maori bouncers thing they might be in for a root.
Girls, you’re too young and cute to be slappers, but you’ve managed it.
Dear God! Is that girl on the right wearing a bra top?

Just humour the old cunt!

No complaints here!

Guys dressing up in drag at the races is a bit old hat isn’t it?
What? They are actually women?
Jesus suffering fuck!

Honestly, can someone tell him to fuck off!

Mmmm, full of MILFy goodness! That reminds me, I better check my RSVP account.

I thought they sent the photographer to the Melbourne Cup. What the fuck was he doing in Gertrude Street?

Full points for originality and gorgeousness!

Bullshit, sheilas? Really?

OK maybe you can show too much bosom.
Ah, no, you cannot.
Click
Moz said
The Swans girl was pretty hot.
Campbell said
I had a good laugh at this post.
Chris Fryer said
This reminds me of when I went to Oaks Day last year.
Girls that looked fantastic at the start of the day were unconscious and throwing up on themselves by the end.
Sigh, the memories.