His Name is Hurl
This pic’s commentary comes to us from merry old England, courtesy of HCwD’s favorite aristocratic, sexually ambigious British gentlemen, Ian and Shelley:
Ian: I say, old chap! Another picture of a lovely young woman of pleasing disposition posing with a rather troubling young man.
Shelley: Right you are, my old fellow. I dare say, he’s positively Brechtian in how he challenges conventional theatrical norms.
Ian: Quite right, quite right. Pass the sugar.
Shelley: Of course, my dear fellow. Would you like some lemon?
Ian: Ho, no! It brings an untenable digestive condition that I shan’t bore you with the details of.
Shelley: Quite right, quite right.
Ian: But thank you anyway, old chap.
Shelley: Yes, well, getting back to this odd fellow. I would say he’s a douchebag, wouldn’t you?
Ian: I would say the case is quite airtight.
Shelley: In fact, some might argue, his scrotitude warrants a swift kick to the seat of his pants!
Ian: I concur with that assessment. And might I add, setting his nads on fire would not be outside the realm of discourse in this happenstance vis a vis a larger societal obligation.
Shelley: I fear you are correct, kind sir. Shall you set fire to his nads? Or shall I?
Ian: After we finish our tea, my old friend.
Shelley: Quite right. Quite right.
Ian (glancing at the pic again): Pass the lemon.
Shelley: But you said?… Ohhhh. Excellent plan, old chap! Truly lauditory!
Ian: I thank you, my old friend. Scrotebags like this deserve nothing less. My gastrointestinal disposition will finally pay off. For all of us.
Shelley: Indeed, my dear fellow. Indeed.
Andddddd…. scene.
