Thursday, October 4, 2007
The Warthog From Hell
Tell me this ‘bag doesn’t look like the satanic love spawn of a mutant Fred Durst, a desert cactus brush and the biker mercenary from “Raising Arizona.”
Someone better rescue Nathan Jr. and pick up the huggies.
I’ll busy myself with launching a small but lethal gang of inbred Ninjas to explore the bouncy hills of pink pale Cleavite calling to me with the sing-song mellifluous tones of a drunk Kim Gordon.
Which is my roundabout way of saying boobies.
