Thursday, January 17, 2008
Stubblebag / Not a Stubblebag
PIC DELETED
I don’t know how douchey Stubblebag really is, although the two popped collars bespeak a childhood filled with douchal traumas large and small.
But I do know that I would sell my kidney in trade to Bedouin camel riders in the Saharan outback just for the chance to spend twenty minutes rubbing Purple Brunette’s skin products on my upper thigh area.
She is my dreamlight chocolate microphone. My phantasmagoric plasmatic absofantastic electric koolaid hottsid test.
And when she grew tired of my endless masticating on her lower neck area, I would turn my attentions to her younger sister/friend. Who would smack me with a frying pan, then steal my car.
