Friday, February 15, 2008
The Marissa
I name this scrote in the middle “The Marissa” for personifying a cheap carbon copy of the douched out husband of Marissa Miller, himself a cheap carbon copy of a cactus plant.
Gentlemen. You are spawns of suburbia.
Put down the hair gel.
You are not “punk rock.” You look like a rooster.
Juan on the right looks like he’d rather be tangoing with Smithers to Barry Manilow, so I’ll leave him out of this. And the Long Island twins aren’t Deathtongue Hott, but nothing to sneeze a ferret at.
