The Karamazovbag
Fyodor Dostoyevsky here isn’t really a conventional ‘bag. More like 19th Century alcoholic Russian writer.
But then you notice the two-buttons on the shirt. The shaved down beard. And you realize he’s actually a dawning stage-1 Karamazovbag. Certainly enough to post.
She is a Russian samovar of bubbling vodka and two firm pirogies. A Siberian minx, a Soviet temptress, a Bond villain ready to spank me with fly swatter and read me passages from Lenin.
Oh yes.
I would Stalin her Luftballoons, and Perestroika her Gorbachevs.
By which I mean I would hump her like a cracked up circus clown on no-doze.
EDIT: And if this is indeed a UFC Champion, let me just state that he is a scholar and a gentleman, an intellect and a class act, and please do not rearrange the bone structure of my face.
