The Turd Cutter
The Turd Cutter isn’t a huge ‘bag. More like a stage 1-2 tweener. We’ll call him douche for the silly retro jeans, wrist somethings and general turd cutting expression. But I’m on the fence with him. Another pic with a less silly expression could earn him a nottadouche pass and a hearty handshake for his good work.
After all, it’s not like he’s The Gator Working Out (warning: Not Safe for Humanity)
But oh these hotnesses.
I would drink a mint julep hemlock just for the chance to be chased by angry goat herders through the Serengeti if it meant I could huff the toxins off blond’s used sneakers.
And I see you too, curvy leather pants Brunette. You can have the honor of smacking my bottom with a small plastic ladel, while I scream out “Klatu Barata Nikto!” and cry softly for my lost childhood panda-bear, “Boo.”
