Thursday, October 16, 2008
The Guessbag
There’s something not right with this dude.
I don’t have enough to call “douche,” other than maybe the goofy shirt. But look at that sneer. I’m convinced there’s hidden nodal scrotundae at work beneath the veneer of benign quasi-douchewankery.
And it’s not just because I want to softly paddle the lovely quartasian’s pokey cleavite with a powder puff, a semi-melted marshmallow and sixteen jelly bellies dipped in wasabe.
