Antibihotics
I would wade through a sea of pirhannas in the deep forrests of Africa while carrying a stack of iron maidens, juggling ostrich eggs, gargling a double shot of MacCallan 18 year, and humming the theme to “Rawhide” merely for the pleasure of lighting off organic cucumber fireworks at the base of a forty foot shrine made of bamboo shoots and plantains simply to pay tribute to this hottie’s uber-hotness.
She’s so fantastic my fillings ache.
She’s what I like to call antibihotics. Antibihotics are hotties who can cure anything simply by being. Not by doing. By existing. Through zen hottitude. Through om-presence perfection.
I would read Longfellow then nibble on her shoulderblades.
Oh, yeah, and the dude with pink upturned collar and hat? Uhm. What’s the word I’m searching for. I just had it.
Oh yeah.
Douchebag.
