Kermit the Toad
Oh lordy, lordy, lordy…
Kermit here is carring off one of the most fantastic hotties I’ve ever seen. I love her. I know I’ve said that about other women on this site, but this time I really, really, really mean it. She’s the only one for me. The rest were simply preamble.
Look at how her thigh’s taut skin gives way from Kermit’s toady touch. It is supple, yet firm. And I’m not just gushing with adoration because I’m slightly drunk and it’s only 4:38pm. I’d say this even if I was sober. Anyone who wears knee-high socks, a red plaid miniskirt, and some lacey form of top is a goddess of epic hot proportions.
And then there’s Kermit. A psychologically deflating trainwreck of douchitude that can only mean one thing: My partial drunken state needs rectifying, stat. And by “rectifying” I mean entrance into a full drunken state. So with that, I tip my red plastic cup of Thunderbird to this hottie’s perfection, and journey off to the land of Inebria.
