Monday, March 17, 2008
Mary-Kate Molson
Who knows what douchebaggery lurks in the hearts of men?
The Shadowbag knows.
Hott can billiard my eight-ball in the corner pocket while racking my Fats any day of the week and forty-two times on Saturday.
Which means, I’d, uhm, like to buy her flowers and ask for a dance at the pep rally.
