Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Hard Core Harry
Dominating the side streets of Vegas and the dollar minimum poker tables from here to Reno, Hard Core Harry’s reputation precedes him.
With every row of hair corn, with every sculpted facial hair configuration, with every Germanic WWI tatt added to his shoulder, Hard Core Harry tells the hotties what’s up.
And what’s up is that he smells like a mixture of cigarettes, whisky, and a Turkish apricot roasted in garlic.
Brunette’s smile is where dreams go to morph into salvation. Blondes boobs are where my eyes go to gazooga.
