Wednesday, November 20, 2013
Miserable Hal
You might think partying with sexy cuddle blondes on a Tuesday would inspire at least some human emotion in a sentient human being.
A smile.
A glimmer of recognition of the conscious state of living.
You’d be wrong.
Miserable Hal don’t play conscious states of emotional inner life.
Miserable Hal got no time for that. No matter how many hotties are provided. To paraphrase Zeppelin, the thong remains the same.
Hal’s miserable because he forgot his belt and he’s afraid these PtP hotts will try to pants him moments after this shot.
I nominate middle chick for HOH.
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Legs: perfect? – check!
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Ass: taut (implied, not visible)? – check!
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Abs: lean? – check!
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Titties: eager, healthy, proportionate, and hallucination-inducing? – check!
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Face: good-enough-for-a-blonde? – check!
Jumping Jesus on a Pogostick!
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If the gingham-Hal woman, from the accessory pic, the etherial woman whose gaze could make OPEC go green – is the same as FredN’s ‘middle chick’ – I second the HOH nomination.
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And I preemptively vote yes.
Miserable Hal should relax. Kick back. Have some fun. Even his girlfriends look stressed out. Except the girl with the Zeppelins.
fair nom … but as ever further evidence required.
Correct, Dr. Magnifico. Someone get me the link to the above party pic’s origin, and I will spend all day browsing for further evidence of the future Mrs. FredN.
Miserable Hal must be awaiting the Zombie Acockalypse™. Film at 11.
The “Good From Far, Far From Good Sisters, ” have made Hal miserable.
Dispeptic Hal
DW, you need glasses, son. Sure, blondie on left is a good view if you’re busy texting, but middle twinkly girl from heaven is pure delight.
Middle girl is Hal’s sister. She got him in for free, but he didn’t have enough room on his credit card for a beer.
Hal reminds me of a younger version of Tom Brady. Same queefy head, stoopid fuccen look on his face all the time, and that persistent ringing in his empty fuccen head as evidenced by the dead eyes.
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bundchens
He needs punched.
He either just got the bill for the bottle service, or they told him that daddy’s credit card company had declined the charge.
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Which means he can’t pay for the PtP ladies, either…
Hal’s way in over his head…
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peroxide
Somewhere along the way Hal came to believe that the attention he got by pouting, or as he calls it, brooding, in front of his overly-attached girlfriend was a good thing. So now he sulks his way through clubs emanating waves of dark intensity as though he’s wearing an invisible batman suit, and he winds up with a girl on his arm.
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They want free drinks.
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Dummy.
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Get Clearisil.
“There’s no sex in the Champagne Room.” – C. Rock
Faux Nazi Hott should lay off the pipe.
Puffers
I hope you homeslices aren’t picking the mid chick on the “Thong Remains The Same” link and shit. Cause I be hitting any fat Latino chica as fast as a thin high-yellow Mulatress I met so many years ago . Rev is done his term assignments that he does while he’s workin driving around with Lenny. I’m getting fucking ripped for the imminent announcement of the 2013 Douchies. And by ripped I mean just fucked up son.