For a minute there I was starting to lose faith in degenerate white guy's ability to keep me entertained. Then I was introduced to a fetish with more questions than Sylvester Stallone's medicine cabinet.
My first pay-to-play happened in a Burger King toilet stall. She was more Kurt Perry than Katy Perry, Kinda foul. Not even a triple replay of Heather Graham's bush in Boogie Nights changed the mood that night. But... if I had this guy's attitude? Life... life would be different.
Anastasia Rose becomes the next spokeswoman for Charmin Ultra Soft. Riley Reid reaches peak brain rot. Kenzie Reeves masters the art Yondu's arrow. And this "Gala MV" girl... well... there's no coming back for her. What the fuck?
Many a question will arise while shuffling through this one, but none more important than whatever comes out of your mouth around the 3:30 mark. Don't worry, you're not alone. I don't fucking know either.
Today's lessons: Little Dicky is a literal name (4:21), Tourism is still alive and well (0:11) and statistically speaking, this is the least likely way to acquire an STD in public. Trust me, I've seen 3 full episodes of House M.D.
Every so often I come across an individual that makes me ask: How much tarantula fucking middle aged misguided trailer park moonshine did they drink before this became a good idea? It's like someone took Rosie O'Donnell and made it harder to see her naked.
To call this girl a boring bang would be the understatement of the damn millennium. I'll put it this way: If you combined a gender studies course with the PGA, you'd still need a 3 hour Al Gore audio book and jumper cables to match pulses with this fucking corpse. You've been warned.
Essentially a hybrid of a "Got Milk?" PSA & a GWAR concert. Or in more comprehensive terms: 1-part health consciousness, 274-parts batshit fuckin aspergers. #NEVERFORGET.
