Al Swearengen is in, and Mr. Blonde is out.
Go away now.
Dear Game of War:
Congratulations! You have my undivided attention! Do you have any idea how difficult it is to make me hate the sight of Kate Upton? It’s like you’re practicing some weird, psychological alchemy, where you transmute my love of tits into a barely-suppressed urge to throw my iPad across the room.
Now that I’ve acknowledged the cleverness and success of your little experiment, can you pretty-please stop poking me with a jiggly, blonde stick everywhere I go online? I’d really appreciate it.
Your blog took me to a whole other level of confused. I want to thank you but then again I don’t.
Greatness is thankless in its time; they slew poor Socrates, who owed him the most.
browsing your blog makes me more wet than i can even describe. it makes me feel so ugly, like you wouldn’t even twitch if i begged you to fuck me. like you wouldn’t even touch me through your muddy boots. and something about this blog makes me Love that feeling.
You get me. You really get me.
Given my current condition, this looks even more fun than usual. I just want to slap someone until she sucks out the stone.
Surprise!
Due to the unexpected, 4AM debut of a kidney stone, and a subsequent trip to the ER, I now know how it feels to be catheterized.
In related news, I can conclusively state with absolute certainty that I am not a masochist.
Fucking ouch, dude.
Personally speaking, I can’t wait to watch life tear you apart.
I’ve never found Nicole Kidman particularly attractive. Part of that is no doubt due to my instinctive aversion to any vagina that has been sullied by that psychotically-grinning, couch-bouncing, Thetan-nuzzling nutjob to whom she was once wed. But it’s probably more about how damned cold she is as an actress. It’s the same issue I once had with Charlize Theron, before she showed her chops in Monster; her beauty always seemed to lack passion, or at least obscure it.
But in Stoker, I absolutely loved her. And it was all down to this moment, this scrap of performance where she took full ownership of that icy persona and channeled it into an expression of bitterness and spite so visceral that it made a generally dream-like, otherworldly film snap into sharp focus.
Yeah, I’m a pervert, so I loved all the saddle-shoed, incestuous piano-playing and murder, but it was Kidman’s magnificent little monologue that made Stoker one of my favorite films of 2013.
(Source: https://www.youtube.com/)
“Crazy Bitch” – Buckcherry
Baby girl
You want it all
To be a star
You’ll have to go down
Take it off
No need to talk
You’re crazy
But I like the way you fuck me
Buckcherry’s Crazy Bitch was my ringtone for about six months in the mid-2000s, which probably says more about me as a then-thirtysomething man than I should be comfortable admitting.
But hey, look: sluts dancing around urinals!
This blog both offends me and turns me on but how
It’s my special blend of eleven herbs and spices.
Would you ever date a “normal” or stable girl or does that repulse you?
Ann Coulter is the only woman I can say repulses me, and I wouldn’t call her “stable”.