texts: No, he's not with a girl. </s> <s> Oh, right. Oh, oh my God! Pony, it's so huge! </s> <s> You know what? He probably gets bored with all that shit. </s> <s> Oh, yeah, yeah. Wait, um, how do you figure that? </s> <s> I'd get bored.
labels: I wouldn't. If I were in his shoes, every morning I'd get up singing, man. Do my work-out, take a shower, followed by a hearty breakfast, steak and eggs, washed down with a pot of hot coffee, six pack of Coors Lite. Then I'd order my bodyguard to go find my babe, who would appear decked out in her all-black leather Victoria Secret custom-made bodysuit. So I'd, like, have to chew off all her clothes until she was completely nude. Except she'd have these amazing dragon tattoos all over her body and pierced nipples with little gold peace signs hanging from 'em. And then she'd take out this half-ounce of blow, we'd snap out a few mondo lines, vaporize a few million brain cells, screw for about an hour, then spend the rest of the morning trashed watching Gilligan.