I can’t remember who wanted the picture of Henry kissing me, but here are TWO for the price of ONE. Clearly, you can see that Henry and I have never kissed before. In fact, he wanted to creep on over to You Tube for some instructional videos.
“Maybe I should call Blake for advice,” he mused. But there was no time for that lollygagging.
“Stop being a blumpkin and just put your lips in a pucker-type thing,” I yelled.
“People are totally going to know that we are only fake-dating and that our child was grown in a pod,” he fretted.
And here is the requested MySpace pic. I’m going to add it to my MySpace with pc4pc as the caption. Look at how downtrodden Henry looks. I beat him with barbed wire at night and then he crawls into work the next day, he lies and chalks it up to another wild night at the S&M club.
My bangs are greasier than Alisha after a romp with a crippled MRSA’d streetwalker in the back of a fried chicken joint on a humid Arkansas day, because I am STRESSED.