I can barely utter the name Emily Ratajkowski these days without eliciting a feeling of racing heart, sweaty palms, and emptying of my bank account for buy approximately seven long stemmed roses in order to woo Emily into my boudoir where I will likely spend the first ten minutes sobbing like a child.
With photos of Emily barely covered in the shower for no apparent reason other than to titillate, indeed, I fear the palpitations may be too much for me to handle. It’s like waiting in line for that roller coaster as a kid and hearing the passengers ahead of you shooting by and screaming their heads off in terror and delight. Oh, man, I so badly want to ride Emily Ratajkowski. Hey, that’s a roller coaster analogy. Get your mind out of the gutter. Enjoy.