bill-swift - January 26, 2013
Just when I thought I was the most excited man in the world about the opportunity to stow away with Ashley Greene to my Red Roof Inn junior suite with nothing but a Party Pak of Chalupas and a reserve of testosterone from a monk-life existence, oh, Ashley Greene goes and one ups me with some sweat around the crotchal region that seems to indicate she received one of the 137 letters I've recently sent her inviting her for this magical weekend getaway.
Now, I know what you're thinking. Ashley is just all wet in the succubus sections because of a strenuous workout mixed with ever-blessed yoga pants and the chances of her giving herself over to me for Cow-Jumped-Over-the-Moon cosplay in my motel room, well, about as likely the Chiefs take the Super Bowl in the next decade. But, I'm a hopeless romantic when it comes to Ashley Greene. So I shall sit and stare at her sweaty spots until I hear that knock on my second-floor-overlooking-the-parking-lot door. Enjoy.