This total scrote makes me long for one of those 18th Century crossbows. About a hundred feet away, scope right in on that douchey smirk, and... one right through the cig.

The chickas aren't super gorgeous, but I'd drink some Night Train with 'em. Then again, I'd take Gertie down by the bus stop, these days. Maybe I should change my shirt. Six days in a row. I hear the hotties don't like the ratty smelly shirt. But they apparently like total and complete douchebags who fondle their breasts for pics.

And with that, we ride into the weekend...