Has there ever been a good experience with a pimp? Ever? There’s something about paying for ass that makes the seller superior to you. What if this process applied to all divisions of retail? You might talk a car salesman down a couple thousand bucks and feel pretty good about yourself and then the Lot Pimp comes over and starts bitch slapping him right in front of you. Surfing for porn would have an entirely different feel. Beware Cyber Pimp.
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Surprise penis isn’t fun for anybody involved. Seriously, try to defend any moment where it’s a good thing to randomly whip out your dick when nobody is expecting it. It’s horrifying. Now imagine paying good money for a soft, warm inny and you get slapped in the jaw with an rock solid outy.
I’m the worst at guessing a person’s age. You ask me, Dakota Fanning is 37. So why the hell would I play with fire here? Unless I’m trying to break a record for the most criminal charges in one night (considering I’d already be drunk, nude and snorting rails off my dashboard) I’m going to stare straight ahead and think about baseball.
I can guarantee the first woman I ever solicited would be a member of this fucked-up hooker mafia. Then I would probably elbow her in the face by accident while peeling off my whitey-tighties and place a price on my head without even getting a hand-job. This is my life.
My friends might be down with this option but I’d rather not have a couple buddies double-teaming some whore on my kid’s bunk bed. There’s nothing that can wash away those memories. All this and they end up stealing all your shit afterward and selling it back to you. It’s a vicious circle of sex money.
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Boobs are fun and all but this might be a little too much for me. I wouldn’t know whether to giggle, fight, or run. Not to mention this shit probably costs extra and it would throw off my superior motorboating skills.
I wonder how close I’ve actually come to doing this. There’s been mornings in Vegas where I woke up with mysterious tacos on my chest and I worried about the previous night’s black-out. What the fuck would I do if there was a ring on my finger and some random child in the closet?
When your doctor tells you you’re going to die if you don’t stop drinking the last thing you need is a 40 of scotch flowing towards your mouth from the fleshy funnel of Elizabeth Shue’s cleavage. This could be motor oil and I still wouldn’t be able to stop her.
If I was suddenly rich I think “pick up a hooker” would be the last thing scratched down on my bucket list. Especially if they have giant enchanting mouths like Julia Roberts that can seduce you into thinking about sloppy never-ending blow jobs that can fit you in up to your hips.
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Driving up on a woman on the corner will make you nervous enough as it is. What I don’t need is for her to reply to my question, “How much for ass-to-mouth?” with a twelve verse contemporary ballad. Just get in the car – I have a radio.