Sunday, November 28, 2010
He gives fabulous 20-minute workouts in the driveway. Now you may be thinking, “I dunno, this guy looks full of beans for a PC Man.” Trust me folks—he’s all man. Paco Camino Man. A self-described closet poof, he’s an effeminate aerobic instructor with big, comforting hands and sometimes he can get as excited as a flaming hairdresser singing “Beauty School Dropout” at a Grease convention, but that hardly suggests he’s a kielbasa connoisseur. And don’t let his tight tank top and package-accentuating jean shorts fool you either, this soft-spoken stud can really put it where the sun don’t shine. Aerobically speaking. The Paco Camino Man. Neither sexually ambiguous or suspiciously bi-curious at all. I think. There’s some confusion here. Well anyway, Cheryl & Sandy are two smoking hot chicks working up a sweat with Sven and you are not. So eat your heart out there, hater.
Posted by Feo Mateo at 12:22 AM
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Monday, November 22, 2010
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Christina’s golden quest for love without restrictions has never been more compelling and dangerous than when she volunteers her name and body to an astute and persuasive promoter of sexotic vacations. With her fabulous figure and her international reputation as a connoisseur of the good life, the promise of a trip around the world with Christina lures even blasé millionaires to dip into their Swiss bank accounts to join her erotic entourage.
Posted by Feo Mateo at 10:12 PM
Sunday, November 14, 2010
The following handwritten letter was found this weekend crumpled up on the unseasonably warm marble steps of McKinley Hall:
I might be kinda concerned about my health. I can’t smell unscented perfume or taste unflavored ice cream. Obviously I’m losing my hearing. Plus how do you know if you have a flesh-eating virus? My appetite for skin has been totally insatiable lately. I mean, wait, my body is covered with extremely contagious, antibiotic-resistant open wounds likely caused by aggressive bacteria caught from a toilet seat I licked at Grand Central Station after a heroin junkie used it to deliver a nuclear-radiated stillborn fetus. Damn, I knew that was a bad idea. Hey--you know how I like to sleep in the nude, right? Well your Snuggie feels nice against my diseased epidermis—I was totally going to wash it before I gave it back to you, but I couldn’t find any quarters for the machine.
Ever notice math is all just numbers and shit?
Song of the Day:
“Get Out My Life, Woman,” The Mad Lads
Posted by Feo Mateo at 11:24 PM