I blame hip hop culture. For everything. Before rap, gasoline was ten cents a gallon, the merriment of children filled the streets, and big fat asses were simply known as big fat asses. Grotesquely enlarged butts just peaked in Barbados where Coco’s ass cheeks lifted her out of the water like pontoons harpooned into the side of a great white to keep it from diving. I would never tell another man what ought give you your jollies, but I do get to decide who comes to my Super Bowl party. If the thought of spelunking for that thong puts you in the reproductive mood, you’re not touching my chips and dip.
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