As far as bathing suits go, I have to give this girl a Russian judge eight. If she’s trapped in a fire and finds her beachwear soldered to her skin, I’ll deduct a couple points on execution. I do have to ding her on candidness. When the lightly employed dude with the Canon says pretend I’m not even here, don’t look out to sea like you’re the Gorton’s Fisherman’s wife anticipating the smell of his cod sac. Dance like nobody’s watching. Stick your ass in the air and fondle your Hefty bag covered tits a bit. You know, like girls do when they’re all alone. Raise the bar or it will block your road to success.
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