Men with sick jobs still feel the need to bitch about their work. Like pro ballplayers who whine about stress and travel and sore knees. Fuck you and the twins not your wife blowing you in your Bentley. Women never complain about their professional good fortune. They inherently understand what comes with making a living as a hot piece of ass. At some point, DiCaprio is going to walk into your shapely shadow and point his two index fingers toward his dick. Close your eyes and tell him how much you loved Gilbert Grape. It’s time to punch the clock.
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