I’m pretty sure the Advent is over. But who’s going to stop a bunch of foreign models from rolling around in lingerie like they’re back in the emir’s palace and somebody’s plucking a lute. Wait for the zither. Here comes the buggery. None of this really had anything to do with Christmas. So, it’s like Christmas itself. One day either the religious Christians will quit their tired gripe about commercialism and half-naked Brazilians besmirching the birth of their Lord or Obama will let in a bunch of Muslims who will make them stop. Merry Christmas. This has to be close to our last.
People who say the commercials are the best part about the Super Bowl have never seen Katy Perry sing over a pre-recorded track to staged multicultural fans screaming their heads off. Until they allow tits on network television, the game itself will always be better. You can’t beat football with not football and not tits. Victoria’s Secret is going to try with a lingerie ad. It’ll tempt millions of men to buy lingerie for their ladies on Valentine’s Day because they’re either dating Adriana Lima or they’re stupid. Why not just buy her a fungo bat and tell her to rupture your ball sac. Leave looking good in underwear to the professionals. Everybody else just looks modestly okay on down to ‘I wouldn’t have done that’. The next time your lady says she buys lingerie to look good for herself, mumble, you’re telling me. But mumble it really softly or out comes the fucking fungo.
Back in the days when you could eat steak rare and colonic with Camel smoke and bang your secretary over a metal desk, men kept pin up calendars on their wall. Now that move will cost you two weeks in a re-education camp beneath Vassar’s rugby field. Pirelli has been publishing a calendar of models since 1964, distributed to product resellers in shops and garages across the western world. Most of those calendars have since been replaced by Federal workplace rules and regulations written in Spanish and Hmong. But so long as photographers are interested in getting good looking models to distant tropical ports for the purposes of mild rape, these calendars will never go away. A couple years ago Pirelli tried turning their calendar into some G-rated artsy shit but several dudes from Big-O tires flew to the Pirelli headquarters and burned the building down. Now tits are back to provide context.
Sometimes I wonder if I wouldn’t be happier f I were having copious sex with a Brazilian supermodel girlfriend. It’s easy to think so. When my landlord told me I was late with rent again, I’d quit stressing and just start humping my Brazilian supermodel girlfriend. When the entire office noted I was losing to all three girls in my Fantasy Football League, I’d think, girls, heck, I got one of those at home. She’s a Brazilian supermodel. I’m going home to fuck her now. I feel better already. My new iPhone 6 just bent? Bend over Brazilian supermodel girlfriend, I’ve got some misplaced feelings to work out. That certainly seems happier than a beer and whacking off to hacked photos of Kaley Cuoco. It sucks to never know for sure.
Adriana Lima seems like a talented actress. I hate to critique her style but maybe a little lighter on the ass bruises for her thong work. It’s always fun to imagine how an attractive woman comes by her sub-gluteal hematomas. I generally go with S&M dungeon paddle, though that’s only because jealousy prevents me from admitting it’s somebody’s thumbs not my own. A little powder could clear that up. Unless you’re a raped slave, you’re not winning an Oscar with visible bruises on your ass.