People use stuffed simulacra for everything these days, from dead-relative storage to sexual release. (Hopefully, no one assigns both responsibilities to the same plush.) But perhaps no one has spent quite as much money on fabric companionship as this guy, who has purchased three $700 Teddy Babes, not to mention the untold amount he's shelled out for replacement vaginal inserts.
It's all worth it to the Teddy Babe Chronicler, because, to quote his romantic ode to a member of his inanimate harem, "she doesn't snore, she doesn't complain, she's warm and cuddly, and she doesn't hit me in the eye with her elbow when she rolls over -- AND she even gets my hormones flowing!" Except she actually does complain in one of his stories, yawning "aren't you done yet?" before rolling over and going to sleep, leaving him "feeling a bit anxious." In this scenario, he encounters sexual disinterest, which surely echoes the sort of experiences that have driven him to this depressing fate, but he's rejected for being too potent a lover, which is where the fantasy aspect comes in. That, and the fact that the sentiments come from a goddamn fuck-Muppet.
It's like Big Love, if the polygamist character was less "Mormon" and more "delusional dollfucker."
Simply put, if I had Johnny Manziel’s physical gifts, you better believe I would be there in the Weight Room, getting to bed early, doing whatever I had to do to be the best possible athlete I could be. I wouldn't be posting on social media about sucking titties. I wouldn't even look at a titty, buddy. I'd look at a titty and see two big footballs.
A real friend doesn't move until the middle of August, ensuring temperatures in the 90s and a humidity that turns boxers into moist balls of ruined cotton.
Expendable? You must be joking.
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