It all makes sense now. When I blacked out yesterday afternoon for a few minutes, it wasn’t because I used NyQuil as a mixer. It was because somebody finally heard my prayers and put me in the body of the lucky bitch beast who got a giant serving of YES on its back at some polo match. This is some Freaky Friday shit!
The shock of Prince Hot Ginge’s fiery crotch scepter and orbs dry fucking my spine must’ve erased my memory of this, but this picture is proof that I switched bodies with his horse for a quick second. Because if Prince Hot Ginge was about to smack me in the nalgas while riding me hard, this is the EXACT look I’d make. My eyes would scream “Dear Orgasm, it’s me Michael, I’m coming for you!” My nostrils would flare up to the size of my no-no! And I’d definitely bite hard on an imaginary pillow. Yup, that was me.
It also explains why I woke up with straw shit all over my floor and naked Trace Cyrus pictures on my monitor.