There’s really not much to say about this priceless shit since I really should be using my keystrokes to write to that club in Croatia and ask them when I should expect them to start selling pre-lubed plastic dildo bottles of Prince Hot Ginge’s pool water. (Note: There’s no need for them to put a warning label stating that the chlorine may sting if ingested through any orifice since my b-hole is way past the point of feeling anything.)
I love that PHG dances like a constipated grandpa on low-grade Ecstasy at a beginners Hokey Pokey class. I love that PHG dresses like a middle-aged father of 3 at an all-inclusive time share resort in the Caribbean. I love that the sweet nectar put PHG’s sense of balance on pause and he tries to make it look like he meant to fall into that pool. I love that PHG gets back up and doesn’t let a pool fuck with his funky chicken moves. And most of all, I love that as PHG has the drips, I too have the… Okay, I’m stopping. It’s only Monday and I have the rest of the week to give you dark-sided visuals that even your hypnotherapist can’t help you erase.