Here’s mutha greeter, hamburger entrepreneur and one-man terrorist killing machine Marky Mark taking a break from shooting a Michael Bay movie (or does a Michael Bay movie shoot you? I’m confused.) in Florida to do a little pap watching on his hotel balcony. It’s been much too long since I’ve been in awe of Marky’s gloriously succulent rack. Marky’s man tits truly get better with age. Don’t you just want to throw some unbleached flour on Marky’s pectoral dough mounds and knead them until they rise so high that their nipples are kissing his chin? I bet that when you order a bread basket in a restaurant in heaven, Marky shows up with his chichis sitting in a basket. No butter needed!
I was going to make a joke about the anal beads around Marky’s neck, but making that joke in the presence of his holy Catholic pecs would be sacrilegious.