It sounds like humping on useless dicks runs in the family. In her second memoir Candy at Last (couldn’t she have thought of something punnier, like Candy-tails of My Life? Ugh, LAZY) Beverly Hills most glamorous hutt Candy Spelling admits that shortly after her husband Aaron Spelling died in 2006, she began seeing a man named Larry. Unfortunately, the NY Daily News says she had to stop seeing Larry because Larry had a “penile implant” (just writing that gave me the heaves) and refused to power down his android dick. WARNING: I advise you to grab a trash can or a barf bag before reading the next part:
“My bionic man could go on for five or six hours, and there is no woman, middle-aged or otherwise, who wants to have sex for that long. It was like running a marathon.”
She broke up with Mr. “Pump and Dump,” as her girlfriends had cheekily nicknamed him, because he was “getting too attached,” and she just couldn’t stand “those six-hour romps anymore.”
I hear what Candy is saying; no matter how good the dick is, a lack of sleep can fuck with your brain. One time I went two days without so much as a nap and I ended up buying a pair of Crocs, and I wasn’t even getting my judgement pounded out of me through my snatch either. So I can only imagine what kind of next-level questionable shit an exhausted Candy did after breaking up with Larry and his 6 hour dick. She strikes me as the type who would leave unsettling boozy voicemails at 3am.“What the crap, Candy? Stop calling! I’ve got enough Extra Crispy at home, I don’t need any Original Recipe. Besides, I’m more of an In-N-Out guy. YES! Fuckin’ nailed it, Deaner! But seriously, stop calling. Keep it sleazy Mama S.” – The Deaner.