Does anyone have a watch? I need to call the official time of death of true love. If an elegant British breasticle goddess can’t make it work with a bulgy burmese python-thighed super stud, then what hope do the rest of us have? I’d shed a single lumpy dick-shaped tear, but I’m far too depressed to summon the saline needed.
According to the Daily Mail, Kelly Brook – the “WHO??” of all whos (I know nothing about her, and yet I love her) – and the come-to-life M.U.S.C.L.E. figurine David McIntosh have called it quits on their engagement, thus killing my dream of seeing Kelly and David’s beautifully tacky wedding and subsequent messy divorce. Kelly confirmed the sad news yesterday on Twitter:
It's a sad Day but I wanted to share with you that David and I are no longer engaged. I love and respect him and wish him all the best.
— Kelly Brook (@IAMKELLYBROOK) September 26, 2014
She also went ahead and deleted all pictures of him from Instagram, which is a damn shame, because if Instagram needs more of anything, it’s bulgy beef jerky jocks.
So it sounds like they’re really done. How rotten! I was looking so forward to seeing David’s XL pig-in-a-blanket peen stuffed into a pair of too-tight tuxedo pants. Not to mention I’m starting to think I’ll NEVER see Kelly’s exquisite saline crumpets wrapped in Chantilly lace; this is Kelly’s 4th cancelled check of an engagement. I don’t pray much (unless you count every time I get to the top of a drop on a roller coaster and start weeping and pleading with Jesus not to take me to heaven), but I’m going to pray tonight for Kelly and David’s busted relationship. Because if there’s anything I need more of in my life, it’s pictures of Kelly being escorted around Beverly Hills by David’s trouser banger and beans.