Thursday, September 16, 2010

Destiny


Let's not be coy about it.  Let's cut right to the chase.  This skinny kid stiffens my male member.  I may as well be frank since there's just a thousand-to-one chance that he will see this post.  Even if he does, I can't believe it would thrill him to know that some dude almost three times his age pops a chub for him every time he sees him without a shirt on, especially when he's in a ring, especially when he's in a ring grimacing.  It's not just the old Chuck Palahniuk quote about skinny fighters--i.e. that they fight till they're burger.  His bony, raw face just makes me think "boner," perhaps, and the rest is history--ding-ding-ding I'm Pavlov's dog.  "Skinny" is not my usual type.  He's a jobber.  I can't think of a single match he's won, but, then, I haven't seen all his matches.  Something about him makes me want to do bad things to him.  Something about him makes me want to rub his face across the top rope, while pushing myself against his skinny white ass.  We have weight (if I skip supper) and astrological sign in common.  He's got two inches on me in height.  Ritchie Destiny, I'm warning you:  you better keep your back to the wall and your eyes on the front door if you ever hear that I'm in town.  That's all I want to say about it.  Don't think I wouldn't bust you up, man.  (All photos and caps from Cyberfights)


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