Love skunk Vernon Kay sprays his rat jism in the general direction of Skank Central. Misses.
Those freaks was right when they said you was dead
Many, many men want to live the glamorous poonhound lifestyle of Aerial Telly yet how many have the intestinal fortitude? How many can take on board that it actually requires more temperance, more discipline, more diligence than a regular “life” style? They want to “be” the “man” but can they make the sacrifices necessary for this act of social magick to occur? The feck they can. For that reason Vernon Kay will spend tonight alone in the spare room,his bare feet sticking incongruously over the edge of his single bed, eating cold macaroni cheese straight from the tin with one hand, comfort masturbating with the other, crying like a girl guide, periodically scrubbing himself with bleach, howling “why???? why????”
“Vernon Kay will spend tonight alone in the spare room, eating cold macaroni cheese straight from the tin with one hand, comfort masturbating with the other, periodically scrubbing himself with bleach, howling ‘why????'”
Oh, it seemed like such a good idea to have text-sex with five different women. After all, who would ever find out? After all, glamour models are notoriously reluctant to share details of their private lives with the press, particularly if it involves someone in the public eye. You just got unlucky, Vern. THIS COULD NOT HAVE BEEN PREDICTED1
Perhaps the most humiliating thing of all here is the tragically feeble nature of the infidelity. Kay claims not to have banged any of these broads and I, for one, believe him. It’s just that weak. If you’re going to be plastered over every tabloid, have your every movement pored over you surely want to have had some compensatory ass, that oh-so-sweet mistake you mentally conjure up during those macaroni jerk off sessions. Instead he has to make do with “omg my twot iz about 2 explode” and “cya bbz, hubby back”
“Attempt to emulate Aerial Telly and get a cauliflower arse, a face full of cum and the kind of shakes that make Freddie Roach look like Mount Rushmore.”
“Vernon Kay brands himself ‘stupid”‘ the headline ran today and you wondered if the chump had actually gone ahead with a branding iron and permanently marked himself with the unpalatable truth everything he says and does already screams. Not so, it transpired and it’s probably just as well. You imagine him getting the iron the wrong way round and ending up with diputs permanently embedded in his forehead. And although those death rumours were wide of the mark , if he gets caught out like this again, he may be wishing he was dead.
It is a stark cautionary tale. “People” should know by now not to play with those club skanks and not attempt to emulate Aerial Telly. You only get a cauliflower arse, a face full of cum, post-traumatic stress disorder and the kind of shakes that make Freddie Roach look like Mount Rushmore.
1 Well, certainly not by any one with what passes for a brain like his.
