Katie Schwartz

I often wonder what famous women’s pussies’ look like in comparison to my own. Not porn pussy or Paris Hilton pussy, because those pussies are superfluous. I’m also educated enough to know that my Jewtang doesn’t hold a candle to their Protang. I imagine that pussy grooming expenses are tax deductible. That their V’s are as pristine as a Maybach. That they have a shiny effervescent glow, even without titillation. That their vulva lips are soft pink, perfectly budding roses. That mountain spring water gushes when they orgasm. That their pussies are on self-refreshing timers. Clearly, I have Famous Pussy Pedestal Syndrome and it’s a problem. But, how could I not? Men clamor to get inside famous pussy, often fixating on one star-slit as their principal source of jerk-off inspiration. Of course they have contingency celebtang, too, that they wouldn’t kick out of bed. What red blooded American man doesn’t want to say, “Yeah. I fucked her.” In my mind, the reigning pussies in Hollywood must

what the fuck do you think I'm doing at 3:30 in the morning? sleeping?! in a fuckin polish wet dream of holland, I'm sleeping. I jerk off to posturpedic bed commercials and the happy-go-sleeping-lucky-fuckers that look rested in them! jerking off: again, not having a dick is just a formality. I was thinking earlier today that halloween costumes can be so revealing. I had a neighbor, a weasley little trust fund bitchboy who never made the cut in life. fancies himself a real entrepreneur . newsflash dipshit, workin' for daddy three hours a day and collecting 10K a month doesn't make you an independent man or a man. it makes you a pussy bitchboy. I digress... he dressed up as a doctor one year: a starched white coat with a laminated name tag that clips onto his coat and a shiny gold stethoscope. he was workin' WAY TOO MUCH md pride. I recently attended a meeting with parents of recovered drug addicts and alcoholics, which was a very enlightening and moving experience a