Emily Ratajkowski is perfect. I have already written her ten Valentine’s Day cards…but I have nowhere to send them…so I just keep them in a box…in the hopes that one day we meet…so that I can give her the jar of semen she’s made me produce…along with all the love letters I’ve written her. It’s bound to impress her and make her fall in love with me…so that we can live a Disney fairytale love story…with a double wedding…so that I can stare at her body all day.
This strategy is not designed to creep her out. It’s not even designed. It is just what my soul is telling me to do…to show her the passion I have for her…to let her know how much I care…for her amazing body. It’s a body so good…practically perfect…that I don’t understand why it isn’t top of the charts famous…when so much gutter shit like Kate Upton’s protruding gut is.
Emily Ratajkowski…I choose you. Won’t you be my Valentine?
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