26 May 2010
Posted by Ken
Lots of folks would cynically surmise that Christine Peters, girlfriend of billionaire Sumner Redstone, is only in it for the dough.
But seeing them in the photo above, it's pretty clear to me that she's looking beyond the bank account. And as she lays down each night for a heapin' helping of withered, old man testicles, I'm thinking the last thing on her mind is the Mercedes she's gonna make him buy her the following morning. Instead, I'm sure she's focused entirely on keeping that leathery, Geritol-guzzling man of hers infinitely satisfied.
Which is fine, but it still pisses me off. Because it's just another hot chick I won't be banging. Ladies, I have to be honest: I'm way, way hotter than Sumner Redstone. I'm fairly certain my physique would trump his any day of the week, I'm less likely to fall asleep or lose my train of thought while delivering merciless cunnilingus, and I wouldn't bore you with stories about how I once met Grover Cleveland or what life was like in 1852.
But I don't have shitloads of money. And there's the rub.
So while Sumner's watching the revolving door of premium trim line-up at his mansion and townhouse and airplane and blimp (complete with jetpack-sporting butlers), I'll be out there hitting the bars, working the trenches, trying to convince the ladies that they could do worse than a roll in the hay with my pale, white ass.
It's a tough gig to be sure. And knowing that Sumner's old man cock sees more action in a day than my young man johnson attracts in a year doesn't make it any easier. But I can assure you of this, women of the world: I work harder to earn your booty.