Then I find that somebody out there:
That’s when I’m like, “Maybe there’s nothing wrong with the internet. Maybe you’re just running out of imagination.”
Tthat was the year we found out that the sarong doesn’t cover every nipple. Thank God. Maxim?—not invented for years yet. it may not be breaking new ground, but it’s breaking my zipper. Oh, yeah, the nostalgia jerk.
The penis is the most spiritual thing in the world, because even memory can uplift it.
The fact is, a movie event like the premiere of Atlas Shrugged: Part I should provide a plush panoply of primo pussy for the (re)producer on the prowl, and it’s only a matter of a few tips and tricks to make sure you take this cinematic cash-bash and leverage it into a gash-bash. I’m not from the government, and I’m here to help.
Last Friday, The Atlasphere (the Ayn Rand-fan singles website) sent me an email with some keen ideas on how to use the premiere of Atlas Shrugged: Part I to band together under the aegis of Ayn Rand and subsume my identity to nationwide collective action.
It also had suggestions for pulling mad trim.
Because if a movie version of a yam-shaped old Russian woman’s brick-sized verbal bean-flick over futuristic Gilded Age-style mass murder of liberals and poor people doesn’t moisten a bunch of Galt’s Gulches and prop some pants with Rearden metal, well—well, honestly, I can’t even finish that thought because I just succumbed to a grand mal of scoffing.
Testily suggested “I dropped it into my bucket of popcorn, and there was movie-theater butter in it” did not meet the criteria for a crisis.
