Hola Mis Peepos!!
You know who’s a great big, prancing lady? Michael Bublé. I know I should probably embrace the guy, given my line of work and all and given the fact I often don a suit in pastel shades and listen to Liberace, therefore, calling anyone else a ‘big, prancing lady’ probably made y’all splutter into your coffee in indignant wonder, but seriously folks. Michael Bublé? He’s a giant, Canadian cupcake. With pink frosting. He probably drinks Courvoisier and plucks his eyebrows while swaggering in front of the mirror. Don’t be fooled ladies, the only person Bublé loves is Bublé.
Of course I ain’t jealous or anything. Apart from of his name. Having both “Boob” and “Lay” in your name should, by default, make you fuckin’ badass, right? No. It makes you look like a * giant lady’s front bottom.
Of course you may argue that having “Spunk” in your name isn’t exactly exuding class and it would be hard to debate that.
Spunk isn’t my real name, you dig? It’s short for Spuncero and my granddad, for some reason, decided to shorten it when he arrived in the U.S. back in the day from Ancuna, Mexico where he’d spent countless decades riding around in cars with three doors, playing mariachi music and planning an escape to the States where he believed people shat gold and wiped their asses with Benjamin Franklin. He probably thought ‘Spunk’ seemed less Mexican, and goddamn, he got that right, although honestly, the dude was five foot four with creased brown skin, two teeth and a nose that spanned two states width wise, so it wasn’t necessarily a great cloaking tactic. Neither was shortening it to something that got my ass kicked approximately seven hundred times as a kid, until I grew up to look like a ‘younger, pointier, more glittery Tom Selleck’ and they laid off a bit. Only because it was more fun to pick on my stupendous mustache instead. Fuckers.
Anyway yeah, Michael Bublé. What’s up with that guy? He’s a false idol, ladies, not like yours truly who will bring you love, glamor and possibly a sneaky little rash (but I’ve heard that clears up in a day or two with the right ointment).
* I apologize, ladies, for likening your wonderful, juicy ladybits to a steaming asstard like Bublé, I will repent immediately. Then again later and at two hour intervals after. With my cock.