Young man…
I don’t know exactly what is the right amount of body wash one needs to wear to attract the specific duck faced, fake tanned, food court inhabiting middle school truants you wish to impregnate and abandon, but when you wear so much that I am unable to smell ANYTHING emanating from the Auntie Anne’s while I am standing right next to it…Auntie Anne’s, a kiosk whose entire business model is predicated on the fact the aroma of those fucking oily, knotted, dough ropes permeates every deciliter of available atmosphere within two square miles…
you’ve overdone it a bit.
Ag
