As fate would have it, I owe Michael a blog entry. Among other things. And, truth be told, a blog entry from me is like sexual favors because one mention on this bad boy and the lady friends will be lining up DOWN THE BLOCK, that is the sort of clout I have around up this joint.
Word.
And you know what potential lady friends of Michael the Great, the Stud, the MAN? It is a well known fact that smart is the new sexy and the Man? He has brains out the ass. He probably qualifies for MENSA but don't let that fool you. He's not one of those assholes who has to prove himself to others by talking down to them. No, no, the man is suave. He's smooth like butter without the greasy feel.
And easy on the eyes! He's tall and lean, like a love machine and Michael the Magnificent has a face that could launch a thousand ships, which, lets be honest, wars have been started over less ladies. But fret not. The man has time for all of his new beautiful girlfriends. Able to satisfy ALL of his charges with just enough time left over for cuddles and talking about his feelings.
And does he ever have feelings. He's open and sweet and caring and he'll make you feel like a queen.
Did I mention he's loaded? Oh, don't you let that grad school persona fool you. He's recently come into a multi-billion dollar inheritance and he would love nothing more than to spend the money on you and saving the penguins.
His tears cure cancer and he can stop global warming with his smile. The sun shines because Michael the Luxurious says it should be so.
And he could be yours for the low, low price of five easy payments of $19.99 each.
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5 comments:
I think I would like you to write my eulogy and present it. Damn girl! You make people sound amazing. I want people to remember me with such grandiose detail.
Another idea for an awesome eulogy: "He was good in the sack. *Very* good in the sack. Admittedly, he's dead now, so that takes the edge off a little bit."
Yes, but I'm also the guy who wants to have an "Andrew's Dead Party." Like a wake but with barbecue and bocce.
Tiff I can't write your eulogy because you will never die. You are Superman and the bionic woman all rolled into one delicious snack.
Y'know, all those girls must be lined up at the other "me's" house in this damn city. Seriously, there's a dude in this city with the same name as mine; he's a bassist in a band and has a bank account at the same bank I do. The Talented Mr. Michael, anyone?
Thanks for the Superman-bionic woman comparison!
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