Someone tell my husband I’ve left for St. Albans, England to rendezvous with my NEW husband, rugby playerBrad Barritt. He’ll understand after he sees these pics. Holy shitballs, this dude is everything I’ve ever wanted in a man. Adorable face. Thickset jock body. Has to wear tiny shorts and skintight spandex for work all the time. He literally has a twinkle in his eye. Who has that? I mean, Santa Claus, but I don’t want to fuck him. Unless I’ve had too much peppermint schnapps in my cocoa.
And who cares if Brad Barritt’s married? Who cares if he’s straight? It’s my world! A world in which Brad Barritt leaves her for me. And turns out to be as masculine as he appears but still likes watching Golden Girls reruns. Also, to make me happy, he stops posing with fish. Seriously, Brad. If you’re going to post shirtless photos of yourself, don’t include dead sealife. It distracts from your looks. The only people even looking at your pics on Twitter are homos and ladies. Straight guys who brag about the size of the fish they caught don’t use Twitter. They think it’s gay.