Appropriately, I’m nearly 700ml of vodka (split with my fav cowboy boot wearing lady of course) down, jelly form of course, so bringing the Russian into this little soiree is deliciously accurate.
The Russian was tall, blonde, very well built, delicious. What stuck out most was his stubbly chest hair. It was unbelievably annoying. Ladies, if you’ve never had the dubious encounter of a guy who shaved his chest three days ago, I do not recommend. This is without a doubt on my shitlist. If I’ve made the effort to shave not only my underarms, but also my legs (which are fucking massive and the surface area is seen to be believed) but also my bikini area, you can do me the courtesy of SHAVING YOUR FUCKING CHEST AGAIN. I do not give a fuck if its itchy the next day. I do not care if you’ll get a rash. What I do care about is getting a god damned pash rash ON MY CHEST. Not cool dude.
…the chest stubble was actually the most memorable thing about him. I can vaguely remember the face but that’s all I’ve got. It was an altogether forgettable evening. I couldnt even tell you where I met the Russian.
Dissappointingly…
THE END!
The Emotional Range of a Tea Spoon 