He’s rapidly winning me over. As always though, the ONLY real test for a QB is live bullets in real game situations. He’s passed the dress rehearsals with flying colors.
However, when I see a QB light it up in practice where they’re playing touch football it takes me back to my life as a prospective *** worker. Your Legend was truly legendary in the bedroom. He was blessed with a monolithic rod. The kind that had chicks wondering if they could handle a 32 ounce can of San Marzano tomatoes.
Not only that, fellas. He pounded more chicks into coital submission than Habib has dudes in the octagon. Just relentless piston-like pounding with the lasting power of a Honda motor. And the strapping good looks of an Uncle Jesse from the first incarnation of Full House.
The Legend and any of the hundreds of women he had satisfied in the privacy of his stately mansion thought the next logical step was to take his talents to The Valley, the **** capitol of the world. He made the connections and made his way out to CA.
Full of swagger, at his first meeting with studio head, Vic Lagina, your beloved Legend plopped his massive and already fully engorged crank on the table. I’ll tell ya that table shook as if a butcher just tossed a 48oz. Wagyu tomahawk on the table. There were a couple young starlets present at that initial meeting, and I could swear they started sweating instantly like they had just been handed an envelope with their STD results inside. But they were in love.
Thinking he had found an incredibly handsome John Holmes, Vic immediately scheduled your dude for his first live shoot later that same day with his number one contract girl, who shall remain nameless. The Legend showed up to makeup hard as a rock, and the makeup girl immediately gave him her number. Your Legend strutted out to the set like a peacock of a peacock had a 13 inch member.
Then the entire crew started trickling in. There must have been 10 dudes there. And the hot lights came on. And suddenly every drop of that gallon of blood rushed from The Legend’s massive tool into his other extremities. The director clicked that wooden contraption and yelled “ACTION!”
Regrettably, that **** shoot turned into a taffy pull. After your boy clumsily wasting an hour trying to shove a giant oversized marshmallow into a piggy bank slot, Vic walked over, punched me in the eye and told me to get my soft dyck off his set. He called the always reliable Danny DeMeato, who was on standby, and Danny did a solid workmanlike job as he always did.
Having said all that, you never what you really have until the director clicks that box and yells “ACTION!!!”
