ChrisPaul3
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So, I know Bobby Flay a little bit... Anyway, that's neither here nor there. This post is about a little personal problem I've been having. My wife is a strict environmentalist (plus, a PETA member and all that shit). That's her deal, like she won't let me read Garfield cause she thinks it's irresponsible to feed cats lasagna. So, on our way home from the That Awkward Moment premiere, I just decked an animal with my minivan, just full on crushed it. I get out of my car pretending to give a shit and realize the little bugger is still alive, so I pick it up (cause my wife is watching and let's just say, I didn't put on my ace tux so I could go home and jerk off), and holy fuck, this thing shoots like 19 quills into me cause it's a motherfucking porcupine. My wife is now crying, she can't bear to see this critter on its deathbed, and she demands I give this thing CPR. No choice. I do it and it hurts like a bitch, plus his mouth tasted like a goddamn sewer, but lo and behold, the fucking thing started coughing, and guess what? I'm a hero. Saved it's spiky little existence. Got rewarded with the best sex of my life. And all the quills in my body actually enhanced the pleasure. Totally worth it.
But here's the problem: Now, it's morning, I'm hungover, and I have a pet porcupine. What do I feed it? Can I let my 3-year old play with it or just my 8-year old? What should I name it? And will it hold a grudge because I crushed it with my minivan, or love me because I snatched it from the jaws of death?
But here's the problem: Now, it's morning, I'm hungover, and I have a pet porcupine. What do I feed it? Can I let my 3-year old play with it or just my 8-year old? What should I name it? And will it hold a grudge because I crushed it with my minivan, or love me because I snatched it from the jaws of death?