Oh. Hell. No.
And here we fucking go! Spit shine my shank, lube up my face, remove all my joo-ree (leave the rings) and get read to play Nivea's "Don't Mess With My Man" (yes, I brought Nivea into this) on the boombox, because shit is about to get serious. I mean, can you believe this?! We all know Andy Coop cheats on me, but does he need to flaunt his whores like this?! He even knows he's doing wrong. Look at that nervous "I hope that crazy bitch isn't around the corner" side-eye.
It also looks like Mah Boo's peen puckers for Fred Perry. I'm ready to get Fred Perry's logo tattooed on one of my b-lips (right under my "I honk for Prince Hot Ginge" tattoo) if that will make him happy.
You better notify the Clinica Mobile to fully stock their fridge with Tangerine Jello, because it looks like I might be paying a visit. I'll give it my best, but Mah Boo's trick could probably break my nose just by flexing his bicep. Also, tell them to keep a straitjacket handy, because I'm starting to scare myself. I'm even jealous of Mah Boo's bike. WHY DO YOU RIDE THAT BIKE, MAH BOO? WHY DO YOU RIDE?!!