Yes, he has no great talent, his music stinks, and he puts his sorrowful sappy face out there with that "pity me" puppy dog look on his face. He's also a fag.
But most of all, he's a FAT, FAT, FATTY.
You might be born a cocksucker, and you might be raised to be dependent, wimpy, self-serving and pitiful, but YOU put the cake in your gob. You can choose not to.
For most, it's a matter of diet and exercise. The self-respect comes from that discipline, and not being a pudding.
But Sam Smith, he of the dopey hair, the mascara-esque eyes, and that dolefully dimwitted expression of passive penis sucking??
CHRIST. He is STILL a PUDDING.
A BLOB.
Fat-faced.
WHAT a bulging, bulky, chunky, hip-heaving, hefty, inflated, meaty, plump, blimp-like, bovine butterball!
What a distended, gross, husky, lardy, roly-poly pouting stout and beefy bouncy jelly-belly!
What a pudgy assed B-cup titted girdle-needing fleshy drip of soft-serve diarrhea he is.
What a corpulent, elephantine, paunchy and plump and porcine and ponderouse pound-for-pound plopping pile of hideous haggis.
What a stale marshmallow-faced loser with that ridiculous stubble.
Being a poofter is hardly worth mentioning; more important, HE IS FAT.
.
.
.
Second opinion: that's an awful jacket, too.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.