I think I am working for an arms dealer.
I think I am working for an arms dealer.
He has a shitload of guns, lives in an RV and basically just pays me to hang out drink whisky with him and do basic handyman shit. This fuckin rules
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Do you manage a gym for him, and are you dating a female bodybuilder who goes to said gym?
Do you suspect that your girlfriend has the ability to make herself fifty feet tall? Could this ability manifest itself in a bizarre display of magical realism at a narratively convenient moment?
Did you perhaps encourage your girlfriend to abuse steroids because you got off on how muscular she was?
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