Chris Ordered Flapjacks With Cabana Banana Nut Bread Spread Using Brads Dough. He Was So Excited Chris

Chris ordered flapjacks with Cabana Banana Nut Bread Spread using Brad’s dough. He was so excited Chris thought to nut himself.

Brad and Chris’ neighbor Luke didn’t get it. Why would he cut the cord? The phone would no longer work, and it would ruin the whole look. He also paid his ex’s AT&T bill a year in advance and felt he should get something out of it.

It was day four of the championship and no one could stop talking about Luke’s new clear glasses.

Of course he got lucky.

“Please… who does not know how to knock on wood? Gustavio, me, I am the expert. People knew this. Come on. What a silly question to say. That is like asking me if I wanted a cigarette, eh? Maybe a light I might need. I don’t know until the time. As for the wood, I am the Master. Just ask Miss Stewart.”

Gustavio then paused to knock on the massive oak desk he casually graced his lean upon. “I knock. That’s what I do. When it is really good, I knock twice. That’s how you know.”

Brad thought about getting guards for his nipples but he was nearly certain they only bled if you were running in a marathon. That whole notion was just downright freaky.

Well, he’d ask Chris later just to be sure. Right now his ass was looking really hot.

It was then Brad realized between his fine ass and mirrored sunglasses, the two shirtless boys that bladed by not two minutes ago prolly didn’t see him wink.

Hmmmm… well. Notated for next time. Certainly, another round will come. That’s when Chris tapped Brad on the shoulder scaring the Bejesus out of him. Yikes!

Well, the hot boys may have skated by, but at the end of the day, the possession was over. Chris and Brad were both thankful for that.

Buh-bye Bejesus.

Chris had a problem with the word ‘manufacturer’. It didn’t roll off the tongue like Becky’s ‘Namibia.’

What was he going to do now anyway? The photo shoot was in full swing. It was indeed a nasty word though. The only thing more on the nasty was the plural, ‘manufacturers.’

Despite the distractions, as a professional gay model, Chris was expected to somehow make it WERK, WURQ and WORK not to mention WORKOUT and everything between with a bend and snap of the finger.

It was A LOT and Chris realized he had taken every version of the word on. He never expected the Inuit people to live up up to every term ever created for snow. Why did he put all this expectation around the gays? Was he putting all this pressure on himself?

Chris needed to get a grasp on his performance. How was he doing? What was he doing? Was he making this photo shoot look easy?

If so, Chris was either putting in too much effort, too into it or possibly Inuit himself. He never did water the family tree to find out, but only because he didn’t know how. He tried tho. Oh how he tried.

Chris stopped himself there. He really needed to stop trying. How could he do that? He didn’t know any other way.

Chris decided to bring himself back to the present tense. Whatever that was had to be better than this brand of timeless self torture. One deep breath in and…

Admittedly the now was hot. The better half of nasty if you know what that means. The jockstrap on his head smelled a little like his boyfriend Brad too.

He worked out.

Wait. Was this his?

(Click!)

That’s when the photographer ran out of memory and yelled, “what the hell was going on?!

Chris said he wasn’t too sure as he kept getting distracted himself. He did though suspect the jockstrap on his head was his boyfriends so wasn’t overly concerned as to what they may snap out of and into. Brad was around somewhere. The jockstrap was still fresh.

Chris’ stomach then rumbled. “Was Cher just here? I feel like pizza.”

That’s when Chris realized the photographer was their neighbor Luke. Apparently he brought over some new weed to watch Mystic Pizza. It was good stuff.