Carey Hart confronts a paparazzo in Santa Monica. (January 26, 2012)
Not pictured: Pink (because what Paparazzo would want to take photos of Carey Hart?)
I can’t help but notice that the paparazzo doesn’t seem to be the least bit worried It’s hard to be intimidating when you have to look up at the other person; trust me, I know this well.
You may think you’re tough with all your girlie tats but if you don’t shut the fuck up I’m gonna cap your ass.
That’s funny. His hat’s too big for his itty-bitty head.
We all know who he really fears. And she has a much bigger penis than either of them…
I can’t believe that Carey Hart is getting into it with Danny Glover. The dude’s like 70.
“Wait, which one of us is the celebrity and which is the paparazzi?”
Agree. I really couldn’t tell you which one of these is Corey Hart. (Oh—CArey Hart? Thanks.) But if I had to guess, I’d say the guy on the left is the paparazzo, since between the two of them, he looks like the one who can hold down an actual job.
I guess neck tattoo’s make you feel taller…and less scrawny douche-baggy.
“I don’t care man, you’re still not coloured.”
“Like what you see? Why don’t you take a picture-WAIT A MINUTE!”
“I only wear them at night.”
You’ve still got it, man. lol
“You can’t just have a bunch of tattoos and call yourself an NBA player. You’ve got it half right, though.”
Was he ever able to bully the paparazzo into taking his picture?
Dude doesn’t look like a paparazzo. He doesn’t have a camera or anything. He just looks like somebody’s dad out taking a walk. And the look on his face is like “Don’t make me have to put my foot in your ass. Now run home to your mama, little tattooed skater punk”
Carey: Why aren’t you taking my picture?
Black Superman Paparazzo: I’m sorry?
Carey: I’m famous and shit.
Black Superman Paparazzo: Uh huh.
Carey: Take my fucking picture or I’ll kick your ass old man.
Black Superman Paparazzo: Whatever.
Carey: Goddamnit, I have neck tats! Take my fucking picture!!!
Black Superman Paparazzo (walking away): I don’t get paid enough for this shit.
“Say ‘what’ again!”
I dunno which is which, but look at the body language. The black guy, hands in pockets, could drop the other clown in seconds.
Listen to what I am telling you son, Andy Dufresne crawled to freedom through five hundred yards of shit smelling foulness I can’t even imagine, or maybe I just don’t want to. Five hundred yards… that’s the length of five football fields, just shy of half a mile.
How come no one ever points out that a football field is actually 120 yards? Because you have to count the end zones.
Need a step ladder?
Could he puff out his chest any more I wonder? too funny.
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