Yeah Simon, we’re wondering what the hell Russell Simmons is doing on the beach too.
“Hmmm…….this vest covers up my man boobs nicely….INDEED….”
That morning: “I like this vest, but it’s a lit-tle too butch…what should I counter it with?…”
“That undertow was simply dreeeeeeadful. You really think you’re ocean material?”
Oh shit, I left my dignity back in the 90’s.
“If this is Barbados, where’s the never ending Rihanna ass party?”
what’s the vest for, won’t his inflatable pecs keep him afloat?
“I should buy a horse mask”
Why is he wearing Carmen’s tights?
And there, on the shores of Barbados, he finally understood. He was good on a Waverunner. Possibly great. But no matter how hard he practiced, how hard he drove, no one would pay to watch him compete. And thus, between Speightstown and Alleynes Bay, Sea-Factor was created, birthed, and destroyed. His empire was now crumbling. All that was left were the millions of dollars, seven mansions scattered around the globe, and countless gold-digging whores, begging to have sex for jewelry and fame. But he couldn’t help but wonder, what might have been…
“This is Able-Baker-Charley to Roger-Fuck-the-Dog…Able-Baker-Charley to Roger-Fuck-the-Dog…come in, please…”
Every fucking year- Barbados on a jet ski.
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