“We’re off to see the wizard! The wonderful wizard of pedophilia orgy parties!”
The guy behind him looks a little light in the loafers.
That guy’s happier than Bryan Singer walking out of an airport bathroom…oh wait.
After “partying” with a 10 year old on the way to the airport,
Bryan smiled that “special” smile to the Paps…
Ummm…Bryan, I don’t think that sign means what you think it means.
“And here’s how I self-service,” he gestures.
This dude always looks like he’s humming “Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah”!
Someone better check the bathroom for a crying boy.
Or his luggage.
He’s gonna piss someone off, and the shit he’s been accused of is going to catch up with him. Give it maybe a year or two…right after the media coverage of him slows down.
Bam. Problem solved.
If Bryan Singer hadn’t become a famous director, I’d imagine he’d be the drama teacher at a high school in the San Fernando Valley who always wants the boys to hang out with him afterwards in the theatre props room.
He’s imagining that those self-service kiosks had little boys inside that would pop out and…do stuff…while you check in
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