that son of a bitch, you can see it in his eyes. Looking right back at you. Knowing that you know that he knows that you
know that he knows that you know he motorboats those tiddies on his tippytoes every night in pure ecstasy. That he gets
to plow into his snu snu bride, holding one leg up in each hand like he's pushing open two huge oak doors, and getting to
slam her with no restraint whatsoever. Her huge milkers bouncing around, hitting each other with meaty thick smacks after every thrust as he busts his nuts into his giantess. You know this, and he knows you know this. And that's why he looks at you that way.
He won a game you didn't even know you could play. That son of a bitch