Murder He Scrote

When you go away to a European city one on one with a mate to partake in a sporting event, without a chick in sight, to share the confines of a small hotel room, in which you spend a lot of downtime conserving energy for the day of the race, weird shit will inevitably happen. And given the circumstances, when this shit starts happening, it's not all too difficult to justify taking a photo of it with the intention of later remorselessly publicizing it on your blog. A moment frozen in time that can never again be recaptured.

Nice form Gee-man.



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