
Some brilliant corporate slime ball of a man was missing the single life again in his disgusting marriage to that potato sack, refrigerator-devouring woman. Then it came to him in a vision of extraordinary bliss. What if we combine the image of a woman that every guy would want and then throw the brand name in there somewhere? Voila. Thousands in revenue and maybe I can get drunk enough every night to see that Coca Cola ad over that woman next to me who smells like a murder scene.

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