What can I say about Sting that hasn’t already been said. Men want to be him, women want to be with him… Wait, I’m getting confused with that dreadful Sable and the silliness she used to ramble on about before her matches (if I can call them that). And am I the only one that thought, for a fairly attractive woman, her “grind” looked more like something someone’s kooky alcohol fueled grandmother would do at a wake?
Let’s start again…
Sting. I merely say the name, and unless you’re a—plank on the underside of someone’s wharf in Lake Winnipesaukee, New Hampshire where they dock the...
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