This is a pic of a one girl feigning like she’s giving another girl a rim job that kind of reminds me of what would happen if Terry Richardson went slumming with a stock photographer.
You care because that one girls is looking right into the camera which helps you pretend that you’re actually in the room and they’re waiting for you to get in there. I care because seeing the blonde’s thick-rimmed glasses pressed into the couch helps me pretend that I’m actually in the room giving another girl a rim job.
This is a photo of a topless chick drinking a beer and posing for the camera with “New York is a friendly town” scrawled across her chest. You care because the can of Budweiser makes you think that she’s your kind of girl, and the snuff-porn lighting makes you think that this is gonna go your way. I care because it reminds me of early American Apparel ads, when Dov Charney first started ripping off Terry Richardson, but hadn’t figured out the whole lighting thing yet.
This is a picture of the model Riley Keough at Terry Richardson’s studio.
You care because because girls with boy haircuts and boy names seem like they know exactly what to do with you, and that it’ll be, they won’t tell anyone how many fingers they put in you.
I care because girls with Clockwork Orange eyeliner and greaser haircuts don’t take shit from nobody, and they’ll tell you exactly what they want, how want it, and will be done with you once they get it.
This is a Terry Richardson pic of some girl named Emily.You care because it’s the closest you’ll ever get to having a 10 look at you that way. I care because shit like this actually makes me want to be a man if only to know what it feels like to penetrate something beautiful.
The irony is that I probably have a better shot at getting in her pants as a trendy, dykie 6, than you would as hung, rich, and charming 8. But hey, no one ever said gender was fair. Welcome to the fourth wave playing field, bitch…