Sebastien Wilcox

I picked up this book when I was in Vegas. I remember being in New York New York, drinking what may have been a Manhattan, while watching women lounging by the pool with big fake titties. As I flipped the pages, my eyes kept getting interrupted by not only the fake titties, but also the fake Elvis, the fake Empire State building and the fake flamingos spitting out fake water from the fake Hudson river. It was too much for my eyes to handle, even through my fake Oakleys. I took my fake tanning cream, my fake room key and my fake “friend” and made my way to fake Paris.

The moral of this post? Four fake stars.