Well there is absolutely no other way to explain the baffling, non-sensical, insane situation that is Marisa Miller’s marriage to some gigantic Grade A douche turd that is apparently, her husband. If you really want to start questioning the universe, just take a look at these photos of Marisa Miller and the turd monkey that she calls her ‘husband’, what the fuckin hell right? It’s like one super hilarious episode of Punk’d (like the one where Justin Timberlake starts crying like the little bitch that he is) but wait…wheres? wheres…Ashton? He’s nowhere in sight because this isn’t an epidsode of Punk’d and Marisa Miller, one of the most beautiful women on the planet is really married to that ‘I am Sam’ looking fool in the shiny purple what looks to be from Chinatown D&G jacket. Huh? Really? It angers me when I see a ridiculously good looking chick with either a dude who’s not even in the same league as her (well the aesthetically challenged dude is usually getting out of his Lambo, so it kinda makes sense) or with a sleazy sooooo 2000 and late douche bucket in shiny clothing with a fo-hawk, like Marisa Millers ‘husband’ who is probably some part-time baller on credit. The latter situation really really grinds my gears because its bullshit, Marisa Miller even though you’re marriage seems to be some form of charity work; I’m still a little disappointed in you, go volunteer at the SPCA or something and loose the zero asap!
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