Ort.

By the way can you fucking imagine what it’s like to be Levi Johnson right now?

Only five short months ago you were some teenage hockey douche congratulating himself on getting balls-deep into an adequately cute girl who happens to be the governor’s kid; one broken condom later your mom is fending off the Associated Press and you’re enduring some scarred freak’s fatherly chat on the tarmac at the Minneapolis airport while you pray that the American electorate saves you from having to move into the Naval Observatory with a squad of lunatic Assemblies of God bible-thumpers.