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Me and Kenny Chesney

Adrian’s all, “Why don’t marry Kenny Chesney since you love him so much!”

I’m all, “Shut up! You don’t even know!”

Me and Kenny Chesney have nothing in common but I can’t stop listening to him and now everyone I know is worried I’m going to become some teabagger wearing an American Flag shirt and long denim jean skirt and picket abortion clinics with misspelled signs and join the NRA and get a Calvin and Hobbes bumper sticker with Calvin peeing on Obama or something.

Dude, have you ever seen Kenny Chesney? He’s like a Jimmy Buffett guy. He lives in goddamn Florida and is far from a red-stater. Come on. One does not follow the other.

IT’S JUST MUSIC. GOD.

Here are additional reasons I would never bang Kenny Chesney:

1) I’m not a fan of the hat-pulled-down-over-the-eyes thing

2) He goes by “Kenny” which is not something I can imagine gasping in ecstasy

3) I am me and coitus with country singers is outside of my purview

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