I bet young Ilya Rozanov never thought heโd get slapped in the face with that tism rizz and he would be so fucking cooked.
This man has eight of the same shirt and five of the same hoodie. This man memorizes hockey stats for fun. This man will have a cold ginger ale. This man will look awkwardly at the camera with a smile like he wants to incinerate himself in every wet t-shirt contest sports drink ad his mom books for him. This man will take everything you say absolutely literally. Thatโs French, Ilya. You just said a French word and weโre talking about Russian, are you unfamiliar with your own language. This man takes three days to recognize a social cue. And ten years to name an emotion. Youโll tell him you like him in the most roundabout way and youโll think you NAILED it, and heโll promptly have a panic attack on your dick. When he names that emotion finally? Heโll be absolutely relentless and will not stand down; heโs had an emotion and he knows you have one, too. By that point, thereโs no escape. Heโs imprinted on you and is starting to ovulate in your vicinity. He will bludgeon you with adorable nerd and insatiable ass. And his oral fixation is so mighty heโll suck your remaining brain cells out through your dick.
This man drives a Range Rover because itโs good in the snow. This man does a loon call. This man will make you eight cheeseburgers. Buddy itโs over for you.
