Jake White is standing there in the lane since before he was born, teacupping his family jewels for all the ladies on live TV, stiff as 10 day old roadkill, face scrunched up like he ate a lemon with Tabasco sauce poured over it, butt puckered tighter than Justin Bieber's guitar string, and getting rolled like a M1A2 Abrams Tank in a glass factory, and for what?
So that some zebra striped goombah with a gamblin' problem on the side can protect his long shot wager in Vegas by calling a phantom blocking call, before his wife leaves him for being so shamefully a crappy referee that he has completely tarnished his family name for even generations that haven't even been born yet. That's what.
So that some zebra striped goombah with a gamblin' problem on the side can protect his long shot wager in Vegas by calling a phantom blocking call, before his wife leaves him for being so shamefully a crappy referee that he has completely tarnished his family name for even generations that haven't even been born yet. That's what.
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