Katie Nolan

Okay, 11, 5, 20.

This is today.

Wow.

What the fuck?

Okay, here we go.

Love, okay, L-U-V-W-M-S, feet.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Gorgeous toes.

Someone who disagrees is the next commenter, Toetide.

Yeah.

Who says, she is smoking hot, needs some pics of her soles with toes pointed.

Specific.

I bet she has fantastic sole dimples.

So the sort of kicker of the article is,

so to speak.

It's that at a certain point, the author hopes that the thing that will free the gooner from his goon cave that will, quote, open his eyes is...

the feeling that this room filled with a zillion screens, with specially edited pornographic music videos and lube, that it will begin to feel boring.

And that the boredom of, quote, staying in that room may eventually outweigh the fear of whatever lies beyond it.

Which is to say that can the gooner become so numb that,

to his goon fuel, to the goon caps, to the PMVs, to all the things that seem like they are designed to stimulate the most sort of like thick hide that the pandemic built on America's youth, the world's youth, that, yeah, they too will find that not enough and they'll turn to the outside world.