My testosterone levels plummet upon entering Knoxville

I thought Tennessee fans were supposed to be these tough, Darryl Dixon type mountain men but instead all I see are Prius loads of Boy George soy lattes topped with beta cum cream running amok in maxi pad orange who look like they spent their teenage summers at Yogurt camp. I guess the real men in Tennessee went to Vandy.

Oh well. If any of you pecker feens are up for getting your teeth straightened, me and my head scalping entourage of apex predators will be arriving on the Tennessee River via the "Swinging Richards" vessel Saturday at 6:37am Pacific time. Not sure where we'll be docked but you can't miss us. We'll be the only men in Knoxville. Look for the gigantopithecuses raising hell on the starboard bow with the best west Memphis hookers $22.83 can buy (only because the biological women in Knoxville have a little too much Frankendong action going on).

Find me for a good ole' fashioned southern Baptism. I'll be the Chad with a dick longer than a CVS receipt who can constipate a laxative.

PS: Country music is gay, beaches and bitches are superior to mountains and that no singing boomer Dolly Farton can credit her success to her tit augmentation doctor. Even at 90, tits are still bigger than both of Huepel's chins.