J-Fed Marks His Territory

So if you think for one moment the next time I get all hot and heavy with a guy, it won't be done in J-Fed's couch with the blinds open and the whole world to see, you've got another thing coming. 

You see, it won't be long before someone new is watching football in J-Fed's recliner, playing tag with his kids, eating his food and sleeping with his ex-wife. Maybe then he'll realize what it's like to have it rubbed in his face, but I doubt it.

You see, in order to feel anything, he'd have to have a heart. And that son-of-a-bitch apparently doesn't have a heart, a soul or a friggin brain.