If you're looking for a wingman who's not afraid to take a grenade for ya, then don't look at Jelly D. He's too busy checking out his abs in the mirror and making sure his hair is frayed just the right way.
When he does manage to step away from his own reflection, he's a fist pumping, body shot having, well oiled ab machine cruising the scene for a lucky lady he can bring home to wax his chest for him.
Bottle service and V.I.P. sofas are for the chumps, Jelly D runs that game like Pat Sajak looking to buy a vowel. No whammies for this hunk of burning stud, just don't light a match near his hair.
