By now, my depravity cavity was trickling like a George Foreman grill. He arced a giant footlong fudge bullet on my chest puppies just so he could consume it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his pink tractor beam made my minge monsoon drain like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. My bearded haddock pasty was trembling like a rat on acid. Inserting an antique doorknob into my enchilada of love got me spouting minge monsoon faster than a greased weasel shit.
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