HCwDB of the Week: The Lickwipe and Sexy Poochtickle Trina
Your humble narrator continues his New York adventures to mock all things choadal, and covet the purity of the milkshake suckle thigh.
Little known fact, the working title for Raiders IV was actually “Indiana Jones and the Purity of the Milkshake Suckle Thigh.” Or at least it should’ve been.
Nuked fridge my ass.
This week’s winning/losing coupling was not a hard choice at all. Although there was legit options. The Beachbongery of the Comment of the Week, Frooey Buttafuco, the spike of Shmuckholio, Joseph’s Amazing Technicolor Pukecoat, and, of course, Mozo the Asian Zen Philosopher.
Thassa lotta choadalpuke.
Meanwhile Wee Willy Crimson has gone straight to the Closet of Poo. Do not pass Go. Do not collect carcinoma.
But there can be only one coupling. And one it is. The DB1 for raspberry pancakes.
Good calls all around chief. Especially Poo Willy.
DB1, you do realize she has crazy eye for the douche guy? This chick will impale your dog on your favorite driver, douse you in kerosene, and start throwing lit matches at you, all because she found a scrap of paper in your pocket and she’s convinced you are cheating with some woman named Ruth Chris.
@Vin
Friday T & L pic is Francine.
Never let your St.Patty’s guests run out of dumplings or beer. Or this happens.
.
.
I told her not to invite the undergrads.
Look at those crazy eyes. This one cries after blowjobs, for all the wasted dead babies that she just gobbled down.
I’m still trying to figure out what’s going on with Lickwipes belt buckle on hip theme.
Deep Blue fwippy hair? Mine eyes have seen the Monday Morning Glory, must be time to go back to bed.
I would litter her Brazilian Landing Strip with Yogurt Insurgents until the hairfield is under control. Then I will house my meat dirigible in her bacon hangar.
I would also have sex with her.
This is the best review of that Horrible Indiana Jones film:
http://redlettermedia.com/plinkett/indiana-jones-and-the-kingdom-of-the-crystal-skull/
This one is so fucking crazy she’ll call you at 3 in the morning crying hysterically about some nonsensical bullshit that anyone with even a microwatt’s worth of self awareness would have sussed out when they were potty trained. And then she’ll beg and beg for you to get your ass over to her place, even though it’s a week night, and you know you have to go, otherwise she’ll call you every 15 minutes with the same weepy crap. So you get in your car and drive 35 minutes to her place and by this time, it’s almost 4 AM and she collapses in your arms shrieking about what kind of a hero you are and how she doesn’t deserve you, and you, in a fit of contempt mutter under your breath, “Oh, blow me bitch” not because you want her to suck you off, but more as a way of saying “Shut the fuck up” but she has a sense of hearing that makes a bat seem like Helen Keller or Marlee Matlin in one of those crappy after school specials about tea drinking teenagers, and the next thing you know she’s gobbling your cock and sucking down every last drop of spooge, and then when you pass out, she just sits there glaring at you, and you wake up 90 minutes later with her face and crazy eyes staring at you. And you’re like “Oh hi – good morning.” And she starts screaming at you because your cheating on her with someone named Little Debbie, because you had a piece of paper in your pocket that said, “Beer, loaf of bread, lube, and Little Debbie sweetcakes” and she screams “SWEETCAKES! YOU CALL HER SWEETCAKES!!! YOU NEVER CALL ME SWEETCAKES!!!” And when she starts hurling everything in the pantry at you, you make a hasty exit.
In the car on the way to work you wonder, “Why do I put up with that?” and then you remember her extracting your baby batter with her tonsils and you drive to work, happy to be alive, and forget all about it.
Until that night at 3 AM…