Sapphic Bomber
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Monday, November 26, 2012
Who Cares About The Creepy Guy?
Lets talk about Alyssa and Melody.
In a soapy bath fondle.
While tiny plastic army men parachute from the sky. With lufas and washrags, ready to assist. And a disco aerial cavalcade of humping lions celebrates with collective roar at the taut skin soapy fondle crescendo that ensues with melted candy corn and Pepe handing out towels by the washroom after post-coital repose requires a Pepsi.
For those are the taut fondle booble fondle that drives better men than I to start wars and sublimate rage at peers, neighbors and small woodland creatures. I drink their bath water and weep for my own lost innocence of prepubescence.
Monday, February 6, 2012Suzanne Brings Joy to Starving Children in Africa
And by starving children in Africa, I mean me, bored and on the internet. For she has the rarefied Mayan Eye of Repeated Night Coitus. I would prostate myself before her sweaty sports bra after a vigorous session of hatha flow yoga, chanting ancient Gaelic melodies in a squeaky falsetto, just for the chance to gum gnaw her sweatsocks while she complained about her abusive stepfather.
You do not want to look at what the Boba Brothers keep in their closets at home. Trust me.
