Yeah, well the taped back hot dog in your autographed USA men's swimming teams speedos with the Greg Louganis "easy access" feature was all your doing you anus tonguing afficianado.
Go ahead, try me tonight, I'm more anxious than your boyfriend at a cum slurping extravaganza.
Wait a sec...you mean you actually ever get up off the floor? I always thought your days were spent with your face is buried in the bean bag chair with your ass cheeks perched like a cheetah's who's ready to pounce or your morbidly obese ass is downing McDonald's shakes like you're doing shots.
Wait a sec...you mean you actually ever get up off the floor? I always thought your days were spent with your face is buried in the bean bag chair with your ass cheeks perched like a cheetah's who's ready to pounce or your morbidly obese ass is downing McDonald's shakes like you're doing shots.
You must be confusing yourself with the last time you were bloated from your all night Twinkie and Shaffer beer fest stuck lying belly up like Jabba the Hut on your kindergarten nap mat, the one with the green, blue, and yellow combination. You also told me you were up all night watching Mr. Rodger's back door buddy marathon re-runs again.
Bump this back . . . Freak I realize that right about now you're cleaning your cake hole with the "Little Johnson" all purpose vibrator / portable blender / mixer combo, but as soon as the batteries run down . . . please reply back ok.