On my back I tickle your ****-hole with a single goose feather while whacking your sister with imported Corinthian shoe leather. You confuse me with needless gay banter each chunky night like 2 Hungarians engaging in a Romanian-styled hunky fight. In a small sauce pan I increase the stakes beyond the pan's limit like you do in the toilet when you abundantly **** in it. I tire of your deceit and the way you bulge out, your test-tube baby and your total lack of Ivanka Trump clout, as the beads of  monkey sweat on a pig are seldom more excessive than the milk you lactate, that you believe is mucho impressive.