HOW GRANDMA SHAVED HER UPPER THIGHS WITHOUT RAZOR BLADES - Her secret was stiff milk jug plastic cut into one-inch-wide strips. Every week before dawn she would wake up and get busy. Grandpa, who had no prostate, would often help. He'd say: "Gertrude, I'm ready to cut plastic strips!" and then off he'd go into town to speak with Clem, the town's only reformed *****. "Clem," he'd say, "my wife's upper thighs are woolier than 2 monkeys in Thailand living in a tree somewhere." Clem would laugh at that like a hillbilly with no elbows and reply with: "Yep. Your wife's upper thighs are hairy, yet softer than 2 kittens tugging on a worm in a cellar in absolute darkness!" and then he'd kiss grandpa like they were both in Paris with lots of tongue for added romanticalness which isn't even a word but should be.

Forget everything you knew about stuff you didn't know while basking in the masking of human faces in all four races to block stuff that no one sees, out back where every ghetto *** pees 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 **** a maid with kindness to make her acute hearing compensate for total blindness 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 stuff a wild bikini with the hooded bones of Paul Lennon, Keith Jagger, Tom Sinatra and Frank Jones.

is very nice except the waitress tried to **** me a couple times. I was just sitting there when she rushed into the rest room with a big tray of cabbage, yelling: "Who wants cabbage?!" I reached for the toilet paper which had run out, so I said: "I'll take some!" Later, in the parking lot, she pulled a knife to "butter" my **** with deep stab wounds. I was very scared and alone, except for the people who stood there watching.