Betty wallowed like a hog in slop so happily that Terry took off his wig and puked copiously into a wine goblet, overflowing it. "Jesus H. God Terry!" Betty exclaimed like a **** woman with a machete, half-stupid with useless vanity and trepidation. "I'm sick. I ate a crunchy frog," he admitted. "Crunchy frog? Didn't you even take the bones out?!" She asked. "If I did it wouldn't be crunchy," he reasoned.

The chair was so comfortable at my uncle's funeral that it didn't tear the back of my *** off like other chairs do. I was happy about that yet sad about my uncle's demise. He had been eaten by Pygmy cannibals while playing tennis. Aunt Joan, his wife, had begged him to cancel the match because Pygmy cannibals had been spotted in the vicinity. But, being stubborn like he was, he exhibited no outward fear of the little human-flesh-eating buggers. "Pygmy cannibals don't scare me," he said solemnly while swatting a phantom ball before departing. "Please don't go," Joan said with moist eyes and a ***** that was so beautiful that 𝘝𝘶𝘭𝘷𝘢 𝘔𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘻𝘪𝘯𝘦 featured it on the cover of their 𝘗𝘺𝘨𝘮𝘺 𝘓𝘢𝘯𝘥 edition.

A TOILET TOO FAR AWAY made messing up the floor probable (even likely). "It can't be done," youthful cadet Jimmy Carter said a hundred years before crapping-out because he was insane. Nobody doubts that, not even people who usually would; people who eat dirt cookies in Haiti and rinse their calf muscles with white gas (also known as Coleman fuel). ******* pagans! Saying bad stuff about Jesus! They ought to be ashamed! Hanged upside down on a cross then set ablaze!