obliterated by music album collection when I was out of town for weeks on end. I swam home through the flood to find my mansion wrecked. I tried to **** a few people but they had muscular legs and could dodge bullets a trillion times better than Michael Landon never could on 𝘉𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘻𝘢.

A 3-week course for podiatrists to understand women's hysterical outbursts better. How does it go? Week 1: Podiatrists are subjected to around-the-clock female ******* about menstrual cycles and the joys of abortion. Week 2: Bikini tan lines and *****-blockers will be discussed by ex-lesbian German speakers with tongue infections. Week 3: Surprised Negroes will address the growing unrest in New York's 14 E.B.T. ghettos.

Mary & Madge lived under a bridge, sleeping beneath a canopy over a bed from the reign of the Sun King, Louis XIV in their expansive Paris chateau. "I'm so happy, now that we're trillionaires," Madge whispered because her plastic surgery face wounds still smarted. "Me too," Mary said as her ****** throbbed from four ******-improvement procedures.

Paul loved his sausage-making kit that was a Brothers' Day gift from his mother. She loved him so much and wanted him to have home-made sausages a lot whenever he was in the mood. "Mother, without sausages we would have no one but suicidal farmers to shuck the jive with!" Paul exclaimed in a voice that was loud, yet tender; shrill, yet soothing; cold yet tepid. "Yes son, you are the image of your father who possessed the ultimate power of 25 teamsters and 3 bowling alley lane polishers." Later, there was a terrifyingly horrid explosion at the ex-lesbian laundromat on **** Avenue, not the ex-lesbian laundromat on ***** Street. Thank God!

**** STRING
BIKINI FACTORY

was about to close when archeologist Liz Nigly took over. "I want the ******* for our new line of string bikinis to be see-through!" She demanded. "Look, I'm wearing them now," she demonstrated to her staff who were primarily ex-lesbians. "I can easily distinguish your ***** majora from your ***** minora," a **** ex-lesbian observed so innocently that Liz had to smile, parting her lips gently like Barack Obama's wife does because "she" is really a man with a big ***** that could **** the romantic mood for any guy who'd rather take a bubble bath with a woman.

𝐋𝐞 𝐍𝐍 𝐨𝐧
𝐌 𝐂𝐂 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐧𝐞𝐲
𝐇𝐚 𝐑𝐑 𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧
𝐒𝐭𝐚 𝐑𝐑

You should always beg for pity while projecting pathetic uncertainty. Play dumb. Bathe infrequently. Puke after meals. Puke between meals. Puke and bathe and be all that you can be. Be an army of one. Bleach your hair. Join a cult. Sacrifice a Pygmy.

What have I learned as a gynecologist? Many things. Gynecology isn't just for dentists who like women. It's for men who enjoy big-game fishing and bowling-pin setting. It's for ex-lesbians with bullet scars on their butts.

Lizzie Borden bandaged the injured sparrow's leg as her stepmother snuck up from behind with a hatchet. "Lizzie behind you!" The maid shouted just in time for Lizzie to deflect the blow with an ancient karate move. The blade bounced back striking the stepmother in the skull. She was dead. "Jesus!" Lizzie gasped, as the follow-up attack by her father commenced. "Take that *****!" He yelled insanely, missing Lizzie by 1 inch. The failed attempt on his daughter's life depressed father Andrew Borden so much that he retreated to the parlor to commit suicide by brutally axing himself repeatedly in the head till he was dead. "I know they're going to blame me for this!" The maid exclaimed. "No they won't because I'll take full responsibility," Lizzie said with conviction.

THE DAY I NEARLY DIED FROM A MONKEY-BITE - I was petting my monkey lovingly like I always do when a hurricane hit suddenly. Wisely, I pushed him away but not quickly enough. Out of total simian fear he bit me on the ankle so I killed him and sold his carcass to local monkey butchers.

ONE DAY it became obvious (even apparent) to me that I MUST hypnotize my **** neighbor to make her into my obedient love-slave. Hey neighbor! Hey! Come here and see my new hypnotizing kit from Kmart. Kmart? Didn't they go belly up? Yeah, but I got it just before they did. Oh. Now, look deeply into my eyes. Hey, wait a minute! Are you going to make me your love-slave through hypnosis? Yes. Okay.

Timmy was not a pud-whacker because of his Bible upbringing. Rose, the neighbor girl, wanted Timmy to not do the normal amount of pud-whacking because she wanted to marry him and have lots of children, maybe 1 every 11 months for 8 years, even Joyce advised Timmy against pud-whacking. One day, while Timmy was eating asparagus Gus from 3 towns over broke down in front of Joyce's house. "Hey Joyce! How's Timmy doing?!"; "Fine. He did a little pud-whacking last night but he's okay now."

A MATTER OF COMPASSION - Is it safe to shower without a bikini on with an ex-lesbian? Yes, ex-lesbians are not interested in the **** bodies of luscious women in their late teens and early twenties. How can I be 100% sure that an ex-lesbian is not a lesbian anymore? There are many ways to do this that are inexpensive. Ask to see her ex-lesbian promise card (make sure the most recent month is "punched"). Can an ex-lesbian be trusted with my bank card code and extra car keys? Yes, ex-lesbians are trustworthy. My cousin is an ex-lesbian, and I don't trust her because she poaches alligator eggs and smuggles counterfeit Flintstone vitamins. I understand.

I'll never forget the day Jesus died even if I live a long time. We were watching 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘙𝘦𝘥 𝘚𝘬𝘦𝘭𝘵𝘰𝘯 𝘚𝘩𝘰𝘸 when reporter Eric Sevareid cut in: "Jesus has been crucified." My mother, who was very religious, cried: "I can't believe it! Who would do such a thing?!"; "I'll bet it was the Romans," Dad opined. "Me too," I said because dad was usually right about such things: political assassinations, economic issues, trade sanctions, etcetera.

You look awful! How are you feeling? ******. They say the only way to save my left leg is to amputate my right leg. Well, maybe they're right. I brought you the hospital administrator's ex-wife. She's a ******* now. Thanks, but I don't want a ******* because my ****'s sore. Okay, maybe later.

I got a tattoo last week. Where? Here! It's too small. You should've got one fifty times bigger. What can I do now? Enlarge it with tattoo enlargening cream. Simply rub it into small tattoos every 15 seconds for 9 months. How much larger will my tattoo get? Well, a tattoo that's 1 square inch can get as large as a garbage can lid. That is large! See this cobra? It used to be no bigger than a hornet. Now look at it! It wraps around my flabby *** and ***** before lurching north to my throat. I'm impressed!

𝓝𝓸 𝓚𝔂𝓵𝓮, 𝓘 𝓭𝓸𝓷'𝓽 𝓫𝓮𝓵𝓲𝓮𝓿𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾. 𝓣𝓱𝓪𝓽'𝓼 𝓳𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓪𝓷 𝓮𝓶𝓹𝓽𝔂 𝓮𝔁-𝓵𝓮𝓼𝓫𝓲𝓪𝓷 𝓹𝓻𝓸𝓶𝓲𝓼𝓮. 𝓘 𝓬𝓪𝓷 𝓼𝓹𝓸𝓽 𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓪 𝓶𝓲𝓵𝓮 𝓪𝔀𝓪𝔂. 𝓡𝓮𝓶𝓮𝓶𝓫𝓮𝓻, 𝓶𝔂 𝓶𝓸𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻'𝓼 𝓪𝓷 𝓮𝔁-𝓵𝓮𝓼𝓫𝓲𝓪𝓷. 𝓨𝓮𝓼, 𝓘 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀, 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓘 𝓱𝓸𝓷𝓸𝓻 𝓱𝓮𝓻 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓼𝓪𝓴𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓵𝓮𝓼𝓫𝓲𝓪𝓷𝓲𝓼𝓶 𝓽𝔀𝓮𝓷𝓽𝔂-𝓯𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝔂𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓼 𝓪𝓰𝓸 𝔀𝓱𝓮𝓷 𝓮𝔁-𝓵𝓮𝓼𝓫𝓲𝓪𝓷𝓼 𝔀𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓻𝓪𝓻𝓮𝓵𝔂 𝓪𝓬𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀𝓵𝓮𝓭𝓰𝓮𝓭 𝓮𝔁𝓬𝓮𝓹𝓽 𝓪𝓽 𝓫𝓸𝔀𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓽𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓷𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓼. 𝓗𝓮𝓻𝓮, 𝓵𝓸𝓸𝓴 𝓪𝓽 𝓶𝔂 𝓿𝓾𝓵𝓿𝓪. 𝓘𝓽'𝓼 𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓭 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓾𝓷𝓬𝓪𝓻𝓮𝓭 𝓯𝓸𝓻, 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓪 𝓒𝓸𝓴𝓮 𝓶𝓪𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓼𝓮𝓵𝓵𝓼 𝓸𝓷𝓵𝔂 𝓢𝓹𝓻𝓲𝓽𝓮. 𝓨𝓮𝓼, 𝓘 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀.

Three women, all ex-lesbians, mounted the dead cowboy's naked corpse like pagan animals. "This is sickening," one of them ******* while the other two engaged in lezzy *** even though they weren't supposed to. "I hate all ex-lesbians!" The third cousin of the lead ex-lesbian proclaimed in a naughtily haughty way that made Tom, an ex-lesbian lover, so jealous that he jumped off the tippy top of the Empire State Building several times, nearly killing himself.

Is it safe to shower without a bikini on with an ex-lesbian? Yes, ex-lesbians are not interested in the **** bodies of luscious women in their late teens and early twenties. How can I be 100% sure that an ex-lesbian is not a lesbian anymore? There are many ways to do this that are inexpensive. Ask to see her ex-lesbian promise card (make sure the most recent month is "punched"). Can an ex-lesbian be trusted with my bank card code and extra car keys? Yes, ex-lesbians are trustworthy. My cousin is an ex-lesbian, and I don't trust her because she poaches alligator eggs and smuggles counterfeit Flintstone vitamins. I understand.