1-sentence story thread!

[Honey123]

The chief of staff had the IQ of your average dishwasher.

Meanwhile, back at the supermarket parking lot where the young snail Jasmine had met her demise, the owner of the Prada pumps was in consultation with her attorney and the Snails, Slugs & Slime Trail Antidefamation Society were on the phone with the chief of staff's secretary, Corinne Dubois.

"Listen, Ms. Dubois, I don't give a croc's ass that the chief of staff is busy, put him on the damn phone now." Bending over, the owner of Prada took off her gorgeous pump and scrapped Jasmine's remaining skin and blood onto the edge of the curb.

"Dammit, someone get me a tissue!!" She exclaimed.

The silver remains making a streak across the ground, glittering in the sunlight.

At the White House, Corinne put her hand over the phone and whispered to her boss, "Janet Jackson is on the line for you, sir."

"Hmmm. Tell her I'm busy. Can't you see I'm working, Corinne!" He replied, going back to his crossword puzzle. "Janet Jackson!! What a boob!!"

Corinne glared at her boss. What an absolute idiot, she thought. Glancing down at her Prada shoes, she thought about kicking him.

 

[Boxlicker101]

The persistent swish of the windshield wipers was putting Jasmine to sleep as traffic crept along at a snail’s pace. As a snail, Jasmine had never enjoyed traffic very much until today. But last night she had experienced her first multiple and even grid-lock could not get her down. Several days later, Jasmine galloped the final thirty-five inches into the supermarket parking lot and read her employer's shopping list: "Butter, fresh garlic, French bread, escargot..." Her eyes grew wide and she was just opening her mouth to rail about her employer's requests when a large shadow developed overhead and in an instant her life was snubbed out by Prada. Just before she died, she asked "Who is Prada?"

The woman exiting the grocery store swore loudly upon the crunching beneath her shoes and proceeded to smear poor Jasmine's remains along the asphalt to clean her gorgeous and expensive footwear. Jasmine's loss, however, was the ants' gain.

Less than a year ago, the Prada pumps - which were lipstick-red, with a practical yet sexy two-inch "kitten" heel - had been the smooth but intriguingly textured underbelly of a young Australian crocodile we'll call Bruce.

Bruce was slithering along one day, minding his own business when suddenly a beautiful and large breasted blonde leapt from the cattails, landing right on his back and encircling his chest with her arms. Bruce, slightly annoyed by the commotion, stopped dead in his tracks and turned his head to glare at the intruder of his peaceful morning trot.

The hostile blonde wrestled him ashore where, of all things, she began tickling him. Because this, laidies and gentlemen, was not your ordinary run-of-the-mill bimbo, but the fabulous Brenda Busty. Brenda happened to be the now-grown daughter of television's famed Crocodile Hunter, so naturally she was "croc savvy." Formerly known as Bindy, Brenda really knew how to turn on a wily croc.

"Croiky," cried Bruce, "This is dangerously close to a beastiality story."

Brenda laughed and shook her long, luxurious hair as she drew forth a long knife,"You should be so lucky, mate."

Impaling Bruce just below the jaw, Bindy smiled, if only her father knew she hated live crocs with a passion, thinking of how many pairs of shoes a croc this size would produce.

Also keeping in mind that she would have to remove Bruce’s spectacularly engorged bollocks, they were a highly prized and sought after aphrodisiac used to ward off impotency and genital warts, sacred to the people of the Hahaha tribe who were currently claiming squatters rights in the oval office of the Whitehouse.

Where, even as Brenda busily bobbited Bruce, the chief of staff was conferring with an aborigine expert on how they might regain control without creating an international incident.

The chief of staff had the IQ of your average dishwasher.

Meanwhile, back at the supermarket parking lot where the young snail Jasmine had met her demise, the owner of the Prada pumps was in consultation with her attorney and the Snails, Slugs & Slime Trail Antidefamation Society were on the phone with the chief of staff's secretary, Corinne Dubois.

"Listen, Ms. Dubois, I don't give a croc's ass that the chief of staff is busy, put him on the damn phone now." Bending over, the owner of Prada took off her gorgeous pump and scrapped Jasmine's remaining skin and blood onto the edge of the curb.

"Dammit, someone get me a tissue!!" She exclaimed.

The silver remains making a streak across the ground, glittering in the sunlight.

At the White House, Corinne put her hand over the phone and whispered to her boss, "Janet Jackson is on the line for you, sir."

"Hmmm. Tell her I'm busy. Can't you see I'm working, Corinne!" He replied, going back to his crossword puzzle. "Janet Jackson!! What a boob!!"

Corinne glared at her boss. What an absolute idiot, she thought. Glancing down at her Prada shoes, she thought about kicking him. She didn't, though, because she was too concerned about damaging her shoes, which she had affectionately named "Bruce".

 

[Honey123]

The persistent swish of the windshield wipers was putting Jasmine to sleep as traffic crept along at a snail’s pace. As a snail, Jasmine had never enjoyed traffic very much until today. But last night she had experienced her first multiple and even grid-lock could not get her down. Several days later, Jasmine galloped the final thirty-five inches into the supermarket parking lot and read her employer's shopping list: "Butter, fresh garlic, French bread, escargot..." Her eyes grew wide and she was just opening her mouth to rail about her employer's requests when a large shadow developed overhead and in an instant her life was snubbed out by Prada. Just before she died, she asked "Who is Prada?"

The woman exiting the grocery store swore loudly upon the crunching beneath her shoes and proceeded to smear poor Jasmine's remains along the asphalt to clean her gorgeous and expensive footwear. Jasmine's loss, however, was the ants' gain.

Less than a year ago, the Prada pumps - which were lipstick-red, with a practical yet sexy two-inch "kitten" heel - had been the smooth but intriguingly textured underbelly of a young Australian crocodile we'll call Bruce.

Bruce was slithering along one day, minding his own business when suddenly a beautiful and large breasted blonde leapt from the cattails, landing right on his back and encircling his chest with her arms. Bruce, slightly annoyed by the commotion, stopped dead in his tracks and turned his head to glare at the intruder of his peaceful morning trot.

The hostile blonde wrestled him ashore where, of all things, she began tickling him. Because this, laidies and gentlemen, was not your ordinary run-of-the-mill bimbo, but the fabulous Brenda Busty. Brenda happened to be the now-grown daughter of television's famed Crocodile Hunter, so naturally she was "croc savvy." Formerly known as Bindy, Brenda really knew how to turn on a wily croc.

"Croiky," cried Bruce, "This is dangerously close to a beastiality story."

Brenda laughed and shook her long, luxurious hair as she drew forth a long knife,"You should be so lucky, mate."

Impaling Bruce just below the jaw, Bindy smiled, if only her father knew she hated live crocs with a passion, thinking of how many pairs of shoes a croc this size would produce.

Also keeping in mind that she would have to remove Bruce’s spectacularly engorged bollocks, they were a highly prized and sought after aphrodisiac used to ward off impotency and genital warts, sacred to the people of the Hahaha tribe who were currently claiming squatters rights in the oval office of the Whitehouse.

Where, even as Brenda busily bobbited Bruce, the chief of staff was conferring with an aborigine expert on how they might regain control without creating an international incident.

The chief of staff had the IQ of your average dishwasher.

Meanwhile, back at the supermarket parking lot where the young snail Jasmine had met her demise, the owner of the Prada pumps was in consultation with her attorney and the Snails, Slugs & Slime Trail Antidefamation Society were on the phone with the chief of staff's secretary, Corinne Dubois.

"Listen, Ms. Dubois, I don't give a croc's ass that the chief of staff is busy, put him on the damn phone now." Bending over, the owner of Prada took off her gorgeous pump and scrapped Jasmine's remaining skin and blood onto the edge of the curb.

"Dammit, someone get me a tissue!!" She exclaimed.

The silver remains making a streak across the ground, glittering in the sunlight.

At the White House, Corinne put her hand over the phone and whispered to her boss, "Janet Jackson is on the line for you, sir."

"Hmmm. Tell her I'm busy. Can't you see I'm working, Corinne!" He replied, going back to his crossword puzzle. "Janet Jackson!! What a boob!!"

Corinne glared at her boss. What an absolute idiot, she thought. Glancing down at her Prada shoes, she thought about kicking him. She didn't, though, because she was too concerned about damaging her shoes, which she had affectionately named "Bruce".

She took her hand away from the receiver, "Janet?"

From the other end she hears, "Call me Ms. Jackson if you're nasty!"

"Ah, Okay...." Corinne replied. "Ms. Jackson, Jonathan is quite busy right now..."

"DAMMIT!!!" Ms. Jackson cut her off in mid-stream.

 

[Boxlicker101]

The persistent swish of the windshield wipers was putting Jasmine to sleep as traffic crept along at a snail’s pace. As a snail, Jasmine had never enjoyed traffic very much until today. But last night she had experienced her first multiple and even grid-lock could not get her down. Several days later, Jasmine galloped the final thirty-five inches into the supermarket parking lot and read her employer's shopping list: "Butter, fresh garlic, French bread, escargot..." Her eyes grew wide and she was just opening her mouth to rail about her employer's requests when a large shadow developed overhead and in an instant her life was snubbed out by Prada. Just before she died, she asked "Who is Prada?"

The woman exiting the grocery store swore loudly upon the crunching beneath her shoes and proceeded to smear poor Jasmine's remains along the asphalt to clean her gorgeous and expensive footwear. Jasmine's loss, however, was the ants' gain.

Less than a year ago, the Prada pumps - which were lipstick-red, with a practical yet sexy two-inch "kitten" heel - had been the smooth but intriguingly textured underbelly of a young Australian crocodile we'll call Bruce.

Bruce was slithering along one day, minding his own business when suddenly a beautiful and large breasted blonde leapt from the cattails, landing right on his back and encircling his chest with her arms. Bruce, slightly annoyed by the commotion, stopped dead in his tracks and turned his head to glare at the intruder of his peaceful morning trot.

The hostile blonde wrestled him ashore where, of all things, she began tickling him. Because this, laidies and gentlemen, was not your ordinary run-of-the-mill bimbo, but the fabulous Brenda Busty. Brenda happened to be the now-grown daughter of television's famed Crocodile Hunter, so naturally she was "croc savvy." Formerly known as Bindy, Brenda really knew how to turn on a wily croc.

"Croiky," cried Bruce, "This is dangerously close to a beastiality story."

Brenda laughed and shook her long, luxurious hair as she drew forth a long knife,"You should be so lucky, mate."

Impaling Bruce just below the jaw, Bindy smiled, if only her father knew she hated live crocs with a passion, thinking of how many pairs of shoes a croc this size would produce.

Also keeping in mind that she would have to remove Bruce’s spectacularly engorged bollocks, they were a highly prized and sought after aphrodisiac used to ward off impotency and genital warts, sacred to the people of the Hahaha tribe who were currently claiming squatters rights in the oval office of the Whitehouse.

Where, even as Brenda busily bobbited Bruce, the chief of staff was conferring with an aborigine expert on how they might regain control without creating an international incident.

The chief of staff had the IQ of your average dishwasher.

Meanwhile, back at the supermarket parking lot where the young snail Jasmine had met her demise, the owner of the Prada pumps was in consultation with her attorney and the Snails, Slugs & Slime Trail Antidefamation Society were on the phone with the chief of staff's secretary, Corinne Dubois.

"Listen, Ms. Dubois, I don't give a croc's ass that the chief of staff is busy, put him on the damn phone now." Bending over, the owner of Prada took off her gorgeous pump and scrapped Jasmine's remaining skin and blood onto the edge of the curb.

"Dammit, someone get me a tissue!!" She exclaimed.

The silver remains making a streak across the ground, glittering in the sunlight.

At the White House, Corinne put her hand over the phone and whispered to her boss, "Janet Jackson is on the line for you, sir."

"Hmmm. Tell her I'm busy. Can't you see I'm working, Corinne!" He replied, going back to his crossword puzzle. "Janet Jackson!! What a boob!!"

Corinne glared at her boss. What an absolute idiot, she thought. Glancing down at her Prada shoes, she thought about kicking him. She didn't, though, because she was too concerned about damaging her shoes, which she had affectionately named "Bruce".

She took her hand away from the receiver, "Janet?"

From the other end she hears, "Call me Ms. Jackson if you're nasty!"

"Ah, Okay...." Corinne replied. "Ms. Jackson, Jonathan is quite busy right now..."

"DAMMIT!!!" Ms. Jackson cut her off in midd-sentence. "There is nothing, she shouted into the phone, "As important as stopping the slaughter of innocent snails and slugs by women in expensive shoes."

 

[Honey123]

The persistent swish of the windshield wipers was putting Jasmine to sleep as traffic crept along at a snail’s pace. As a snail, Jasmine had never enjoyed traffic very much until today. But last night she had experienced her first multiple and even grid-lock could not get her down. Several days later, Jasmine galloped the final thirty-five inches into the supermarket parking lot and read her employer's shopping list: "Butter, fresh garlic, French bread, escargot..." Her eyes grew wide and she was just opening her mouth to rail about her employer's requests when a large shadow developed overhead and in an instant her life was snubbed out by Prada. Just before she died, she asked "Who is Prada?"

The woman exiting the grocery store swore loudly upon the crunching beneath her shoes and proceeded to smear poor Jasmine's remains along the asphalt to clean her gorgeous and expensive footwear. Jasmine's loss, however, was the ants' gain.

Less than a year ago, the Prada pumps - which were lipstick-red, with a practical yet sexy two-inch "kitten" heel - had been the smooth but intriguingly textured underbelly of a young Australian crocodile we'll call Bruce.

Bruce was slithering along one day, minding his own business when suddenly a beautiful and large breasted blonde leapt from the cattails, landing right on his back and encircling his chest with her arms. Bruce, slightly annoyed by the commotion, stopped dead in his tracks and turned his head to glare at the intruder of his peaceful morning trot.

The hostile blonde wrestled him ashore where, of all things, she began tickling him. Because this, laidies and gentlemen, was not your ordinary run-of-the-mill bimbo, but the fabulous Brenda Busty. Brenda happened to be the now-grown daughter of television's famed Crocodile Hunter, so naturally she was "croc savvy." Formerly known as Bindy, Brenda really knew how to turn on a wily croc.

"Croiky," cried Bruce, "This is dangerously close to a beastiality story."

Brenda laughed and shook her long, luxurious hair as she drew forth a long knife,"You should be so lucky, mate."

Impaling Bruce just below the jaw, Bindy smiled, if only her father knew she hated live crocs with a passion, thinking of how many pairs of shoes a croc this size would produce.

Also keeping in mind that she would have to remove Bruce’s spectacularly engorged bollocks, they were a highly prized and sought after aphrodisiac used to ward off impotency and genital warts, sacred to the people of the Hahaha tribe who were currently claiming squatters rights in the oval office of the Whitehouse.

Where, even as Brenda busily bobbited Bruce, the chief of staff was conferring with an aborigine expert on how they might regain control without creating an international incident.

The chief of staff had the IQ of your average dishwasher.

Meanwhile, back at the supermarket parking lot where the young snail Jasmine had met her demise, the owner of the Prada pumps was in consultation with her attorney and the Snails, Slugs & Slime Trail Antidefamation Society were on the phone with the chief of staff's secretary, Corinne Dubois.

"Listen, Ms. Dubois, I don't give a croc's ass that the chief of staff is busy, put him on the damn phone now." Bending over, the owner of Prada took off her gorgeous pump and scrapped Jasmine's remaining skin and blood onto the edge of the curb.

"Dammit, someone get me a tissue!!" She exclaimed.

The silver remains making a streak across the ground, glittering in the sunlight.

At the White House, Corinne put her hand over the phone and whispered to her boss, "Janet Jackson is on the line for you, sir."

"Hmmm. Tell her I'm busy. Can't you see I'm working, Corinne!" He replied, going back to his crossword puzzle. "Janet Jackson!! What a boob!!"

Corinne glared at her boss. What an absolute idiot, she thought. Glancing down at her Prada shoes, she thought about kicking him. She didn't, though, because she was too concerned about damaging her shoes, which she had affectionately named "Bruce".

She took her hand away from the receiver, "Janet?"

From the other end she hears, "Call me Ms. Jackson if you're nasty!"

"Ah, Okay...." Corinne replied. "Ms. Jackson, Jonathan is quite busy right now..."

"DAMMIT!!!" Ms. Jackson cut her off in midd-sentence. "There is nothing," she shouted into the phone, "As important as stopping the slaughter of innocent snails and slugs by women in expensive shoes!"

She felt a tapping on her shoulder and turned around.

"Excuse me, Miss, but what's that on your shoe?" A man asked her, pointing to the remains of Jasmine.

 

[shereads]

"Excuse me, Miss, but what's that on your shoe?" A man asked her, pointing to the remains of Jasmine.

The news of Jasmine's death had been slow in reaching the snail community, but its impact would eventually be felt from the escargot ranches of Kentucky to the halls of power in far-off Moscow, where a sluggish economy made the return of Communism an ever-present threat.

EDITED to add irresistible slug pun.

 

[Boxlicker101]

"Excuse me, Miss, but what's that on your shoe?" A man asked her, pointing to the remains of Jasmine.

The news of Jasmine's death had been slow in reaching the snail community, but its impact would eventually be felt from the escargot ranches of Kentucky to the halls of power in far-off Moscow, where a sluggish economy made the return of Communism an ever-present threat.

After exposing one of her boobs to the man and anybody else who might be watching, she replied, "Escargot".

 

[pixiesjuice]

"Excuse me, Miss, but what's that on your shoe?" A man asked her, pointing to the remains of Jasmine.

The news of Jasmine's death had been slow in reaching the snail community, but its impact would eventually be felt from the escargot ranches of Kentucky to the halls of power in far-off Moscow, where a sluggish economy made the return of Communism an ever-present threat.

After exposing one of her boobs to the man and anybody else who might be watching, she replied, "Escargot".

"Bless you!" He replied, quickly revealing to her that he was in fact Agent Two-Penises, sent on a secret mission to infiltrate the almost secret C.U.M society ( Citizenship for Urban Molluscs).

 

[Boxlicker101]

Meanwhile, back at the supermarket parking lot where the young snail Jasmine had met her demise, the owner of the Prada pumps was in consultation with her attorney and the Snails, Slugs & Slime Trail Antidefamation Society were on the phone with the chief of staff's secretary, Corinne Dubois.

"Listen, Ms. Dubois, I don't give a croc's ass that the chief of staff is busy, put him on the damn phone now." Bending over, the owner of Prada took off her gorgeous pump and scrapped Jasmine's remaining skin and blood onto the edge of the curb.

"Dammit, someone get me a tissue!!" She exclaimed.

The silver remains making a streak across the ground, glittering in the sunlight.

At the White House, Corinne put her hand over the phone and whispered to her boss, "Janet Jackson is on the line for you, sir."

"Hmmm. Tell her I'm busy. Can't you see I'm working, Corinne!" He replied, going back to his crossword puzzle. "Janet Jackson!! What a boob!!"

Corinne glared at her boss. What an absolute idiot, she thought. Glancing down at her Prada shoes, she thought about kicking him. She didn't, though, because she was too concerned about damaging her shoes, which she had affectionately named "Bruce".

She took her hand away from the receiver, "Janet?"

From the other end she hears, "Call me Ms. Jackson if you're nasty!"

"Ah, Okay...." Corinne replied. "Ms. Jackson, Jonathan is quite busy right now..."

"DAMMIT!!!" Ms. Jackson cut her off in midd-sentence. "There is nothing," she shouted into the phone, "As important as stopping the slaughter of innocent snails and slugs by women in expensive shoes!"

She felt a tapping on her shoulder and turned around.

"Excuse me, Miss, but what's that on your shoe?" A man asked her, pointing to the remains of Jasmine

Meanwhile, back at the supermarket parking lot where the young snail Jasmine had met her demise, the owner of the Prada pumps was in consultation with her attorney and the Snails, Slugs & Slime Trail Antidefamation Society were on the phone with the chief of staff's secretary, Corinne Dubois.

"Listen, Ms. Dubois, I don't give a croc's ass that the chief of staff is busy, put him on the damn phone now." Bending over, the owner of Prada took off her gorgeous pump and scrapped Jasmine's remaining skin and blood onto the edge of the curb.

"Dammit, someone get me a tissue!!" She exclaimed.

The silver remains making a streak across the ground, glittering in the sunlight.

At the White House, Corinne put her hand over the phone and whispered to her boss, "Janet Jackson is on the line for you, sir."

"Hmmm. Tell her I'm busy. Can't you see I'm working, Corinne!" He replied, going back to his crossword puzzle. "Janet Jackson!! What a boob!!"

Corinne glared at her boss. What an absolute idiot, she thought. Glancing down at her Prada shoes, she thought about kicking him. She didn't, though, because she was too concerned about damaging her shoes, which she had affectionately named "Bruce".

She took her hand away from the receiver, "Janet?"

From the other end she hears, "Call me Ms. Jackson if you're nasty!"

"Ah, Okay...." Corinne replied. "Ms. Jackson, Jonathan is quite busy right now..."

"DAMMIT!!!" Ms. Jackson cut her off in midd-sentence. "There is nothing," she shouted into the phone, "As important as stopping the slaughter of innocent snails and slugs by women in expensive shoes!"

She felt a tapping on her shoulder and turned around.

"Excuse me, Miss, but what's that on your shoe?" A man asked her, pointing to the remains of Jasmine.

After exposing one of her boobs to the man and anybody else who might be watching, she replied, "Escargot".

"Bless you!" He replied, quickly revealing to her that he was in fact Agent Two-Penises, sent on a secret mission to infiltrate the almost secret C.U.M society ( Citizenship for Urban Molluscs).

Realizing that she was in the presence of a secret agent of the enemy snail haters league, Janet thought quickly and, after covering her boob, she smiled sweetly.

 

[SensualCealy]

Realizing that she was in the presence of a secret agent of the enemy snail haters league, Janet thought quickly and, after covering her boob, she smiled sweetly.



Hiding the gem incrusted nipple jewellery shaped out of a snail shell looking remarkably similar to Jasmines.

 

[pop_54]

The persistent swish of the windshield wipers was putting Jasmine to sleep as traffic crept along at a snail’s pace. As a snail, Jasmine had never enjoyed traffic very much until today. But last night she had experienced her first multiple and even grid-lock could not get her down. Several days later, Jasmine galloped the final thirty-five inches into the supermarket parking lot and read her employer's shopping list: "Butter, fresh garlic, French bread, escargot..." Her eyes grew wide and she was just opening her mouth to rail about her employer's requests when a large shadow developed overhead and in an instant her life was snubbed out by Prada. Just before she died, she asked "Who is Prada?"

The woman exiting the grocery store swore loudly upon the crunching beneath her shoes and proceeded to smear poor Jasmine's remains along the asphalt to clean her gorgeous and expensive footwear. Jasmine's loss, however, was the ants' gain.

Less than a year ago, the Prada pumps - which were lipstick-red, with a practical yet sexy two-inch "kitten" heel - had been the smooth but intriguingly textured underbelly of a young Australian crocodile we'll call Bruce.

Bruce was slithering along one day, minding his own business when suddenly a beautiful and large breasted blonde leapt from the cattails, landing right on his back and encircling his chest with her arms. Bruce, slightly annoyed by the commotion, stopped dead in his tracks and turned his head to glare at the intruder of his peaceful morning trot.

The hostile blonde wrestled him ashore where, of all things, she began tickling him. Because this, laidies and gentlemen, was not your ordinary run-of-the-mill bimbo, but the fabulous Brenda Busty. Brenda happened to be the now-grown daughter of television's famed Crocodile Hunter, so naturally she was "croc savvy." Formerly known as Bindy, Brenda really knew how to turn on a wily croc.

"Croiky," cried Bruce, "This is dangerously close to a beastiality story."

Brenda laughed and shook her long, luxurious hair as she drew forth a long knife,"You should be so lucky, mate."

Impaling Bruce just below the jaw, Bindy smiled, if only her father knew she hated live crocs with a passion, thinking of how many pairs of shoes a croc this size would produce.

Also keeping in mind that she would have to remove Bruce’s spectacularly engorged bollocks, they were a highly prized and sought after aphrodisiac used to ward off impotency and genital warts, sacred to the people of the Hahaha tribe who were currently claiming squatters rights in the oval office of the Whitehouse.

Where, even as Brenda busily bobbited Bruce, the chief of staff was conferring with an aborigine expert on how they might regain control without creating an international incident.

The chief of staff had the IQ of your average dishwasher.

Meanwhile, back at the supermarket parking lot where the young snail Jasmine had met her demise, the owner of the Prada pumps was in consultation with her attorney and the Snails, Slugs & Slime Trail Antidefamation Society were on the phone with the chief of staff's secretary, Corinne Dubois.

"Listen, Ms. Dubois, I don't give a croc's ass that the chief of staff is busy, put him on the damn phone now." Bending over, the owner of Prada took off her gorgeous pump and scrapped Jasmine's remaining skin and blood onto the edge of the curb.

"Dammit, someone get me a tissue!!" She exclaimed.

The silver remains making a streak across the ground, glittering in the sunlight.

At the White House, Corinne put her hand over the phone and whispered to her boss, "Janet Jackson is on the line for you, sir."

"Hmmm. Tell her I'm busy. Can't you see I'm working, Corinne!" He replied, going back to his crossword puzzle. "Janet Jackson!! What a boob!!"

Corinne glared at her boss. What an absolute idiot, she thought. Glancing down at her Prada shoes, she thought about kicking him. She didn't, though, because she was too concerned about damaging her shoes, which she had affectionately named "Bruce".

She took her hand away from the receiver, "Janet?"

From the other end she hears, "Call me Ms. Jackson if you're nasty!"

"Ah, Okay...." Corinne replied. "Ms. Jackson, Jonathan is quite busy right now..."

"DAMMIT!!!" Ms. Jackson cut her off in midd-sentence. "There is nothing," she shouted into the phone, "As important as stopping the slaughter of innocent snails and slugs by women in expensive shoes!"

She felt a tapping on her shoulder and turned around.

"Excuse me, Miss, but what's that on your shoe?" A man asked her, pointing to the remains of Jasmine.

"So Mr Clinton, you're asking us to believe that the stains on this young intern's dress were actually snail guts, not semen".

 

[Boxlicker101]

"DAMMIT!!!" Ms. Jackson cut her off in midd-sentence. "There is nothing," she shouted into the phone, "As important as stopping the slaughter of innocent snails and slugs by women in expensive shoes!"

She felt a tapping on her shoulder and turned around.

"Excuse me, Miss, but what's that on your shoe?" A man asked her, pointing to the remains of Jasmine.

After exposing one of her boobs to the man and anybody else who might be watching, she replied, "Escargot".

"Bless you!" He replied, quickly revealing to her that he was in fact Agent Two-Penises, sent on a secret mission to infiltrate the almost secret C.U.M society ( Citizenship for Urban Molluscs).

Realizing that she was in the presence of a secret agent of the enemy snail haters league, Janet thought quickly and, after covering her boob, she smiled sweetly.

Hiding the gem incrusted nipple jewellery shaped out of a snail shell looking remarkably similar to Jasmines, she responded, "It's semen from when I kicked Bill Clinton in his crotch when he tried to stick a cigar in my pussy.

 

[shereads]

Meanwhile, in a secret compound deep beneath the polar ice cap, a woman read pornography on the internet and plotted wicked deeds...

 

[lucky-E-leven]

Meanwhile, in a secret compound deep beneath the polar ice cap, a woman read pornography on the internet and plotted wicked deeds. Her first order of business was to swap her blind husband's toothpaste out with hair removal cream.

 

[Boxlicker101]

Meanwhile, in a secret compound deep beneath the polar ice cap, a woman read pornography on the internet and plotted wicked deeds. Her first order of business was to swap her blind husband's toothpaste out with hair removal cream. The cream, besides its primary function, could also be used to remove the remains of snails or slugs from shoes, and this was considered to be important in the plot to exterminate these creatures.

 

[lucky-E-leven]

Meanwhile, in a secret compound deep beneath the polar ice cap, a woman read pornography on the internet and plotted wicked deeds. Her first order of business was to swap her blind husband's toothpaste out with hair removal cream. The cream, besides its primary function, could also be usede to remove the remains of snails or slugs from shoes, and this was considered to be important in the plot to exterminate these creatures.

This, however, was of no concern to him as he gagged and choked at the awful taste of what he assumed was napalm in a tube.

 

[shereads]

Meanwhile, in a secret compound deep beneath the polar ice cap, a woman read pornography on the internet and plotted wicked deeds. Her first order of business was to swap her blind husband's toothpaste out with hair removal cream. The cream, besides its primary function, could also be usede to remove the remains of snails or slugs from shoes, and this was considered to be important in the plot to exterminate these creatures.

This, however, was of no concern to him as he gagged and choked at the awful taste of what he assumed was napalm in a tube.

In fact, "Napalm In A Tube" had been one of the few, failed new product introductions by Proctor & Gamble, for whom Corinne Dubois had worked as an assistant to the director of research and development...before "the incident" had ended her corporate career and eventually led her to the White House, where she fielded phone calls from breast-exposing, entertainment-industry publicity whores, and tried to clean her Prada pumps of snail residue.

 

[lucky-E-leven]

Meanwhile, in a secret compound deep beneath the polar ice cap, a woman read pornography on the internet and plotted wicked deeds. Her first order of business was to swap her blind husband's toothpaste out with hair removal cream. The cream, besides its primary function, could also be usede to remove the remains of snails or slugs from shoes, and this was considered to be important in the plot to exterminate these creatures.

This, however, was of no concern to him as he gagged and choked at the awful taste of what he assumed was napalm in a tube.

In fact, "Napalm In A Tube" had been one of the few, failed new product introductions by Proctor & Gamble, for whom Corinne Dubois had worked as an assistant to the director of research and development...before "the incident" had taken her to the White House, where she fielded phone calls from breast-exposing, entertainment-industry publicity whores.

The man screamed as he spat the rancid paste into the sink, "Stella, you bitch! What wickedness possesses you to punish me so?"

 

[Boxlicker101]

Meanwhile, in a secret compound deep beneath the polar ice cap, a woman read pornography on the internet and plotted wicked deeds. Her first order of business was to swap her blind husband's toothpaste out with hair removal cream. The cream, besides its primary function, could also be used to remove the remains of snails or slugs from shoes, and this was considered to be important in the plot to exterminate these creatures.

This, however, was of no concern to him as he gagged and choked at the awful taste of what he assumed was napalm in a tube.

In fact, "Napalm In A Tube" had been one of the few, failed new product introductions by Proctor & Gamble, for whom Corinne Dubois had worked as an assistant to the director of research and development...before "the incident" had taken her to the White House, where she fielded phone calls from breast-exposing, entertainment-industry publicity whores.

The man screamed as he spat the rancid paste into the sink, "Stella, you bitch! What wickedness possesses you to punish me so?" Then he realized that, although he had just performed oral sex on Stella, leaving some of her hair stuck in his teeth, the hair had miraculously disappeared.

 

[Honey123]

Meanwhile, in a secret compound deep beneath the polar ice cap, a woman read pornography on the internet and plotted wicked deeds. Her first order of business was to swap her blind husband's toothpaste out with hair removal cream. The cream, besides its primary function, could also be used to remove the remains of snails or slugs from shoes, and this was considered to be important in the plot to exterminate these creatures.

This, however, was of no concern to him as he gagged and choked at the awful taste of what he assumed was napalm in a tube.

In fact, "Napalm In A Tube" had been one of the few, failed new product introductions by Proctor & Gamble, for whom Corinne Dubois had worked as an assistant to the director of research and development...before "the incident" had taken her to the White House, where she fielded phone calls from breast-exposing, entertainment-industry publicity whores.

The man screamed as he spat the rancid paste into the sink, "Stella, you bitch! What wickedness possesses you to punish me so?" Then he realized that, although he had just performed oral sex on Stella, leaving some of her hair stuck in his teeth, the hair had miraculously disappeared.

As her husband fell to the floor, she heard his screams of dispair, "Stella! Stella!"

 

[Boxlicker101]

Meanwhile, in a secret compound deep beneath the polar ice cap, a woman read pornography on the internet and plotted wicked deeds. Her first order of business was to swap her blind husband's toothpaste out with hair removal cream. The cream, besides its primary function, could also be used to remove the remains of snails or slugs from shoes, and this was considered to be important in the plot to exterminate these creatures.

This, however, was of no concern to him as he gagged and choked at the awful taste of what he assumed was napalm in a tube.

In fact, "Napalm In A Tube" had been one of the few, failed new product introductions by Proctor & Gamble, for whom Corinne Dubois had worked as an assistant to the director of research and development...before "the incident" had taken her to the White House, where she fielded phone calls from breast-exposing, entertainment-industry publicity whores.

The man screamed as he spat the rancid paste into the sink, "Stella, you bitch! What wickedness possesses you to punish me so?" Then he realized that, although he had just performed oral sex on Stella, leaving some of her hair stuck in his teeth, the hair had miraculously disappeared.

As her husband fell to the floor, she heard his screams of dispair, "Stella! Stella!" She ignored him, though, and continued assembling the incindiary bombs that were to be used against orphanages.

 

[Honey123]

Meanwhile, in a secret compound deep beneath the polar ice cap, a woman read pornography on the internet and plotted wicked deeds. Her first order of business was to swap her blind husband's toothpaste out with hair removal cream. The cream, besides its primary function, could also be used to remove the remains of snails or slugs from shoes, and this was considered to be important in the plot to exterminate these creatures.

This, however, was of no concern to him as he gagged and choked at the awful taste of what he assumed was napalm in a tube.

In fact, "Napalm In A Tube" had been one of the few, failed new product introductions by Proctor & Gamble, for whom Corinne Dubois had worked as an assistant to the director of research and development...before "the incident" had taken her to the White House, where she fielded phone calls from breast-exposing, entertainment-industry publicity whores.

The man screamed as he spat the rancid paste into the sink, "Stella, you bitch! What wickedness possesses you to punish me so?" Then he realized that, although he had just performed oral sex on Stella, leaving some of her hair stuck in his teeth, the hair had miraculously disappeared.

As her husband fell to the floor, she heard his screams of dispair, "Stel--la! Stel--la!" She ignored him, though, and continued assembling the incindiary bombs that were to be used against orphanages. She had her orders and needed to work fast so she could get the bombs to someone she only knew as "Bindy".

 

[Boxlicker101]

Meanwhile, in a secret compound deep beneath the polar ice cap, a woman read pornography on the internet and plotted wicked deeds. Her first order of business was to swap her blind husband's toothpaste out with hair removal cream. The cream, besides its primary function, could also be used to remove the remains of snails or slugs from shoes, and this was considered to be important in the plot to exterminate these creatures.

This, however, was of no concern to him as he gagged and choked at the awful taste of what he assumed was napalm in a tube.

In fact, "Napalm In A Tube" had been one of the few, failed new product introductions by Proctor & Gamble, for whom Corinne Dubois had worked as an assistant to the director of research and development...before "the incident" had taken her to the White House, where she fielded phone calls from breast-exposing, entertainment-industry publicity whores.

The man screamed as he spat the rancid paste into the sink, "Stella, you bitch! What wickedness possesses you to punish me so?" Then he realized that, although he had just performed oral sex on Stella, leaving some of her hair stuck in his teeth, the hair had miraculously disappeared.

As her husband fell to the floor, she heard his screams of dispair, "Stel--la! Stel--la!" She ignored him, though, and continued assembling the incindiary bombs that were to be used against orphanages. She had her orders and needed to work fast so she could get the bombs to someone she only knew as "Bindy". Although nobody knew it at the time, "Bindy" was mean and nasty because of a lack of pornography or smut.

 

[SensualCealy]

Being brought up in a sex deprived family the only way Bindy was able to feel desire was to hump the crocs she wrestled, the more they moved the more it turned her on.

 

[Honey123]

Meanwhile, in a secret compound deep beneath the polar ice cap, a woman read pornography on the internet and plotted wicked deeds. Her first order of business was to swap her blind husband's toothpaste out with hair removal cream. The cream, besides its primary function, could also be used to remove the remains of snails or slugs from shoes, and this was considered to be important in the plot to exterminate these creatures.

This, however, was of no concern to him as he gagged and choked at the awful taste of what he assumed was napalm in a tube.

In fact, "Napalm In A Tube" had been one of the few, failed new product introductions by Proctor & Gamble, for whom Corinne Dubois had worked as an assistant to the director of research and development...before "the incident" had taken her to the White House, where she fielded phone calls from breast-exposing, entertainment-industry publicity whores.

The man screamed as he spat the rancid paste into the sink, "Stella, you bitch! What wickedness possesses you to punish me so?" Then he realized that, although he had just performed oral sex on Stella, leaving some of her hair stuck in his teeth, the hair had miraculously disappeared.

As her husband fell to the floor, she heard his screams of dispair, "Stel--la! Stel--la!" She ignored him, though, and continued assembling the incindiary bombs that were to be used against orphanages. She had her orders and needed to work fast so she could get the bombs to someone she only knew as "Bindy". Although nobody knew it at the time, "Bindy" was mean and nasty because of a lack of pornography or smut.

Being brought up in a sex deprived family the only way Bindy was able to feel desire was to hump the crocs she wrestled, the more they moved the more it turned her on.

Bruce was her favorite with his hard skin and bumpy scales, she could reach an orgasm in record time.