3 word story

[lucky-E-leven]

Sue was screwing

 

[damppanties]

one astronaut's pink

 

[lucky-E-leven]

tongue with abandon

 

[damppanties]

while Dennis Rodman

 

[lucky-E-leven]

ran the camera.

 

[damppanties]

Perfect pink plundering

 

[lucky-E-leven]

was the title

 

[damppanties]

they ultimately decided.

 

[Boxlicker101]

Mr. Winkle's ghost

 

[lucky-E-leven]

dreamed of sex

 

[damppanties]

with his pink

 

[lucky-E-leven]

with his pink

cupcake and licked

 

[damppanties]

one baby wombat's

 

[lucky-E-leven]

underbelly until orgasm!

 

[damppanties]

Winkle's ghost's manhood

 

[lucky-E-leven]

began glowing and

 

[damppanties]

suddenly crumbled into

 

[lucky-E-leven]

Mr. Winkle's coffee.

 

[damppanties]

Perhaps ghosts' manhoods

 

[lucky-E-leven]

Sue looked for someone who could be happy selling sex toys. Unfortunately, her husband was a prude. So she went to the mall in her beemer just to get a bowling ball. No one knew what the bowling ball was for. She also bought the most expensive silk scarf that matched her handcuffs.

On a whim, she decided to post a poll. The poll measured the size of ego's on Lit. The results were totally mindblowingly weird. It turns out to be meaningless. So Sue goes completely nuts and writes a letter--the letter 'P'.

'P' is for Perdita, who then magically appeared, waving and jumping for joy because, she had just had the most incredible burrito, which she thought looked like her first husband's nose, except that it was longer.

Sue thinks that the bowling ball might fit into her loose wet pussy. But then she realized that the red flag waving outside her window was a disposable item snagged on a man's hard throbbing erect middle finger as he waved to someone named Ernie who was also well known as a boring twat. (Nice one Perdita.)

Sue waved back while exposing her tiny little chihuahua named Mr. Winkle. Ernie left and tongue wagged, dripping sticky, smelly saliva onto the sidewalk where innocent people became glued to the riveting sight of something slippery, like liquid latex, just outside their front door. Then Mr. Winkle jumped on the nearest innocent by stander and began humping like never before.

His eyes rolled, her legs stretched, his arse tightened because he needed oxygen to revive his little monkey. Her embarrassment at the size of that microscopic, hardly visible tuft of hair. Five centimeters? Yikes. He suddenly exploded, for no reason, and the whole crowd of people were covered with slimy sticky goo that really stunk.

Or was it maybe just a really bad fart? A very brown, little tiny pooh? Or was it a tasteless joke that nobody really gave a damn about? Somebody screamed, curious they were, look out she's got a gnu! Well who knew? The zoo knew, of new gnu, who was blue. But no gnus is good gnus.

"Wake up, sleepyhead." Said Norman Bates. Was going to axe you something, but forgot about your mama.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, the horses were taking showers with the dead wombats.

"Damn" shouted Dusty Bottoms, the old ranch cook.

He used to chew tobaccy and raise purebred wombats, until he had a nasty little episode with one very horny bugger from Deliverance. It left him very sore and severly crippled for days. But then he resumed buggering his life partner. Another ranch hand wanted sloppy seconds and mounted the life partner and started humping like a maniac until a wombat appeared, with cohort Shereads, and they started playing the banjo until the wombat suddenly began licking Shereads on her enormous cleavage.

Then out of nowhere, the tooth-fairy came prematurely! But then, she was overdue at the dentist who was always eyeing her cleavage while picking his nose and sometimes her nose too. Unfortunately he usually forgot to wash his hands, causing his instruments to grow strange fungus-like primitive tribe civilizations with very small elbows and hardly any hair but the most impressive tits, and moral rectitude. Did they actually love having their ears stroked and also their elbows? Not sure, but wombats do! In a galaxy of like-minded midgets on broomsticks waving their huge, ultra soft, inviting mid-sections to the tune of "Lady of Spain.

Meanwhile, back at the dentists office Charlie Sheen said, "Ouch! That hurt!" Charlie grabbed his ever expandable inflatable Carmen Elektra doll and gave it such a squeeze that the doll, its eyes nearly closed in lust. Its legs wide open, waiting for Godot, blew up! Godot, however, was on the bench somewhere in Tijuana with a puta the size of, Yo Mama!, and her pussy like a goddess, but really wet!

"Wake up, Sleepyhead!" whispered Marvin, the paranoid android who was hung like a bloody paranoid android, (go figure ) which is big, very very big. So big it's almost like a watermelon. It seemed red and fleshy, purple pulsating like something from a disco nightmare. The kind where everybody wants to handcuff you to John Travolta, only this time, everything was lubed.

KY Jelly was found disapointingly inedible. Marvin and Sue stared at eachother's genitals before deciding what went where.

"Should we try, just this once, to stick your hand up the service hatch, and I will munch?" Crooned the android.

Hand slips in deeper and deeper and Sue moans almost incoherently, "You big nasty beast!"

But Marvin didn't stop his movements until Sue kicked him in the nether circuits, where more wombats came flying out. Very fluffy and delightfully fragrant, but hard to catch, unlike the pox. Marvin finally switched his "high" to "highest" and really gave her a stunningly huge, excruciatingly hard bang right on top of her head, coating her with pulsating and purple paranoid android goo!

Extremely gross and quite damn sticky which was almost enough to fill the entire room and neighboring one. Because of this, she slipped and slithered all across the pulpit floor and hit a priest in the head. But of which head, do you speak?

I like choir, the melodies bring me such pleasure I almost swoon, with unbelievable moisture in my silky Ralph Lauren panties that ride up the crack of dawn when I play with my teddy bear and banky, bare naked.

Call me Ishmael. (thanks Sher) Even though my name is really Dennis Rodman, I prefer Izzy or one of those blue ones with the candied apples. I'm lost again to the daily rat-race of life because my spatula is all yucky from this cream.

I shouldn't have thrown it at the damn wombat, but it farted! It smelled awful and knocked out N.Y. City's electricity. After the blackout we all played with the wombats little crooked weenies and tight round asses and pussies until they came out the door screaming and moaning, until the SPCA screamed and moaned, "I'm melting!"

Does that mean Dennis Rodman is actually not quite as feminine as a totally drunk tulip?

Astronauts landed, actually crash landed, into Wombatville crushing eleven wombats and destroying City Hall! The poor astronauts felt terrible, but the poor wombats waged war and killed eleven astronauts! Now even, they were bored...

Meanwhile, Sue was screwing one astronauts' pink tongue with abandon while Dennis Rodman ran the camera. Perfectly Pink Plundering was the title, they ultimately decided.

Mr. Winkle's ghost dreamed of sex with his pink cupcake and licked one baby wombat's underbelly until orgasm! Winkle's ghost's manhood began glowing and crumbled into Mr. Winkle's coffee. Perhaps ghost's manhoods....

should not be...

 

[Boxlicker101]

expected to be

 

[Guest]

solid and satisfying.

 

[Liar]

And still they

 

[Guest]

tried to get

 

[damppanties]

the crumbled manhood