fall off a bridge into the chimeny of a steam boat and get incinerated and help fuel it and this boat is full of rich succesful people profiting off your misery

okay listen up…. theres this interesting loophole that while you cant smoke or drink you can suck all the male reproductive organ you want…. youll be doing this often just to satisfy your urges

its 100% sXe dont worry…. and you can putit in your other holes too if u no what i mean Log in to see images!

I want whatever drug that kid in your sig is on, unless that drug is child enjoy.

Udelar Posted:

no i am ****ing not

there are so few pleasures left in this awful horrible world im not giving up any of them and anyone who does is a mindless xtain zombie

for once you got it right emo kid

in soviet russia, vodka smashes YOU

midge Posted:

Udelar Posted:

...and anyone who does is a mindless xtain zombie

..........and who are you to say?!!

im sorry was that a real question because it sounded like you were grasping at straws to save ur battered ancient belief system

who am i?

i’m ****ing Udelar i eat very special belief systems and **** out existential truths ****

midge Posted:

Less importantly than both of those, is there certain apparel that goes along with the sXe culture?

yeah

Log in to see images!

you have to dress like this

“I love you,” said Bob the Tomato on the TV, hugging Larry the Grape around the waste. “Together I know we can do anything.”

“False pride!” Ruthie Cambot growled, purging the previous twenty seconds from the DVR. “Produce-on-produce adult situations!” She propped the remote between her pert teenage thighs, wondering if her seventeen younger siblings would ever truly appreciate the righteous sacrifices she made in editing their world for them. The remote rubbed between her legs as she stretched for the bowl of sugar free carob balls, and she realized her girl parts, they… itched. Itched like gonorrhea.

No wait, that wasn’t right. It more tingled, sorta like the very beginning of chicken pox. But she already HAD chicken pox. She couldn’t get it again… could she? Certainly not down THERE.

She caught her hand just as it was midway to scratching it. Her mother said to NEVER itch the chicken pox, so maybe she should use calamine lotion. No, her father had said that little girls who put liquid down there would go straight to hell without stopping at Taco Bell along the way. Maybe itching it just a BIT, just LIGHTLY on the OUTSIDE, wouldn’t be so bad.

Ruthie doubled over as the burning of a thousand tire yards shot across her girly-cess pool and straight up her file. “Oo!” She sighed, “oo-oo-oo!” She sounded just like Joe Ross, if you know who that is.

Just then Reginald walked into the room.

“Hey Ruthie,” he said, “I just heard something strange and decided to investigate.”

“Yes,” Ruthie said, letting her golden hair fall across her honey-colored shoulders. “I’m so glad you did. We’re not related, right?”

“That’s right.” Reginald said. “I’m the one your father took in because my parents smoked beer. I sleep in the basement. Under the sink.”

“That’s good,” she said in a throaty voice, “why not come over here and drink this grape Shasta.” And with a feminine sleight of her well-manicured fingers, Ruthie slipped a rufie into the fizzing tumbler. It was the one her father gave her. So she’d know what it would look like. So she’d never take one.

“MMmm,” he said, sipping the blue fluid down his hungry, fleshy throat, “thank you, Ruthie. I really appreciate your giving me this grape soda. And also letting me sleep under the sink.”

“Yeah.”

“I love you, Ruthie.”

“I love you, too, Michael.”

“I love everyone in this family.”

“OK.”

“Even the dog.”

“Mm.”

Michael didn’t realize where he was when he came to. The last thing he remembered was drinking grape soda with Ruthie, her well-pedicured toenails teasing the fabric of the couch when… no, he couldn’t think of her like that. She was practically his little sister.

“Oog,” he said, “where am I?”

“You’re here with me now.” Said a voice. “my darling Steven.” The voice belonged to Ruthie, who was supporting his greek godlike legs on the soft, warm confines of her lap. He looked up in confusion into the darkened confines of a vaulted ceiling, counted the myriad angels glaring down at him in contempt.

“Wait,” he said, struggling futilely against the drugs and the garbage bag twisty ties around his ankles. He’d been addicted to Drugs once, but those were Flinstones vitamins, which left him slightly giddy. This left his stomach feeling like a night with Fran Drescher. “Ruthie, how did we get into your father’s church? What are you doing with your hand? Why aren’t I wearing any pants?”

There was a throaty laugh as she brushed each well-manicured fingernail against his throbbing purple stovepipe.

“Oo!”

“Um.”

“Kink!”

“Do you like that, Joseph?”

“Yes,” Joseph leaned back and she straddled him, letting the fleshy crust of her Manwich slide against his cauliflower. It was leaking like an infected herpes sore. “but Ruthie, we’ve got to stop. You’re like my…”

“Be quiet, Manuel.” She said, pinning him down like a hot, sensual straightjacket. “You can resist if you like, but no one will hear you.”

“Eegh!”

“Oogh!”

“Squish!”

And then they had sex. It was pretty okay, but he bled a lot.

bloOdy_tEars Posted:

”I love you,” said Bob the Tomato on the TV, hugging Larry the Grape around the waste. “Together I know we can do anything.”

“False pride!” Ruthie Cambot growled, purging the previous twenty seconds from the DVR. “Produce-on-produce adult situations!” She propped the remote between her pert teenage thighs, wondering if her seventeen younger siblings would ever truly appreciate the righteous sacrifices she made in editing their world for them. The remote rubbed between her legs as she stretched for the bowl of sugar free carob balls, and she realized her girl parts, they… itched. Itched like gonorrhea.

No wait, that wasn’t right. It more tingled, sorta like the very beginning of chicken pox. But she already HAD chicken pox. She couldn’t get it again… could she? Certainly not down THERE.

She caught her hand just as it was midway to scratching it. Her mother said to NEVER itch the chicken pox, so maybe she should use calamine lotion. No, her father had said that little girls who put liquid down there would go straight to hell without stopping at Taco Bell along the way. Maybe itching it just a BIT, just LIGHTLY on the OUTSIDE, wouldn’t be so bad.

Ruthie doubled over as the burning of a thousand tire yards shot across her girly-cess pool and straight up her file. “Oo!” She sighed, “oo-oo-oo!” She sounded just like Joe Ross, if you know who that is.

Just then Reginald walked into the room.

“Hey Ruthie,” he said, “I just heard something strange and decided to investigate.”

“Yes,” Ruthie said, letting her golden hair fall across her honey-colored shoulders. “I’m so glad you did. We’re not related, right?”

“That’s right.” Reginald said. “I’m the one your father took in because my parents smoked beer. I sleep in the basement. Under the sink.”

“That’s good,” she said in a throaty voice, “why not come over here and drink this grape Shasta.” And with a feminine sleight of her well-manicured fingers, Ruthie slipped a rufie into the fizzing tumbler. It was the one her father gave her. So she’d know what it would look like. So she’d never take one.

“MMmm,” he said, sipping the blue fluid down his hungry, fleshy throat, “thank you, Ruthie. I really appreciate your giving me this grape soda. And also letting me sleep under the sink.”

“Yeah.”

“I love you, Ruthie.”

“I love you, too, Michael.”

“I love everyone in this family.”

“OK.”

“Even the dog.”

“Mm.”

Michael didn’t realize where he was when he came to. The last thing he remembered was drinking grape soda with Ruthie, her well-pedicured toenails teasing the fabric of the couch when… no, he couldn’t think of her like that. She was practically his little sister.

“Oog,” he said, “where am I?”

“You’re here with me now.” Said a voice. “my darling Steven.” The voice belonged to Ruthie, who was supporting his greek godlike legs on the soft, warm confines of her lap. He looked up in confusion into the darkened confines of a vaulted ceiling, counted the myriad angels glaring down at him in contempt.

“Wait,” he said, struggling futilely against the drugs and the garbage bag twisty ties around his ankles. He’d been addicted to Drugs once, but those were Flinstones vitamins, which left him slightly giddy. This left his stomach feeling like a night with Fran Drescher. “Ruthie, how did we get into your father’s church? What are you doing with your hand? Why aren’t I wearing any pants?”

There was a throaty laugh as she brushed each well-manicured fingernail against his throbbing purple stovepipe.

“Oo!”

“Um.”

“Kink!”

“Do you like that, Joseph?”

“Yes,” Joseph leaned back and she straddled him, letting the fleshy crust of her Manwich slide against his cauliflower. It was leaking like an infected herpes sore. “but Ruthie, we’ve got to stop. You’re like my…”

“Be quiet, Manuel.” She said, pinning him down like a hot, sensual straightjacket. “You can resist if you like, but no one will hear you.”

“Eegh!”

“Oogh!”

“Squish!”

And then they had sex. It was pretty okay, but he bled a lot.

Dark

dongs Posted:

uggghhhh this is too long i think i saw some sex words

cant you just take a picture or something

its a story about kinky chicking pox bondage u sick ****

i caem here hopeing there were camwhoars becaus of teh SeX

but noep

just a bunhc of fabulous persons liek always