MondoMudbutt

She's got dumps like a truck full of overweight caribou blubber bagels. Or so I heard.

With the world the way it is, it's got to be the way the world is.

Double double, toil and trouble, the bubbly excretions shall do.

Mary popped my hairy cherry, and a scary moment ensued. I blew my load and kissed a toad – Steve Harvey hosts Family Feud.

No amount of money will stop me, honey. The cheese will be eaten, and the shit will be runny.

Barley Harleys and surly Shirleys were never ready for Freddy Spaghetti.

Purchase the diaper. Apply the lubricant. Gain a lot of weight. The man boobs are in.

Right on the off button you’ll find the lofty dreams of a soft baby butt, son.

Lay the Lays on my dick chips and quick pickle the Chipwich.

I took a detour off Route 66 to catch a Pokémon and ended up 69ing my uncle.

A flicker picture mixture and a refried queef eye make for a delicious evening snack.

The camel’s back drained and the waxing gibbous waned, giving way to a Brendan Frasier hit sequel: The Mummy’s Runny Nips.

The member between my legs has become rock hard, so please call me Fred Flinstoner Boner!

The gored boar was bored of his cored cutting board on the store’s floor, so he poured and soared and discovered happiness galore.

Ask for a rabbit cabin, you demon heathen Loki yogi butt nugget...Or else!

Drizzle the gizzards and endure the blizzards for your shivers are wet like the mud hole.

Geronimo, Fats Domino. The crowd isn’t feelin ya, ¡Vamanos! But in all seriousness, RIP to an amazing musician.

Slice the Parakeet feet for meat, and you’ll be in need of pickled beets to combat the heat.

“Stop in the name of Flubber,” said the overweight, hot dog eating jellyfish.

I finished a cola when I heard Ben Folds in Nola while eating bowls of granola ebola, but I’m dying to hear about your day!

Chunky bubbles ravaged the city of helpless toddlers and their pet necromancer hamsters.

One’s a person. Two is more. Three’s company. And four is one more than that, mathematically speaking.

He said, “Start the clock”, and the carp’s head cocked, but blocks rocked the chicken stock while rot filled the adolescent flocks of river docks.

YMCA. Why Men See Cake. Hi men, skin flake. By and large, holes gape.

Bought the farm, chilled the beans, took a raincheck, and shot the breeze.