KrangkaDelic

i get it!

top drawer stuff

progressive pro passive aggresives' preaching provides protection presuming your pre-prescribed patriotism.

snuffling down deep in her hairmuda triangle? one must use caution so as not to entangle

Semerica, more like, eh crownose?

Autotune a song of six pence, it's way easier

nice

Kneelin' Neesons' nubile neck knows no negativity: bowing Brosnan brings blushes but boastfully belittles beauty

you seem out of place selling overpriced teas in a hipster coffee shop - you'd seem more at home on a prison work-farm or on a deep sea trawler, wrestler named The Brooklyn Brawler

readers digest writers poop

mega nice!

The following sunrise brought much to MacLean: revelations, shame, blinding headaches. He coughed his brown vomitus into the porcelain vortex and slumped onto the tiles. 'Fuck writing a book, he thought - they'd never get it anyway, the cunts.' No. No, a book is not the answer - especially in todays' economy...but what about a web series? No no no again he missed the boat on that one. Kevin Smith would block him once more and he could not take yet another public emasculation. Progress, money, not vomiting - all these things eluded him. Even his robo-whore seems tarnished somehow and ill suited to raise his spirits ... all seemed so positive last night - the manuscript - the robo whore, the last of the sloe gin he had gained from the knackers. But now, as the sunlight burned through his sinuses and the reek rising from the bowl like thick fog all seemed lost once more.

'Aye that's good manuscript', said MacLean, circling the contours of his robo-whores left nip with his right index finger. He set it down by the toaster, spat on his right index finger and continued with the nip business, smiling all the while at the mind pictures the manuscript was bringing to him. He would write a book, he decided, he would write a fucking book and show them all.

Alistair MacLean perused the manuscript his robo-whore had procured him from the ruins of ArdNaois; with his advance spent on robo-whores and sloe gin from the knackers all had seemed lost to him. Until he perused the manuscript ...

Her brine-hole is closed to me. You must acquire sexier friends.

Snatchphrase Suggestion: pfft squish pffffppfffft splish drip close

pimp my bride, said the jazz musician

You flodregradulayingly stupid girl. I should set a thrashing about you.

get that fucking shit into ye

ro ro ro your bot gently down the data stream

catphrase suggestion: a bird in my paw is meowmeowmeowmeow meow.

Now even girthier

great bandwidth at the start, but annoying lag during the end credits

you have to start a chain of these. it beats my Cheesus Chrust Vatican Pizza idea hands down.

not this shit again