I lasciviously enjoy removing birkenstocks that attractive-toed young partyhopping coquettes like drinking Paris Latsis' milkbottle comprised of sharp little blue pills that taste sour because Karl Lagerfeld spat gel-like marbles, so glistening and tasteless, erotically from his lower mandible, before seductively hoovering voluptous marbles of gel-like hyphenated-fun into pert little sections, whilst gyrating around a filthy-cute piece of rather-old astro-turf, ravishingly tasty