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 because boys like chicks melting over astro-turf during rabid cow infested rodeos last-ing ages prior to desensitized electroshock therapy involving miniscule insertions of phosphorescent diptyque candles within reason-able timeframes, heretoforth revolving around antidisestablishamentarianist or whatever comes first to cretins assassinating stinky cheese, but causing considerable molten damage within scrotum tissue of festering scabs that leak everywhere and strongly resemble K-Fed licking cheetos crumbs and sneezing girls off, while brittney staggers to the toilet where she sat crosslegged with her boyfriend whilst eating squid with dobermans who skipped cheerfully backwards towards