HI, I’M GEORGE ZIMMER, FOUNDER AND CEO OF THE MEN’S WEARHOUSE. 9/11 WAS A LIE. THERE WERE NO TOWEL HEADS. THERE WAS NO AIRPLANE. IN TRUTH I WAS VISITING THE BIG APPLE, SO AS TO COMPARE MY GARGANTUAN MEAT TRAIN TO IT AND LAUGH AT THE GASPING NEW YORKERS AS I POUNDED THEIR BELOVED NAMESAKE INTO BIG APPLE SAUCE. HAVING NOT GOTTEN RELEASE FROM MY CULINARY EXERCISE, I MEANDERED DOWN THE STREET WITH MY VITAL BLOOD ENGORGED SEWER PIPE OUT IN FRONT OF ME LIKE A BLIND MAN’S CANE, LOOKING FOR A HOLE IN THE BACKSIDE OF A WOMAN WHICH I WOULD STRETCH BEYOND HUMAN LIMITS. I SPOTTED AT THAT VERY MOMENT AN ATTRACTIVE FEMALE IN A MINISKIRT WAVING AT ME. I SLAPPED HER TO THE GROUND WITH MY ENORMOUS PHALLUS AND QUICKLY RAVISHED HER SKIRT LIKE A STARVED DOG ON A BABY MADE OF STEAK. THE SIGHT THAT AWAITED BOTH SHOCKED AND ENRAGED ME. AFTER SEEING THIS “WOMAN’S” RAISIN-SIZED WINKY WINKLER, I VOMITED DOWN HIS THROAT AND PENETRATED HIS ESOPHAGUS, RIPPED OUT HIS SPINE AND PEELED HIS CORPSE FROM MY MONEYMAKER. TO TEACH ALL OF NEW YORK A LESSON FOR LETTING THIS FLAMING FAG BAG LIVE, I LET LOOSE A SEMENAL FLOOD OF BIBLICAL PROPORTIONS UPON THE TOWERS OF TWO (AT WHOM’S SMALL SIZE I LAUGHED LIKE A CLOWN RAPING AN 8 YEAR OLD), WHICH CAUSED THEM TO COME CRASHING DOWN LIKE ME AFTER A WEEKEND METH BINGE. I MOCKED THE NEW YORKERS AND MADE NIGGER JOKES AS THEY RAN FROM MY EVER EXPANDING CLOUD OF SPERMAZOA, MASTURBATING TO THE LOOKS OF HORROR ON THEIR FACES. THE GOVERNMENT, IN AN ATTEMPT TO SAVE FACE AND BECAUSE THEY HATE ARABS MORE THAN JEWS, PAINTED A BOEING 767 ON MY GIGANTIC COCK AND CALLED IT A TERRORIST ATTACK. THE FEELING OF PAINTBRUSHES ON MY DICK MADE ME COME AGAIN, AND PRESIDENT BUSH SNORTED UP EVERY LAST DROP BECAUSE HE THOUGHT IT WAS COKE. SUDDENLY, HE CRIED OUT, “WHAT’S THAT AMAZING SMELL?” THEN A GROSSLY OBESE NEGRO POPPED OUT FROM BEHIND THE BURNING, TWISTED WRECKAGE OF THE WORLD TRADE CENTERS AND QUIPPED, “THAT’S THE POWER OF PINE-SOL!” DISPLEASED AT HER INTERRUPTION OF MY DEVASTATING SODOMY CONQUEST, YET SIMULTANEOUSLY ODDLY AROUSED BY A SUB-HUMANS DEFIANCE IN THE FACE OF MY TITANIC MEAT MONOLITH, I GRABBED THE NEGRESS BY HER ARMS AND INSERTED MY BATTLE CRUISER OF PASSION INTO THE ROILING WAVES OF FAT WHICH OBSCURED HER VAGINAL CLEFT. SHE SCREAMED INDECHIPHERABLY IN EBONICS, SO TO SHUT HER UP I POURED ALL THE CONTENTS OF THE PINE-SOL BOTTLE DOWN HER THROAT. UNFORTUNATELY, THE CHEMICALS IN THE LIQUID COMBINED WITH MY UNEARTHLY SUPER-SEMEN TO FORM A HIGHLY UNSTABLE AND EXPLOSIVE MIXTURE OF PURE POWER. JUST BEFORE THE FAT NEGRESS BLEW APART AS A RESULT OF THE INCREDIBLE CHEMICAL REACTION, MY MOTHER GOT SCARED AND SAID, “YOU’RE MOVING WITH YOUR AUNTIE AND UNCLE IN BEL-AIR.” I WHISTLED FOR A CAB AND WHEN IT CAME NEAR, THE LICENSE PLATE SAID ‘FRESH’ AND IT HAD DICE IN THE MIRROR. IF ANYTHING I COULD SAY THAT THIS CAB WAS RARE, BUT I THOUGHT, ‘NAH, FORGET IT, YOU HOLMES, TO BEL-AIR!” I PULLED UP TO THE HOUSE ABOUT SEVEN OR EIGHT AND I YELLED TO THE CABBY, YO HOLMES, SMELL YA LATER!” I LOOKED AT MY KINGDOM, I WAS FINALLY THERE, TO SIT ON MY THRONE AS THE PRINCE OF BEL-AIR. ONCE I ENTERED MY NEW, PALATIAL ABODE (ALMOST, BUT NOT QUITE, WORTHY OF MY INCALCULABLY HUGE MEAT MISSILE) I IMMEDIATELY SWEPT MY NEW FOSTER PARENTS ASIDE AND HEADED FOR THE ROOM OF THEIR YOUNG NIECE. YOU SEE, I JUST SPENT THE LAST TWENTY MINUTES RUBBING A TWELVE YEAR OLD GIRL’S BARE CHEST. “HOW?” YOU ASK. WELL APPARENTLY THERE ARE A SELECT FEW CONTEXTS WITHIN WHICH SUCH AN ACTION IS ACCEPTABLE. FOR INSTANCE, IF YOUR NIECE HAS A HACKING COUGH AND YOUR SISTER ASKS YOU TO “PUT SOME OF THIS ON HER” WHILE SHE CALLS THE DOCTOR.

“PUTTING SOME OF THIS ON HEAR” MEANT USING MY BARE HANDS TO RUB THIS VAPOR OINTMENT SHIT ALL OVER HER BARE NAKED CHEST. MY HEARTBEAT IS STILL ALL ERRATIC FROM IT. I HAD A BONER THE SIZE OF MANHATTAN THE ENTIRE TIME. SHE’S SLEEPING NOW AND I GUESS SHE FEELS BETTER BECAUSE SHE STOPPED COUGHING.

DETAILS: SHE’S ABOUT 5 FEET TALL, HAS LONG BROWN HAIR, A CUTE FACE, A THIN WAIST AND LONG SKINNY LEGS. SHE’S IN JAMMIES I THINK BECAUSE ALTHOUGH I’M PRETTY SHAKEN UP RIGHT NOW I KNOW I UNBUTTONED SOMETHING BEFORE I WENT AT IT.

GOD I FEEL SO GREAT. I JUST RUBBED MY HANDS LAL OVER HER FUCKING TITS, YOU GUYS. WELL THE PUFFY PARTS OF HER CHEST ANYWAY. HER NIPPLES GOT HARD. I JUST ABOUT WEPT TEARS OF JOY. OBVIOUSLY, THERE ARE VERY FEW THINGS IN THIS UNIVERSE WHICH CAN BRING ME TO SUCH A STATE, AND COMBINED WITH MY INCREDIBLE STATE OF AROUSAL, I WAS UNABLE TO HOLD BACK THE STORM BREWING IN MY COLOSSAL PUDDING BLASTER. MY STEAMING-HOT SILVER LAVA BLASTED OUT FURIOUSLY, INSTANTLY KILLING MY UNFORTUNATE YOUNG COUSIN AND REDUCING MY NEW HOME TO BLASTED BITS AND PIECES OF WOODEN DETRITUS. I GUARANTEE IT.

HI, I’M GEORGE ZIMMER, FOUNDER AND CEO OF THE MEN’S WEARHOUSE. 9/11 WAS A LIE. THERE WERE NO TOWEL HEADS. THERE WAS NO AIRPLANE. IN TRUTH I WAS VISITING THE BIG APPLE, SO AS TO COMPARE MY GARGANTUAN MEAT TRAIN TO IT AND LAUGH AT THE GASPING NEW YORKERS AS I POUNDED THEIR BELOVED NAMESAKE INTO BIG APPLE SAUCE. HAVING NOT GOTTEN RELEASE FROM MY CULINARY EXERCISE, I MEANDERED DOWN THE STREET WITH MY VITAL BLOOD ENGORGED SEWER PIPE OUT IN FRONT OF ME LIKE A BLIND MAN’S CANE, LOOKING FOR A HOLE IN THE BACKSIDE OF A WOMAN WHICH I WOULD STRETCH BEYOND HUMAN LIMITS. I SPOTTED AT THAT VERY MOMENT AN ATTRACTIVE FEMALE IN A MINISKIRT WAVING AT ME. I SLAPPED HER TO THE GROUND WITH MY ENORMOUS PHALLUS AND QUICKLY RAVISHED HER SKIRT LIKE A STARVED DOG ON A BABY MADE OF STEAK. THE SIGHT THAT AWAITED BOTH SHOCKED AND ENRAGED ME. AFTER SEEING THIS “WOMAN’S” RAISIN-SIZED WINKY WINKLER, I VOMITED DOWN HIS THROAT AND PENETRATED HIS ESOPHAGUS, RIPPED OUT HIS SPINE AND PEELED HIS CORPSE FROM MY MONEYMAKER. TO TEACH ALL OF NEW YORK A LESSON FOR LETTING THIS FLAMING FAG BAG LIVE, I LET LOOSE A SEMENAL FLOOD OF BIBLICAL PROPORTIONS UPON THE TOWERS OF TWO (AT WHOM’S SMALL SIZE I LAUGHED LIKE A CLOWN RAPING AN 8 YEAR OLD), WHICH CAUSED THEM TO COME CRASHING DOWN LIKE ME AFTER A WEEKEND METH BINGE. I MOCKED THE NEW YORKERS AND MADE NIGGER JOKES AS THEY RAN FROM MY EVER EXPANDING CLOUD OF SPERMAZOA, MASTURBATING TO THE LOOKS OF HORROR ON THEIR FACES. THE GOVERNMENT, IN AN ATTEMPT TO SAVE FACE AND BECAUSE THEY HATE ARABS MORE THAN JEWS, PAINTED A BOEING 767 ON MY GIGANTIC COCK AND CALLED IT A TERRORIST ATTACK. THE FEELING OF PAINTBRUSHES ON MY DICK MADE ME COME AGAIN, AND PRESIDENT BUSH SNORTED UP EVERY LAST DROP BECAUSE HE THOUGHT IT WAS COKE. SUDDENLY, HE CRIED OUT, “WHAT’S THAT AMAZING SMELL?” THEN A GROSSLY OBESE NEGRO POPPED OUT FROM BEHIND THE BURNING, TWISTED WRECKAGE OF THE WORLD TRADE CENTERS AND QUIPPED, “THAT’S THE POWER OF PINE-SOL!” DISPLEASED AT HER INTERRUPTION OF MY DEVASTATING SODOMY CONQUEST, YET SIMULTANEOUSLY ODDLY AROUSED BY A SUB-HUMANS DEFIANCE IN THE FACE OF MY TITANIC MEAT MONOLITH, I GRABBED THE NEGRESS BY HER ARMS AND INSERTED MY BATTLE CRUISER OF PASSION INTO THE ROILING WAVES OF FAT WHICH OBSCURED HER VAGINAL CLEFT. SHE SCREAMED INDECHIPHERABLY IN EBONICS, SO TO SHUT HER UP I POURED ALL THE CONTENTS OF THE PINE-SOL BOTTLE DOWN HER THROAT. UNFORTUNATELY, THE CHEMICALS IN THE LIQUID COMBINED WITH MY UNEARTHLY SUPER-SEMEN TO FORM A HIGHLY UNSTABLE AND EXPLOSIVE MIXTURE OF PURE POWER. JUST BEFORE THE FAT NEGRESS BLEW APART AS A RESULT OF THE INCREDIBLE CHEMICAL REACTION, MY MOTHER GOT SCARED AND SAID, “YOU’RE MOVING WITH YOUR AUNTIE AND UNCLE IN BEL-AIR.” I WHISTLED FOR A CAB AND WHEN IT CAME NEAR, THE LICENSE PLATE SAID ‘FRESH’ AND IT HAD DICE IN THE MIRROR. IF ANYTHING I COULD SAY THAT THIS CAB WAS RARE, BUT I THOUGHT, ‘NAH, FORGET IT, YOU HOLMES, TO BEL-AIR!” I PULLED UP TO THE HOUSE ABOUT SEVEN OR EIGHT AND I YELLED TO THE CABBY, YO HOLMES, SMELL YA LATER!” I LOOKED AT MY KINGDOM, I WAS FINALLY THERE, TO SIT ON MY THRONE AS THE PRINCE OF BEL-AIR. ONCE I ENTERED MY NEW, PALATIAL ABODE (ALMOST, BUT NOT QUITE, WORTHY OF MY INCALCULABLY HUGE MEAT MISSILE) I IMMEDIATELY SWEPT MY NEW FOSTER PARENTS ASIDE AND HEADED FOR THE ROOM OF THEIR YOUNG NIECE. YOU SEE, I JUST SPENT THE LAST TWENTY MINUTES RUBBING A TWELVE YEAR OLD GIRL’S BARE CHEST. “HOW?” YOU ASK. WELL APPARENTLY THERE ARE A SELECT FEW CONTEXTS WITHIN WHICH SUCH AN ACTION IS ACCEPTABLE. FOR INSTANCE, IF YOUR NIECE HAS A HACKING COUGH AND YOUR SISTER ASKS YOU TO “PUT SOME OF THIS ON HER” WHILE SHE CALLS THE DOCTOR.

“PUTTING SOME OF THIS ON HEAR” MEANT USING MY BARE HANDS TO RUB THIS VAPOR OINTMENT SHIT ALL OVER HER BARE NAKED CHEST. MY HEARTBEAT IS STILL ALL ERRATIC FROM IT. I HAD A BONER THE SIZE OF MANHATTAN THE ENTIRE TIME. SHE’S SLEEPING NOW AND I GUESS SHE FEELS BETTER BECAUSE SHE STOPPED COUGHING.

DETAILS: SHE’S ABOUT 5 FEET TALL, HAS LONG BROWN HAIR, A CUTE FACE, A THIN WAIST AND LONG SKINNY LEGS. SHE’S IN JAMMIES I THINK BECAUSE ALTHOUGH I’M PRETTY SHAKEN UP RIGHT NOW I KNOW I UNBUTTONED SOMETHING BEFORE I WENT AT IT.

GOD I FEEL SO GREAT. I JUST RUBBED MY HANDS LAL OVER HER FUCKING TITS, YOU GUYS. WELL THE PUFFY PARTS OF HER CHEST ANYWAY. HER NIPPLES GOT HARD. I JUST ABOUT WEPT TEARS OF JOY. OBVIOUSLY, THERE ARE VERY FEW THINGS IN THIS UNIVERSE WHICH CAN BRING ME TO SUCH A STATE, AND COMBINED WITH MY INCREDIBLE STATE OF AROUSAL, I WAS UNABLE TO HOLD BACK THE STORM BREWING IN MY COLOSSAL PUDDING BLASTER. MY STEAMING-HOT SILVER LAVA BLASTED OUT FURIOUSLY, INSTANTLY KILLING MY UNFORTUNATE YOUNG COUSIN AND REDUCING MY NEW HOME TO BLASTED BITS AND PIECES OF WOODEN DETRITUS. I GUARANTEE IT.

HI, I’M GEORGE ZIMMER, FOUNDER AND CEO OF THE MEN’S WEARHOUSE. 9/11 WAS A LIE. THERE WERE NO TOWEL HEADS. THERE WAS NO AIRPLANE. IN TRUTH I WAS VISITING THE BIG APPLE, SO AS TO COMPARE MY GARGANTUAN MEAT TRAIN TO IT AND LAUGH AT THE GASPING NEW YORKERS AS I POUNDED THEIR BELOVED NAMESAKE INTO BIG APPLE SAUCE. HAVING NOT GOTTEN RELEASE FROM MY CULINARY EXERCISE, I MEANDERED DOWN THE STREET WITH MY VITAL BLOOD ENGORGED SEWER PIPE OUT IN FRONT OF ME LIKE A BLIND MAN’S CANE, LOOKING FOR A HOLE IN THE BACKSIDE OF A WOMAN WHICH I WOULD STRETCH BEYOND HUMAN LIMITS. I SPOTTED AT THAT VERY MOMENT AN ATTRACTIVE FEMALE IN A MINISKIRT WAVING AT ME. I SLAPPED HER TO THE GROUND WITH MY ENORMOUS PHALLUS AND QUICKLY RAVISHED HER SKIRT LIKE A STARVED DOG ON A BABY MADE OF STEAK. THE SIGHT THAT AWAITED BOTH SHOCKED AND ENRAGED ME. AFTER SEEING THIS “WOMAN’S” RAISIN-SIZED WINKY WINKLER, I VOMITED DOWN HIS THROAT AND PENETRATED HIS ESOPHAGUS, RIPPED OUT HIS SPINE AND PEELED HIS CORPSE FROM MY MONEYMAKER. TO TEACH ALL OF NEW YORK A LESSON FOR LETTING THIS FLAMING FAG BAG LIVE, I LET LOOSE A SEMENAL FLOOD OF BIBLICAL PROPORTIONS UPON THE TOWERS OF TWO (AT WHOM’S SMALL SIZE I LAUGHED LIKE A CLOWN RAPING AN 8 YEAR OLD), WHICH CAUSED THEM TO COME CRASHING DOWN LIKE ME AFTER A WEEKEND METH BINGE. I MOCKED THE NEW YORKERS AND MADE NIGGER JOKES AS THEY RAN FROM MY EVER EXPANDING CLOUD OF SPERMAZOA, MASTURBATING TO THE LOOKS OF HORROR ON THEIR FACES. THE GOVERNMENT, IN AN ATTEMPT TO SAVE FACE AND BECAUSE THEY HATE ARABS MORE THAN JEWS, PAINTED A BOEING 767 ON MY GIGANTIC COCK AND CALLED IT A TERRORIST ATTACK. THE FEELING OF PAINTBRUSHES ON MY DICK MADE ME COME AGAIN, AND PRESIDENT BUSH SNORTED UP EVERY LAST DROP BECAUSE HE THOUGHT IT WAS COKE. SUDDENLY, HE CRIED OUT, “WHAT’S THAT AMAZING SMELL?” THEN A GROSSLY OBESE NEGRO POPPED OUT FROM BEHIND THE BURNING, TWISTED WRECKAGE OF THE WORLD TRADE CENTERS AND QUIPPED, “THAT’S THE POWER OF PINE-SOL!” DISPLEASED AT HER INTERRUPTION OF MY DEVASTATING SODOMY CONQUEST, YET SIMULTANEOUSLY ODDLY AROUSED BY A SUB-HUMANS DEFIANCE IN THE FACE OF MY TITANIC MEAT MONOLITH, I GRABBED THE NEGRESS BY HER ARMS AND INSERTED MY BATTLE CRUISER OF PASSION INTO THE ROILING WAVES OF FAT WHICH OBSCURED HER VAGINAL CLEFT. SHE SCREAMED INDECHIPHERABLY IN EBONICS, SO TO SHUT HER UP I POURED ALL THE CONTENTS OF THE PINE-SOL BOTTLE DOWN HER THROAT. UNFORTUNATELY, THE CHEMICALS IN THE LIQUID COMBINED WITH MY UNEARTHLY SUPER-SEMEN TO FORM A HIGHLY UNSTABLE AND EXPLOSIVE MIXTURE OF PURE POWER. JUST BEFORE THE FAT NEGRESS BLEW APART AS A RESULT OF THE INCREDIBLE CHEMICAL REACTION, MY MOTHER GOT SCARED AND SAID, “YOU’RE MOVING WITH YOUR AUNTIE AND UNCLE IN BEL-AIR.” I WHISTLED FOR A CAB AND WHEN IT CAME NEAR, THE LICENSE PLATE SAID ‘FRESH’ AND IT HAD DICE IN THE MIRROR. IF ANYTHING I COULD SAY THAT THIS CAB WAS RARE, BUT I THOUGHT, ‘NAH, FORGET IT, YOU HOLMES, TO BEL-AIR!” I PULLED UP TO THE HOUSE ABOUT SEVEN OR EIGHT AND I YELLED TO THE CABBY, YO HOLMES, SMELL YA LATER!” I LOOKED AT MY KINGDOM, I WAS FINALLY THERE, TO SIT ON MY THRONE AS THE PRINCE OF BEL-AIR. ONCE I ENTERED MY NEW, PALATIAL ABODE (ALMOST, BUT NOT QUITE, WORTHY OF MY INCALCULABLY HUGE MEAT MISSILE) I IMMEDIATELY SWEPT MY NEW FOSTER PARENTS ASIDE AND HEADED FOR THE ROOM OF THEIR YOUNG NIECE. YOU SEE, I JUST SPENT THE LAST TWENTY MINUTES RUBBING A TWELVE YEAR OLD GIRL’S BARE CHEST. “HOW?” YOU ASK. WELL APPARENTLY THERE ARE A SELECT FEW CONTEXTS WITHIN WHICH SUCH AN ACTION IS ACCEPTABLE. FOR INSTANCE, IF YOUR NIECE HAS A HACKING COUGH AND YOUR SISTER ASKS YOU TO “PUT SOME OF THIS ON HER” WHILE SHE CALLS THE DOCTOR.

“PUTTING SOME OF THIS ON HEAR” MEANT USING MY BARE HANDS TO RUB THIS VAPOR OINTMENT SHIT ALL OVER HER BARE NAKED CHEST. MY HEARTBEAT IS STILL ALL ERRATIC FROM IT. I HAD A BONER THE SIZE OF MANHATTAN THE ENTIRE TIME. SHE’S SLEEPING NOW AND I GUESS SHE FEELS BETTER BECAUSE SHE STOPPED COUGHING.

DETAILS: SHE’S ABOUT 5 FEET TALL, HAS LONG BROWN HAIR, A CUTE FACE, A THIN WAIST AND LONG SKINNY LEGS. SHE’S IN JAMMIES I THINK BECAUSE ALTHOUGH I’M PRETTY SHAKEN UP RIGHT NOW I KNOW I UNBUTTONED SOMETHING BEFORE I WENT AT IT.

GOD I FEEL SO GREAT. I JUST RUBBED MY HANDS LAL OVER HER FUCKING TITS, YOU GUYS. WELL THE PUFFY PARTS OF HER CHEST ANYWAY. HER NIPPLES GOT HARD. I JUST ABOUT WEPT TEARS OF JOY. OBVIOUSLY, THERE ARE VERY FEW THINGS IN THIS UNIVERSE WHICH CAN BRING ME TO SUCH A STATE, AND COMBINED WITH MY INCREDIBLE STATE OF AROUSAL, I WAS UNABLE TO HOLD BACK THE STORM BREWING IN MY COLOSSAL PUDDING BLASTER. MY STEAMING-HOT SILVER LAVA BLASTED OUT FURIOUSLY, INSTANTLY KILLING MY UNFORTUNATE YOUNG COUSIN AND REDUCING MY NEW HOME TO BLASTED BITS AND PIECES OF WOODEN DETRITUS. I GUARANTEE IT.

HI, I’M GEORGE ZIMMER, FOUNDER AND CEO OF THE MEN’S WEARHOUSE. 9/11 WAS A LIE. THERE WERE NO TOWEL HEADS. THERE WAS NO AIRPLANE. IN TRUTH I WAS VISITING THE BIG APPLE, SO AS TO COMPARE MY GARGANTUAN MEAT TRAIN TO IT AND LAUGH AT THE GASPING NEW YORKERS AS I POUNDED THEIR BELOVED NAMESAKE INTO BIG APPLE SAUCE. HAVING NOT GOTTEN RELEASE FROM MY CULINARY EXERCISE, I MEANDERED DOWN THE STREET WITH MY VITAL BLOOD ENGORGED SEWER PIPE OUT IN FRONT OF ME LIKE A BLIND MAN’S CANE, LOOKING FOR A HOLE IN THE BACKSIDE OF A WOMAN WHICH I WOULD STRETCH BEYOND HUMAN LIMITS. I SPOTTED AT THAT VERY MOMENT AN ATTRACTIVE FEMALE IN A MINISKIRT WAVING AT ME. I SLAPPED HER TO THE GROUND WITH MY ENORMOUS PHALLUS AND QUICKLY RAVISHED HER SKIRT LIKE A STARVED DOG ON A BABY MADE OF STEAK. THE SIGHT THAT AWAITED BOTH SHOCKED AND ENRAGED ME. AFTER SEEING THIS “WOMAN’S” RAISIN-SIZED WINKY WINKLER, I VOMITED DOWN HIS THROAT AND PENETRATED HIS ESOPHAGUS, RIPPED OUT HIS SPINE AND PEELED HIS CORPSE FROM MY MONEYMAKER. TO TEACH ALL OF NEW YORK A LESSON FOR LETTING THIS FLAMING FAG BAG LIVE, I LET LOOSE A SEMENAL FLOOD OF BIBLICAL PROPORTIONS UPON THE TOWERS OF TWO (AT WHOM’S SMALL SIZE I LAUGHED LIKE A CLOWN RAPING AN 8 YEAR OLD), WHICH CAUSED THEM TO COME CRASHING DOWN LIKE ME AFTER A WEEKEND METH BINGE. I MOCKED THE NEW YORKERS AND MADE NIGGER JOKES AS THEY RAN FROM MY EVER EXPANDING CLOUD OF SPERMAZOA, MASTURBATING TO THE LOOKS OF HORROR ON THEIR FACES. THE GOVERNMENT, IN AN ATTEMPT TO SAVE FACE AND BECAUSE THEY HATE ARABS MORE THAN JEWS, PAINTED A BOEING 767 ON MY GIGANTIC COCK AND CALLED IT A TERRORIST ATTACK. THE FEELING OF PAINTBRUSHES ON MY DICK MADE ME COME AGAIN, AND PRESIDENT BUSH SNORTED UP EVERY LAST DROP BECAUSE HE THOUGHT IT WAS COKE. SUDDENLY, HE CRIED OUT, “WHAT’S THAT AMAZING SMELL?” THEN A GROSSLY OBESE NEGRO POPPED OUT FROM BEHIND THE BURNING, TWISTED WRECKAGE OF THE WORLD TRADE CENTERS AND QUIPPED, “THAT’S THE POWER OF PINE-SOL!” DISPLEASED AT HER INTERRUPTION OF MY DEVASTATING SODOMY CONQUEST, YET SIMULTANEOUSLY ODDLY AROUSED BY A SUB-HUMANS DEFIANCE IN THE FACE OF MY TITANIC MEAT MONOLITH, I GRABBED THE NEGRESS BY HER ARMS AND INSERTED MY BATTLE CRUISER OF PASSION INTO THE ROILING WAVES OF FAT WHICH OBSCURED HER VAGINAL CLEFT. SHE SCREAMED INDECHIPHERABLY IN EBONICS, SO TO SHUT HER UP I POURED ALL THE CONTENTS OF THE PINE-SOL BOTTLE DOWN HER THROAT. UNFORTUNATELY, THE CHEMICALS IN THE LIQUID COMBINED WITH MY UNEARTHLY SUPER-SEMEN TO FORM A HIGHLY UNSTABLE AND EXPLOSIVE MIXTURE OF PURE POWER. JUST BEFORE THE FAT NEGRESS BLEW APART AS A RESULT OF THE INCREDIBLE CHEMICAL REACTION, MY MOTHER GOT SCARED AND SAID, “YOU’RE MOVING WITH YOUR AUNTIE AND UNCLE IN BEL-AIR.” I WHISTLED FOR A CAB AND WHEN IT CAME NEAR, THE LICENSE PLATE SAID ‘FRESH’ AND IT HAD DICE IN THE MIRROR. IF ANYTHING I COULD SAY THAT THIS CAB WAS RARE, BUT I THOUGHT, ‘NAH, FORGET IT, YOU HOLMES, TO BEL-AIR!” I PULLED UP TO THE HOUSE ABOUT SEVEN OR EIGHT AND I YELLED TO THE CABBY, YO HOLMES, SMELL YA LATER!” I LOOKED AT MY KINGDOM, I WAS FINALLY THERE, TO SIT ON MY THRONE AS THE PRINCE OF BEL-AIR. ONCE I ENTERED MY NEW, PALATIAL ABODE (ALMOST, BUT NOT QUITE, WORTHY OF MY INCALCULABLY HUGE MEAT MISSILE) I IMMEDIATELY SWEPT MY NEW FOSTER PARENTS ASIDE AND HEADED FOR THE ROOM OF THEIR YOUNG NIECE. YOU SEE, I JUST SPENT THE LAST TWENTY MINUTES RUBBING A TWELVE YEAR OLD GIRL’S BARE CHEST. “HOW?” YOU ASK. WELL APPARENTLY THERE ARE A SELECT FEW CONTEXTS WITHIN WHICH SUCH AN ACTION IS ACCEPTABLE. FOR INSTANCE, IF YOUR NIECE HAS A HACKING COUGH AND YOUR SISTER ASKS YOU TO “PUT SOME OF THIS ON HER” WHILE SHE CALLS THE DOCTOR.

“PUTTING SOME OF THIS ON HEAR” MEANT USING MY BARE HANDS TO RUB THIS VAPOR OINTMENT SHIT ALL OVER HER BARE NAKED CHEST. MY HEARTBEAT IS STILL ALL ERRATIC FROM IT. I HAD A BONER THE SIZE OF MANHATTAN THE ENTIRE TIME. SHE’S SLEEPING NOW AND I GUESS SHE FEELS BETTER BECAUSE SHE STOPPED COUGHING.

DETAILS: SHE’S ABOUT 5 FEET TALL, HAS LONG BROWN HAIR, A CUTE FACE, A THIN WAIST AND LONG SKINNY LEGS. SHE’S IN JAMMIES I THINK BECAUSE ALTHOUGH I’M PRETTY SHAKEN UP RIGHT NOW I KNOW I UNBUTTONED SOMETHING BEFORE I WENT AT IT.

GOD I FEEL SO GREAT. I JUST RUBBED MY HANDS LAL OVER HER FUCKING TITS, YOU GUYS. WELL THE PUFFY PARTS OF HER CHEST ANYWAY. HER NIPPLES GOT HARD. I JUST ABOUT WEPT TEARS OF JOY. OBVIOUSLY, THERE ARE VERY FEW THINGS IN THIS UNIVERSE WHICH CAN BRING ME TO SUCH A STATE, AND COMBINED WITH MY INCREDIBLE STATE OF AROUSAL, I WAS UNABLE TO HOLD BACK THE STORM BREWING IN MY COLOSSAL PUDDING BLASTER. MY STEAMING-HOT SILVER LAVA BLASTED OUT FURIOUSLY, INSTANTLY KILLING MY UNFORTUNATE YOUNG COUSIN AND REDUCING MY NEW HOME TO BLASTED BITS AND PIECES OF WOODEN DETRITUS. I GUARANTEE IT.

HI, I’M GEORGE ZIMMER, FOUNDER AND CEO OF THE MEN’S WEARHOUSE. 9/11 WAS A LIE. THERE WERE NO TOWEL HEADS. THERE WAS NO AIRPLANE. IN TRUTH I WAS VISITING THE BIG APPLE, SO AS TO COMPARE MY GARGANTUAN MEAT TRAIN TO IT AND LAUGH AT THE GASPING NEW YORKERS AS I POUNDED THEIR BELOVED NAMESAKE INTO BIG APPLE SAUCE. HAVING NOT GOTTEN RELEASE FROM MY CULINARY EXERCISE, I MEANDERED DOWN THE STREET WITH MY VITAL BLOOD ENGORGED SEWER PIPE OUT IN FRONT OF ME LIKE A BLIND MAN’S CANE, LOOKING FOR A HOLE IN THE BACKSIDE OF A WOMAN WHICH I WOULD STRETCH BEYOND HUMAN LIMITS. I SPOTTED AT THAT VERY MOMENT AN ATTRACTIVE FEMALE IN A MINISKIRT WAVING AT ME. I SLAPPED HER TO THE GROUND WITH MY ENORMOUS PHALLUS AND QUICKLY RAVISHED HER SKIRT LIKE A STARVED DOG ON A BABY MADE OF STEAK. THE SIGHT THAT AWAITED BOTH SHOCKED AND ENRAGED ME. AFTER SEEING THIS “WOMAN’S” RAISIN-SIZED WINKY WINKLER, I VOMITED DOWN HIS THROAT AND PENETRATED HIS ESOPHAGUS, RIPPED OUT HIS SPINE AND PEELED HIS CORPSE FROM MY MONEYMAKER. TO TEACH ALL OF NEW YORK A LESSON FOR LETTING THIS FLAMING FAG BAG LIVE, I LET LOOSE A SEMENAL FLOOD OF BIBLICAL PROPORTIONS UPON THE TOWERS OF TWO (AT WHOM’S SMALL SIZE I LAUGHED LIKE A CLOWN RAPING AN 8 YEAR OLD), WHICH CAUSED THEM TO COME CRASHING DOWN LIKE ME AFTER A WEEKEND METH BINGE. I MOCKED THE NEW YORKERS AND MADE NIGGER JOKES AS THEY RAN FROM MY EVER EXPANDING CLOUD OF SPERMAZOA, MASTURBATING TO THE LOOKS OF HORROR ON THEIR FACES. THE GOVERNMENT, IN AN ATTEMPT TO SAVE FACE AND BECAUSE THEY HATE ARABS MORE THAN JEWS, PAINTED A BOEING 767 ON MY GIGANTIC COCK AND CALLED IT A TERRORIST ATTACK. THE FEELING OF PAINTBRUSHES ON MY DICK MADE ME COME AGAIN, AND PRESIDENT BUSH SNORTED UP EVERY LAST DROP BECAUSE HE THOUGHT IT WAS COKE. SUDDENLY, HE CRIED OUT, “WHAT’S THAT AMAZING SMELL?” THEN A GROSSLY OBESE NEGRO POPPED OUT FROM BEHIND THE BURNING, TWISTED WRECKAGE OF THE WORLD TRADE CENTERS AND QUIPPED, “THAT’S THE POWER OF PINE-SOL!” DISPLEASED AT HER INTERRUPTION OF MY DEVASTATING SODOMY CONQUEST, YET SIMULTANEOUSLY ODDLY AROUSED BY A SUB-HUMANS DEFIANCE IN THE FACE OF MY TITANIC MEAT MONOLITH, I GRABBED THE NEGRESS BY HER ARMS AND INSERTED MY BATTLE CRUISER OF PASSION INTO THE ROILING WAVES OF FAT WHICH OBSCURED HER VAGINAL CLEFT. SHE SCREAMED INDECHIPHERABLY IN EBONICS, SO TO SHUT HER UP I POURED ALL THE CONTENTS OF THE PINE-SOL BOTTLE DOWN HER THROAT. UNFORTUNATELY, THE CHEMICALS IN THE LIQUID COMBINED WITH MY UNEARTHLY SUPER-SEMEN TO FORM A HIGHLY UNSTABLE AND EXPLOSIVE MIXTURE OF PURE POWER. JUST BEFORE THE FAT NEGRESS BLEW APART AS A RESULT OF THE INCREDIBLE CHEMICAL REACTION, MY MOTHER GOT SCARED AND SAID, “YOU’RE MOVING WITH YOUR AUNTIE AND UNCLE IN BEL-AIR.” I WHISTLED FOR A CAB AND WHEN IT CAME NEAR, THE LICENSE PLATE SAID ‘FRESH’ AND IT HAD DICE IN THE MIRROR. IF ANYTHING I COULD SAY THAT THIS CAB WAS RARE, BUT I THOUGHT, ‘NAH, FORGET IT, YOU HOLMES, TO BEL-AIR!” I PULLED UP TO THE HOUSE ABOUT SEVEN OR EIGHT AND I YELLED TO THE CABBY, YO HOLMES, SMELL YA LATER!” I LOOKED AT MY KINGDOM, I WAS FINALLY THERE, TO SIT ON MY THRONE AS THE PRINCE OF BEL-AIR. ONCE I ENTERED MY NEW, PALATIAL ABODE (ALMOST, BUT NOT QUITE, WORTHY OF MY INCALCULABLY HUGE MEAT MISSILE) I IMMEDIATELY SWEPT MY NEW FOSTER PARENTS ASIDE AND HEADED FOR THE ROOM OF THEIR YOUNG NIECE. YOU SEE, I JUST SPENT THE LAST TWENTY MINUTES RUBBING A TWELVE YEAR OLD GIRL’S BARE CHEST. “HOW?” YOU ASK. WELL APPARENTLY THERE ARE A SELECT FEW CONTEXTS WITHIN WHICH SUCH AN ACTION IS ACCEPTABLE. FOR INSTANCE, IF YOUR NIECE HAS A HACKING COUGH AND YOUR SISTER ASKS YOU TO “PUT SOME OF THIS ON HER” WHILE SHE CALLS THE DOCTOR.

“PUTTING SOME OF THIS ON HEAR” MEANT USING MY BARE HANDS TO RUB THIS VAPOR OINTMENT SHIT ALL OVER HER BARE NAKED CHEST. MY HEARTBEAT IS STILL ALL ERRATIC FROM IT. I HAD A BONER THE SIZE OF MANHATTAN THE ENTIRE TIME. SHE’S SLEEPING NOW AND I GUESS SHE FEELS BETTER BECAUSE SHE STOPPED COUGHING.

DETAILS: SHE’S ABOUT 5 FEET TALL, HAS LONG BROWN HAIR, A CUTE FACE, A THIN WAIST AND LONG SKINNY LEGS. SHE’S IN JAMMIES I THINK BECAUSE ALTHOUGH I’M PRETTY SHAKEN UP RIGHT NOW I KNOW I UNBUTTONED SOMETHING BEFORE I WENT AT IT.

GOD I FEEL SO GREAT. I JUST RUBBED MY HANDS LAL OVER HER FUCKING TITS, YOU GUYS. WELL THE PUFFY PARTS OF HER CHEST ANYWAY. HER NIPPLES GOT HARD. I JUST ABOUT WEPT TEARS OF JOY. OBVIOUSLY, THERE ARE VERY FEW THINGS IN THIS UNIVERSE WHICH CAN BRING ME TO SUCH A STATE, AND COMBINED WITH MY INCREDIBLE STATE OF AROUSAL, I WAS UNABLE TO HOLD BACK THE STORM BREWING IN MY COLOSSAL PUDDING BLASTER. MY STEAMING-HOT SILVER LAVA BLASTED OUT FURIOUSLY, INSTANTLY KILLING MY UNFORTUNATE YOUNG COUSIN AND REDUCING MY NEW HOME TO BLASTED BITS AND PIECES OF WOODEN DETRITUS. I GUARANTEE IT.

HI, I’M GEORGE ZIMMER, FOUNDER AND CEO OF THE MEN’S WEARHOUSE. 9/11 WAS A LIE. THERE WERE NO TOWEL HEADS. THERE WAS NO AIRPLANE. IN TRUTH I WAS VISITING THE BIG APPLE, SO AS TO COMPARE MY GARGANTUAN MEAT TRAIN TO IT AND LAUGH AT THE GASPING NEW YORKERS AS I POUNDED THEIR BELOVED NAMESAKE INTO BIG APPLE SAUCE. HAVING NOT GOTTEN RELEASE FROM MY CULINARY EXERCISE, I MEANDERED DOWN THE STREET WITH MY VITAL BLOOD ENGORGED SEWER PIPE OUT IN FRONT OF ME LIKE A BLIND MAN’S CANE, LOOKING FOR A HOLE IN THE BACKSIDE OF A WOMAN WHICH I WOULD STRETCH BEYOND HUMAN LIMITS. I SPOTTED AT THAT VERY MOMENT AN ATTRACTIVE FEMALE IN A MINISKIRT WAVING AT ME. I SLAPPED HER TO THE GROUND WITH MY ENORMOUS PHALLUS AND QUICKLY RAVISHED HER SKIRT LIKE A STARVED DOG ON A BABY MADE OF STEAK. THE SIGHT THAT AWAITED BOTH SHOCKED AND ENRAGED ME. AFTER SEEING THIS “WOMAN’S” RAISIN-SIZED WINKY WINKLER, I VOMITED DOWN HIS THROAT AND PENETRATED HIS ESOPHAGUS, RIPPED OUT HIS SPINE AND PEELED HIS CORPSE FROM MY MONEYMAKER. TO TEACH ALL OF NEW YORK A LESSON FOR LETTING THIS FLAMING FAG BAG LIVE, I LET LOOSE A SEMENAL FLOOD OF BIBLICAL PROPORTIONS UPON THE TOWERS OF TWO (AT WHOM’S SMALL SIZE I LAUGHED LIKE A CLOWN RAPING AN 8 YEAR OLD), WHICH CAUSED THEM TO COME CRASHING DOWN LIKE ME AFTER A WEEKEND METH BINGE. I MOCKED THE NEW YORKERS AND MADE NIGGER JOKES AS THEY RAN FROM MY EVER EXPANDING CLOUD OF SPERMAZOA, MASTURBATING TO THE LOOKS OF HORROR ON THEIR FACES. THE GOVERNMENT, IN AN ATTEMPT TO SAVE FACE AND BECAUSE THEY HATE ARABS MORE THAN JEWS, PAINTED A BOEING 767 ON MY GIGANTIC COCK AND CALLED IT A TERRORIST ATTACK. THE FEELING OF PAINTBRUSHES ON MY DICK MADE ME COME AGAIN, AND PRESIDENT BUSH SNORTED UP EVERY LAST DROP BECAUSE HE THOUGHT IT WAS COKE. SUDDENLY, HE CRIED OUT, “WHAT’S THAT AMAZING SMELL?” THEN A GROSSLY OBESE NEGRO POPPED OUT FROM BEHIND THE BURNING, TWISTED WRECKAGE OF THE WORLD TRADE CENTERS AND QUIPPED, “THAT’S THE POWER OF PINE-SOL!” DISPLEASED AT HER INTERRUPTION OF MY DEVASTATING SODOMY CONQUEST, YET SIMULTANEOUSLY ODDLY AROUSED BY A SUB-HUMANS DEFIANCE IN THE FACE OF MY TITANIC MEAT MONOLITH, I GRABBED THE NEGRESS BY HER ARMS AND INSERTED MY BATTLE CRUISER OF PASSION INTO THE ROILING WAVES OF FAT WHICH OBSCURED HER VAGINAL CLEFT. SHE SCREAMED INDECHIPHERABLY IN EBONICS, SO TO SHUT HER UP I POURED ALL THE CONTENTS OF THE PINE-SOL BOTTLE DOWN HER THROAT. UNFORTUNATELY, THE CHEMICALS IN THE LIQUID COMBINED WITH MY UNEARTHLY SUPER-SEMEN TO FORM A HIGHLY UNSTABLE AND EXPLOSIVE MIXTURE OF PURE POWER. JUST BEFORE THE FAT NEGRESS BLEW APART AS A RESULT OF THE INCREDIBLE CHEMICAL REACTION, MY MOTHER GOT SCARED AND SAID, “YOU’RE MOVING WITH YOUR AUNTIE AND UNCLE IN BEL-AIR.” I WHISTLED FOR A CAB AND WHEN IT CAME NEAR, THE LICENSE PLATE SAID ‘FRESH’ AND IT HAD DICE IN THE MIRROR. IF ANYTHING I COULD SAY THAT THIS CAB WAS RARE, BUT I THOUGHT, ‘NAH, FORGET IT, YOU HOLMES, TO BEL-AIR!” I PULLED UP TO THE HOUSE ABOUT SEVEN OR EIGHT AND I YELLED TO THE CABBY, YO HOLMES, SMELL YA LATER!” I LOOKED AT MY KINGDOM, I WAS FINALLY THERE, TO SIT ON MY THRONE AS THE PRINCE OF BEL-AIR. ONCE I ENTERED MY NEW, PALATIAL ABODE (ALMOST, BUT NOT QUITE, WORTHY OF MY INCALCULABLY HUGE MEAT MISSILE) I IMMEDIATELY SWEPT MY NEW FOSTER PARENTS ASIDE AND HEADED FOR THE ROOM OF THEIR YOUNG NIECE. YOU SEE, I JUST SPENT THE LAST TWENTY MINUTES RUBBING A TWELVE YEAR OLD GIRL’S BARE CHEST. “HOW?” YOU ASK. WELL APPARENTLY THERE ARE A SELECT FEW CONTEXTS WITHIN WHICH SUCH AN ACTION IS ACCEPTABLE. FOR INSTANCE, IF YOUR NIECE HAS A HACKING COUGH AND YOUR SISTER ASKS YOU TO “PUT SOME OF THIS ON HER” WHILE SHE CALLS THE DOCTOR.

“PUTTING SOME OF THIS ON HEAR” MEANT USING MY BARE HANDS TO RUB THIS VAPOR OINTMENT SHIT ALL OVER HER BARE NAKED CHEST. MY HEARTBEAT IS STILL ALL ERRATIC FROM IT. I HAD A BONER THE SIZE OF MANHATTAN THE ENTIRE TIME. SHE’S SLEEPING NOW AND I GUESS SHE FEELS BETTER BECAUSE SHE STOPPED COUGHING.

DETAILS: SHE’S ABOUT 5 FEET TALL, HAS LONG BROWN HAIR, A CUTE FACE, A THIN WAIST AND LONG SKINNY LEGS. SHE’S IN JAMMIES I THINK BECAUSE ALTHOUGH I’M PRETTY SHAKEN UP RIGHT NOW I KNOW I UNBUTTONED SOMETHING BEFORE I WENT AT IT.

GOD I FEEL SO GREAT. I JUST RUBBED MY HANDS LAL OVER HER FUCKING TITS, YOU GUYS. WELL THE PUFFY PARTS OF HER CHEST ANYWAY. HER NIPPLES GOT HARD. I JUST ABOUT WEPT TEARS OF JOY. OBVIOUSLY, THERE ARE VERY FEW THINGS IN THIS UNIVERSE WHICH CAN BRING ME TO SUCH A STATE, AND COMBINED WITH MY INCREDIBLE STATE OF AROUSAL, I WAS UNABLE TO HOLD BACK THE STORM BREWING IN MY COLOSSAL PUDDING BLASTER. MY STEAMING-HOT SILVER LAVA BLASTED OUT FURIOUSLY, INSTANTLY KILLING MY UNFORTUNATE YOUNG COUSIN AND REDUCING MY NEW HOME TO BLASTED BITS AND PIECES OF WOODEN DETRITUS. I GUARANTEE IT.

HI, I’M GEORGE ZIMMER, FOUNDER AND CEO OF THE MEN’S WEARHOUSE. 9/11 WAS A LIE. THERE WERE NO TOWEL HEADS. THERE WAS NO AIRPLANE. IN TRUTH I WAS VISITING THE BIG APPLE, SO AS TO COMPARE MY GARGANTUAN MEAT TRAIN TO IT AND LAUGH AT THE GASPING NEW YORKERS AS I POUNDED THEIR BELOVED NAMESAKE INTO BIG APPLE SAUCE. HAVING NOT GOTTEN RELEASE FROM MY CULINARY EXERCISE, I MEANDERED DOWN THE STREET WITH MY VITAL BLOOD ENGORGED SEWER PIPE OUT IN FRONT OF ME LIKE A BLIND MAN’S CANE, LOOKING FOR A HOLE IN THE BACKSIDE OF A WOMAN WHICH I WOULD STRETCH BEYOND HUMAN LIMITS. I SPOTTED AT THAT VERY MOMENT AN ATTRACTIVE FEMALE IN A MINISKIRT WAVING AT ME. I SLAPPED HER TO THE GROUND WITH MY ENORMOUS PHALLUS AND QUICKLY RAVISHED HER SKIRT LIKE A STARVED DOG ON A BABY MADE OF STEAK. THE SIGHT THAT AWAITED BOTH SHOCKED AND ENRAGED ME. AFTER SEEING THIS “WOMAN’S” RAISIN-SIZED WINKY WINKLER, I VOMITED DOWN HIS THROAT AND PENETRATED HIS ESOPHAGUS, RIPPED OUT HIS SPINE AND PEELED HIS CORPSE FROM MY MONEYMAKER. TO TEACH ALL OF NEW YORK A LESSON FOR LETTING THIS FLAMING FAG BAG LIVE, I LET LOOSE A SEMENAL FLOOD OF BIBLICAL PROPORTIONS UPON THE TOWERS OF TWO (AT WHOM’S SMALL SIZE I LAUGHED LIKE A CLOWN RAPING AN 8 YEAR OLD), WHICH CAUSED THEM TO COME CRASHING DOWN LIKE ME AFTER A WEEKEND METH BINGE. I MOCKED THE NEW YORKERS AND MADE NIGGER JOKES AS THEY RAN FROM MY EVER EXPANDING CLOUD OF SPERMAZOA, MASTURBATING TO THE LOOKS OF HORROR ON THEIR FACES. THE GOVERNMENT, IN AN ATTEMPT TO SAVE FACE AND BECAUSE THEY HATE ARABS MORE THAN JEWS, PAINTED A BOEING 767 ON MY GIGANTIC COCK AND CALLED IT A TERRORIST ATTACK. THE FEELING OF PAINTBRUSHES ON MY DICK MADE ME COME AGAIN, AND PRESIDENT BUSH SNORTED UP EVERY LAST DROP BECAUSE HE THOUGHT IT WAS COKE. SUDDENLY, HE CRIED OUT, “WHAT’S THAT AMAZING SMELL?” THEN A GROSSLY OBESE NEGRO POPPED OUT FROM BEHIND THE BURNING, TWISTED WRECKAGE OF THE WORLD TRADE CENTERS AND QUIPPED, “THAT’S THE POWER OF PINE-SOL!” DISPLEASED AT HER INTERRUPTION OF MY DEVASTATING SODOMY CONQUEST, YET SIMULTANEOUSLY ODDLY AROUSED BY A SUB-HUMANS DEFIANCE IN THE FACE OF MY TITANIC MEAT MONOLITH, I GRABBED THE NEGRESS BY HER ARMS AND INSERTED MY BATTLE CRUISER OF PASSION INTO THE ROILING WAVES OF FAT WHICH OBSCURED HER VAGINAL CLEFT. SHE SCREAMED INDECHIPHERABLY IN EBONICS, SO TO SHUT HER UP I POURED ALL THE CONTENTS OF THE PINE-SOL BOTTLE DOWN HER THROAT. UNFORTUNATELY, THE CHEMICALS IN THE LIQUID COMBINED WITH MY UNEARTHLY SUPER-SEMEN TO FORM A HIGHLY UNSTABLE AND EXPLOSIVE MIXTURE OF PURE POWER. JUST BEFORE THE FAT NEGRESS BLEW APART AS A RESULT OF THE INCREDIBLE CHEMICAL REACTION, MY MOTHER GOT SCARED AND SAID, “YOU’RE MOVING WITH YOUR AUNTIE AND UNCLE IN BEL-AIR.” I WHISTLED FOR A CAB AND WHEN IT CAME NEAR, THE LICENSE PLATE SAID ‘FRESH’ AND IT HAD DICE IN THE MIRROR. IF ANYTHING I COULD SAY THAT THIS CAB WAS RARE, BUT I THOUGHT, ‘NAH, FORGET IT, YOU HOLMES, TO BEL-AIR!” I PULLED UP TO THE HOUSE ABOUT SEVEN OR EIGHT AND I YELLED TO THE CABBY, YO HOLMES, SMELL YA LATER!” I LOOKED AT MY KINGDOM, I WAS FINALLY THERE, TO SIT ON MY THRONE AS THE PRINCE OF BEL-AIR. ONCE I ENTERED MY NEW, PALATIAL ABODE (ALMOST, BUT NOT QUITE, WORTHY OF MY INCALCULABLY HUGE MEAT MISSILE) I IMMEDIATELY SWEPT MY NEW FOSTER PARENTS ASIDE AND HEADED FOR THE ROOM OF THEIR YOUNG NIECE. YOU SEE, I JUST SPENT THE LAST TWENTY MINUTES RUBBING A TWELVE YEAR OLD GIRL’S BARE CHEST. “HOW?” YOU ASK. WELL APPARENTLY THERE ARE A SELECT FEW CONTEXTS WITHIN WHICH SUCH AN ACTION IS ACCEPTABLE. FOR INSTANCE, IF YOUR NIECE HAS A HACKING COUGH AND YOUR SISTER ASKS YOU TO “PUT SOME OF THIS ON HER” WHILE SHE CALLS THE DOCTOR.

“PUTTING SOME OF THIS ON HEAR” MEANT USING MY BARE HANDS TO RUB THIS VAPOR OINTMENT SHIT ALL OVER HER BARE NAKED CHEST. MY HEARTBEAT IS STILL ALL ERRATIC FROM IT. I HAD A BONER THE SIZE OF MANHATTAN THE ENTIRE TIME. SHE’S SLEEPING NOW AND I GUESS SHE FEELS BETTER BECAUSE SHE STOPPED COUGHING.

DETAILS: SHE’S ABOUT 5 FEET TALL, HAS LONG BROWN HAIR, A CUTE FACE, A THIN WAIST AND LONG SKINNY LEGS. SHE’S IN JAMMIES I THINK BECAUSE ALTHOUGH I’M PRETTY SHAKEN UP RIGHT NOW I KNOW I UNBUTTONED SOMETHING BEFORE I WENT AT IT.

GOD I FEEL SO GREAT. I JUST RUBBED MY HANDS LAL OVER HER FUCKING TITS, YOU GUYS. WELL THE PUFFY PARTS OF HER CHEST ANYWAY. HER NIPPLES GOT HARD. I JUST ABOUT WEPT TEARS OF JOY. OBVIOUSLY, THERE ARE VERY FEW THINGS IN THIS UNIVERSE WHICH CAN BRING ME TO SUCH A STATE, AND COMBINED WITH MY INCREDIBLE STATE OF AROUSAL, I WAS UNABLE TO HOLD BACK THE STORM BREWING IN MY COLOSSAL PUDDING BLASTER. MY STEAMING-HOT SILVER LAVA BLASTED OUT FURIOUSLY, INSTANTLY KILLING MY UNFORTUNATE YOUNG COUSIN AND REDUCING MY NEW HOME TO BLASTED BITS AND PIECES OF WOODEN DETRITUS. I GUARANTEE IT.