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I hated meatloaf. It was like something that Satan pooped out after an eternity of constipation. So I told Mom because I was honest that way. I sat back, squared my shoulders, and met her eyes, all confident-like. "Mom, meatloaf's like something that Satan pooped out after an eternity of constipation. It should be outlawed, frankly, and serving it for dinner is like child abuse and should carry with it some pretty stiff penalties. ↗
Doode," George said. He'd practiced all morning but still didn't get it quite right. "Nope, more u, less oo. Duuude." "Dude." "Dude." "Okay, dude." George nodded. "How's it hanging?" Jack asked. "How am I supposed to answer that?" George looked at him. "I don't think Kaldar said anything about that. I guess 'good'? I don't get it. What's hanging anyway?" George shook his head. "Your stuff, you nimwit." His stuff...Oh. Ha! "In that case, it's hanging long!" Jack dissolved in giggles. "Long, get it? ↗
A brick could be placed in the center of a silver platter, surrounded by leafy green garnishes to compliment the red of the brick, and frozen for the next time you have the in-laws over for dinner. I’d recommend eating before they arrive, because I’m not sure you’ll want to have any of the “meatloaf” you’ll be serving them. ↗
Totally drained he could only manage one but he made it a good one tongue included. “Delicious ” he murmured. “So depraved ” Colton muttered. “Thank you.” “Get off me.” “Mine ” “Stings.” “Boohoo. ↗
Perfect,” he groaned. “You are perfect.” He sank his teeth into her ass, hard, drawing blood. “And now you wear my mark,” he finished proudly. “Your ass is mine. ↗
As for your punishment, Midwife, you’ll receive the standard penalty for treason. We’re disbarring you from Our psyche. Put him on the next neurotransmitter bound for the temporal lobe. He can spend the rest of his days quivering in fear and wavering between short and long-term memory. ↗
