View attachment 1861620
Chills.
Veritable
chills at that bloated, engorged, sack of lard flesh. The way gravity grapples with the sagging cellulite, the uncanny valley of fat that appears as her arm folds at the elbow, the absolute fucking
state of her nonexistent wrist.
I'm surprised she didn't consider dousing her own sorry excuse for fingers with ketchup and honey mustard, considering they look like prime contenders for some deep fried love.
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I....
I have no words.
Chantal's Neck, we at the Farms salute you.
Rest well, brave soul and may the afterlife be the place you finally get to experience light without the impending obscurity of melting bulbous rolls of fat and un-moist, slimy, bacteria crawling, yeast-infected air for the first time in years.
Indeed, rest well - as much as you can, for if this shitshow of a video tells us anything, it's that Chantal may very well be on Death's Highway, speeding towards an explosive, diabetic, organ failing exit to join you.
Sayonara, Chinny.