"Fuck those assholes back at home, they're just a bunch of backwards, oppression-enabling, Patriarchy-perpetuating degenerate hicks anyway.", she yelled while pleasuring herself with a monkey's paw she got from a wizened gypsy hag at a seedy Riverside flea market.
Suddenly she ended up having a stroke. The trauma rendered the left side of her body completely useless. As drool ran down her chin she continued to masturbate without missing a beat.
As he slowly remembered himself being the biggest ass kisser of Chris-Chan since Anna McLerran, his earlier dream of being pinched between the two spooning loons seemed less like a nightmare and more like an elusive state of Nirvana he can never hope to reach.
In her stupor, she had an epiphany: ''People can shit themselves and actually inform the world about it on the internet.'' With this dark knowledge she came to, renewed and full of purpose.
The booty snipers name was phil. He smelled of cheese, and old bondage leather. His flabby arms covered in autistic scribbles. He begins to bounce and squeak torward her.
Kengle pryed her buttcheeks apart and openly accepted her lovers left leg as a sacrifice. Using her razor sharp fangs she removed his leg at the kneecap and basked in the overwhelming sense of accomplishment.
Unfortunately Kengle had no idea that the leg she was anally devouring also had a little pouch attached to it that was full of freshly peeled gingers. Within a few seconds, this act of involuntary self-figging has unleashed ravenous flames of anal agony within his generous rump that franctically began racing up her guts like a herd of tiny electric hedgehogs on meth.
"The power of meth compels you." She muttered in a deep low growling voice. Hunched over squealing in pain she clenched her cheeks shut hoping and praying to whatever deity might hear her pleas for the unholy rectal pains to end.