Cocktail Party Recap: Shooting ourselves in the foot
Under certain circumstances, profanity provides a relief denied even to prayer. –Mark Twain.
Extreme language ahead. You are warned.
Will Hill. Fuck. Damn. God fucking dammit. God motherfucking dammit. Holy motherfucking piss-shitting assfucking bullshit assshit. Just fucking godass pisswad fuckbagging Cleveland steamer cocksucking pussy-ass fucking motherfucking dickhead hellassed shitstorm goddamn brokedick shitwallah fuckheaded rectumweeping buttfucking cockmaster.
And pussyflap shitbubble queef-eating shiteared catfucker? Oh, fuck. Fuck him with a claw hammer. Fuck all of the fucking fucks. Cum dumpster fatassed molebrained assbitch shitface pissbrained assqueen. Forty fucking Christs sailing on a shitlog through shitstained shitwater. Wilford Brimley bukakke party.
Oh, this. Horrified jumping Jesus shooting propane tears through a dick-shaped flamethrower. Fuck fuck fuck, fuck fuckity fuck. Ram a tree sideways up my ass and call me a national park. Skullfucking poodleburning motherdamn fuckalongs. Shitsmelling catballs. Donkeysucking titslaps on turd-flavored flapjacks. Tittyfucking discount vacation whorecunted ballwashing sandwich-eating needledick sodomy turdcutter. Fuck.
- Rimjobbing snowballing cockbait? Shit.
- Fishfisting condor-rapist fucktrolley dildo-cowboy cocksmoking? Check.
- Shit, ass, fuck and more fucking bastardnuts shitfighting? Double check.