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.

In summary:

  • Rimjobbing snowballing cockbait? Shit.
  • Fishfisting condor-rapist fucktrolley dildo-cowboy cocksmoking? Check.
  • Shit, ass, fuck and more fucking bastardnuts shitfighting? Double check.

ps. Fuck.

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