I can’t quite believe I’ve reached a point in my life where I’m excited when a male I’ve known less than a month defecates in my lap while mauling my left nipple.
THIS is why I never did drugs, people. Life is weird enough.
I woke up this morning….rephrase….one of the times I woke up this morning, I was completely distracted by my rock hard boobs and crooked nipples. Suddenly my bedroom transformed into a frame from a comic book where the giant “BLAM!” that usually obscures a hero punching someone in their chiseled jaw was replaced with the word “ENGORGED.”
Interwebz, I think that might be the single grossest word ever. Say it a few times. It even makes your mouth feel full, am I right?
Try it again.
You gagged a little, didn’t you?
It’s not any better when used in reference to schlongs, either. The quickest way to make me put down a bodice ripper is to insert the words “engorged manhood” anywhere in the text. Not that I read grocery porn. Ever. I’m all about the fine literature.
Where were we? Ah yes, engorged. Not a great place to be.
And due to my sleep deprived state I keep typing engeorged. Which might be even weirder. Because now I can’t look at my boobs without seeing two, round, bald, George Costanza heads. Which may well have made the word even grosser. And also let’s make grosser a word STAT.
Disclaimer: That’s not me. That’s Katy Perry. I’m sure for an instant you thought for certain those were my abs, but no. I can easily see how you were mistaken.
Now I’m distracted by thoughts of other Georges. Could they all be swollen boobs? If only I had more free time. And free boobs.
If Ms. Perry-Brand actually had engeorged tits, they’d probably be this George.