The employees bristled at the prospect of working through the holidays.

Malone at once rang up Lord Roxton, and soon heard the familiar voice.

A little beer mixed with soggy tobacco or pot oozes out of one can near Ken's bare, hairy feet. He just sits there, hunched over, while air explodes in-out his mouth, and beer spreads in an octopusish pattern.

[W]henever a particularly delectable wrestler got tossed across the ring, landing with a meaty thump, his dick would swell and tingle and he'd nearly shoot his wad.