Oh, yes, Zippy. I run about helter-skelter all the day long accusing people of having gender-reallocation surgery. You sure got my nuber.
She … found that she had no butter, only oleomargarine.
Well, off with you then, and I’m off too. Sing tura la, tura la, tura lura la.
I blew into her ear, and trailed a finger idly down her shoulder until I reached her left jug, the better of a nearly perfect pair.
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