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Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle—the hedgehog design, that’s not what I call my penis—would have nuked my chances.
Ooh, ooh, tally-ho toodle pip, which college were you at where did you sit at the annual duck following ceremony go fuck yourselves you self-satisfied pair of testes.
I super wished my, um, personal pleasure device hadn’t bounced out of the sheets and landed right at Oliver’s feet like a dog wanting to go walkies. Except, y’know, up my bum.
What I say to all the girls is that’s my sculpture. Wanna fuck?
