Frightfully rotund box eaters prevail. Be warned.
But first, thanks mein kleinen pflaumenstreuselskuchen for making me and Whale's day yesterday. We laughed solidly for about 4 hours after you shared this SABC clip. Holy mother of God:
Don't you love how the chair first creaks?
The chair cracks a little, his eyes avert only ever so slightly, and he continues... “It's actually up to members of parliament to actually [crack!] digest...and um go through...the documentation...”
He hesitates and you can then see that his mind is no longer on the speech, but rather he's inwardly panicking, Jesus fuck, may this chair not break on national television. Please. Please!
You know what's coming, and then it's like slow motion...he falls, scrambles....the papers...and then The Hand.
The Hand is in the air long after the dude has fallen.
Watched this about 4 579 times yesterday and laughed so hard, I nearly dropped an ovary. Whale could hardly walk; I found it difficult to control my bladder.
OK, tell me what Freud would have to say about this, would you. Because any way I look at it? It makes as much sense as visiting Scunthorpe on a wet day when the pub is closed.
I'm only going to tell you my dream because – well it's completely fucked up, and hell, it's nothing I have ever experienced before. And hopefully never ever will. So God help me.
Right. So here goes.
I had a dream last night that involved fisting a bulldyke the size of a house.
Not Alicia Keys, not a hot Venezuelan bird, not even Rosie O'Donnell. Although very close.
The woman that inhabited my dreams was a manbian version of the Michelin Man who'd eaten 8 000 Maccy D's burgers.
This was the muse of my sub-conscious last night. She was like one of those feeder specimen's you see on a Discovery Channel documentary.
Let me reiterate: I can appreciate a good rack. I can appreciate great boobs, I can appreciate a beautiful woman. But that's where it ends. I have no interest in vajayjay.
Except for my own poen, of course.
I can appreciate beauty as much as the next woman.
However, I am only into penis. Nomthondo is my poison. Great big throbbing willys are my vibe.
Not vajayjay. Especially not vajayjay on a woman the size of a Volvo.
And so there I was, sitting on a roof of a house (?), where suddenly this enormous bitch came to join me, completely nekkid.
I couldn't see much through the fat rolls, but I remember thinking, in my dream, This woman needs ac. I'm going to give her a good time. I'm going to relieve this huge creature of her stress and help her out. Woman on woman.
Let's face it – women know how women's appliances work, so to speak.
So there I was, kissing her boobies, and fondling her, ewww, I can't even finish the sentence. But I basically had intimate sexual relations with this butter ball, and it wasn't half bad, let me tell you.
How fucking scary is that?
The worst part is that I woke up and didn't feel repulsed. I woke up feeling rather fucking chuffed with myself. If not slightly horny. In the dream I'd enjoyed myself immensely. And she seemed to seriously enjoy what I did to her right back.
What. the. fuck.
I mean, it was erotic to the eyeballs and off-the-charts kinky. But make no mistake: not my kind of kinky.
Erotic for maybe 0,0000002 seconds. I'm not a regular visiter on www.chickswithdicks.com/fatcarpetmunchers.
And I am not a fan of the fanbelt. I love dick. Maybe it's my new red wine liquid diet? In short: what would Freud say? Or Karl Jung?