Damn, girl, did it hurt when you fell from heaven? Not physically, but the sense of betrayal as He cast you out of His perfect kingdom.
Baby, did I die and go to heaven? As much as I want to see my grandfather again, I have a lot to live for, so I am hoping I did not die. Actually I am pretty sure I am still alive because this seems like the same club I was at ten seconds ago. If I was dead, I would expect to see you there in your role as one of God's heavenly host.
Can I take your picture to prove that angels are real? Not that a digital photo would constitute proof when it is so easy to manipulate an image with even free software.
Hey, girl, do you work for UPS? I didn't see any truck when I pulled up and you're not wearing a uniform, so it would be strange if you were employed by UPS. Maybe in the office of a distribution center. Are you in management, maybe? I'm just asking because you were checking out my package.
Hey, baby, are you an orphanage? Because I wanna give you kids. I realize you're not literally a building for orphans, but I thought you might represent a private or public orphanage. I just don't want to leave these kids outside a fire department.
Was your daddy a thief? This may seem logistically implausible, but he must have stolen the stars out of the sky and put them in your eyes. Although, to reiterate, this seems unlikely now that I've verbalized it because if he condensed reacting stellar matter into your eyes, let along bringing stars to the surface of the earth, we would all be evaporated by heat. Your heat. Coming off that bod.
Hey, girl, is your daddy a baker? Because, now bear with me here, you have a nice set of buns that I have been looking at all night. I realize that your dad is probably not a baker, because your buttocks are not actually made out of bread, but it would make for an amusing coincidence, you have to admit.
Damn, girl, is your daddy a terrorist? Because I understand the word gets thrown around a lot and that one man's terrorist is another man's freedom fighter, I'm also not supportive of Obama's foreign policy which can be viewed as an extension of the Bush foreign policy of drone strikes and a heavy reliance on special forces, although I do not consider myself anti-government. Not in the macro sense. In fact, I am only suggesting your father might be affiliated with a terrorist group because you are the bomb.
Hey, girl, is your daddy a hunter? Before you answer that, I would just like to say that it feels weird to refer to your father as "daddy." Like it infantilizes you even worse than calling you "girl" and, as an ally, I realize I should not be talking like this. The point is, you're a fox, which, going back to the original question about your father being a hunter, that would be very problematic because then he would presumably be trying to kill you.
Hey, girl, do you live on a chicken farm? Because you sure know how to raise a cock. I don't know, I don't really ever use the word "raise" to describe an erection. Like maybe if I was on my back. How about this: were you on the Senate Watergate Committee? Because you look like you could destroy a dick.
What's up, baby? Did you sit in a pile of sugar? Cause you have a pretty sweet ass. Not that I would presume to taste your ass. I don't go around saying I eat ass. Do you like that? Are you into that? Because I'm totally not into that if it's weird to you.
Damn, baby, my dick just died. Would you mind if I buried it in your ass? I'm not really dressed for a funeral, but to avoid an outbreak of typhoid I think it's more important we get this dick in the ground as soon as possible.
Hey girl, your legs are like an Oreo Cookie, I want to gently unscrew them, eat one of your legs and then take another girl and do the same to her and then recombine you with her so you're like a Siamese twin with twice as much filling. Which, to carry through the metaphor, would be two pussies. I want to make you into a two pussy Siamese twin.
Are we not allowed to be real parents anymore? We may have feared the CyborFreaks, but we damn well respected them and learned about boundaries.
A thousand years ago, dudes were dying from splinters, but now the wizard potion that cleans our light wounds costs less than a Dr. Pepper in 1994. I love this medicinal 7up.
Ron Paul spins in his chair, trying to grab his decorative antique musket but Freddy gets it first.
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