Crabbage Snatch Open - The Bloody Voyage of the PMS Cunt

The Broody Voyage of the PMS Cunt

don't be foor don't be foor


Meanwhile aboard the PMS Cunt, her read sails flappin'on the whorizon:

Yoo hoo...Captain Krusty...we've spotted the SSNatch on the horizon. Its trail was easy to follow...just like snail tracks, hee, hee! Shall I bring you up your latte?

Oh, no Cockswoon Julie...I think I'll have a camomile tea. It would help me grow as a person if you could share your feelings about this voyage... I'm listening. Oh, flash!... I am the spawn of Satan. Bow before me or you will....Oh, dear me...I'm sorry.

Oh, men just don't understand that.

Cunt ya to that!

Open season on your spouses, Snatchers! Evan gave me permission to nail his wife.


CHAPTER ONE: The "Cunt's" First Bloody Rampage (cont'd)

Cockswoon Julie: Eye! Cunt Ya!

Captain Krusty: Right we are Cockswoon Julie. They don't understand. And I can feel a red tide on the whorizon and the men on the Snatch are over there laughing, having fun, unconcerned that there has been a gradual decrease in the utensils in the galley, and not caring at all that just yesterday the rudder inadvertently struck a baby sea turtle in front of its mother. And they're all over there now, not wanting to cuddle with our bare teeth and flexed claws and leaving us to our sore tits. I feel the need to interfere, on behalf of the Goddess and her herbs.

Quartermistress Kathy: Gee, Captain Krusty, you're so thoughtful, so sensitive. I just love to be assigned these voyages under your command. Sunsets, quiet walks on the beach, humorous, playful, a little devilish, some . . . .

Captain Krusty: Stop it! I'm starting to make a snail track of my own.

Q-mistress Kathy: I'm sorry, Ma'am, sometimes I feel so close to you, so just like a sweet sister I want to lick you like a Sugar Daddy.

Captain Krusty: I told you when you signed onto this voyage there were no men allowed, so I don't want to hear any more talk about any Sugar Daddies. Now put some cream in my tea.

Q-mistress Kathy: Uh, uhmmm, uhhhh, we're not close enough to the Snatch to get any, Ma'am.

Lt. Judy B: Permission to speak, Captain. There is a sailor aboard the Snatch, Ma'am, whom I know personally. We went through Seal training together. I assure you he is capable of delivering a dollap of cream to you from that distance. He is a specialist, a "Cummer" I think they call them, who's been practicing all his life. He's particularly fond of and capable at pouring cream in the tea and coffee of teenage recruits, though he hasn't the slightest reservation of bringing some to a veteran like yourself. He's called Lt. Bambi, I think because when he pulls out his creamer it stops the viewer like a deer in headlights. I should know because he's choked me a few times. Shall I have Ensign Bojkette signal him, Ma'am?

Captain Krusty: Shut up!. All stop! I've heard of the ol' Cummer Lt. Bambi. But I think you need a history lesson, Lt. Judy. Maybe he has choked you a few times, but he doesn't have enough cream in that little squirter of his for more than one little cup of Joe, (unless it's for someone named Joe, in which case he seems to brim with reserve). I can see that you've fallen for the same yarns he's been telling all his scrawny little life. Besides, I think Ensign Bojkette is still in sick bay mourning the death of Princess Di.

Ensign Bojkette: Ohwa no Oi'm not. Oi'm roight eeya, keepin' me eah on the woiyaless to get the scoh o' the Manchestuh Unoited/Oijax gaoime. It's niwl niwl.

Captain Krusty: What the fuck did you just say, Ensign?

Ensign Bojkette: Oi sayed: "Ohwa no Oi'm not. Oi'm roight eeya, keepin' me eah on the woiyaless to get the scoh o' the Manchestuh Unointe/Oijax gaoime. It's niwl niwl."

Captain Krusty, Cockswoon Julie, Q-mistress Kathy, Lt. Judy B.: WHAT!!??!!

Ensign Bojkette: I said "Oh, no I'm not, I'm right here, listening to the radio to get the the Manchester United/ Ajax game. There's no score."


Oh, Captain Krusty. We have successfully infiltrated the SSSnatch mainframe and have stifled all communications from those miserable Snatchers. Now we can get them to act their age...and for some, that's pretty damn old. Take that Midshitman Hackett....50 years he be. He might as well streak his bedpan. Send over to the Captain a keg or two of tapioca and add a few scoops of Fiberall. Ol' Mudshark will be only be but a poor dimestore guppy when we reign him in. We'll have to pry apart Lt. Bambi and Cummery Sergeant Gardiser and make them the PMS Cunt's tampon washing crew. Cabinboy Kerig...I'm intrigued...I hear he's a totar dodirr. Of course we won't be able push around Cumondoor Brandt. He's still a virile vibrant hunk and we'll have our hands and many other things full with him.


Me one eye's out, sir, and, I, uhh, cun't make it out, sir.. seems to stench o' the farm a bit sir. Aye, that's it! The bloody ol' pig bladder broke again whilst I was sleepin' an the whole bloody bag o' puss spewed all over me in my nighty's sir. They's been soiled at the very least. Them pink'o boils that the buggery 'has been belchin' up fur months now, sir. We's been too long with out, an ol' Blandt looks mighty good t' the galley's planks; knots an all. Oh, he be a fine sort that way. But hoist ye up a longshaft an' see what cums of it, sir! There's still a tale er two ta be told in these marvels, ye know. Take that bitch Slackmouth, fur instance. He's been lookin' fur all the right holes in all the wrong men's, sir. Aye,, he's a handful anyway - if he throws in his socks. An then, Tomy's just about all spent up on account o' the raggety clamour o' the Queens woolin's an such. He needs more time to work 'imself up a bit sir. 'Tis an aweful sight to see a man fester so. We needs a good fight, sir, these mens is all worked up an no place to release themselves, sir. An the cabin boys just about done with sir; can't make a fist ur even a good O fur good measure. I be a bit pig slappin happy meself - but them barnicles is a bit rough an all. We need s neew meat soon ur we'll turn on the very sort we are - an a mudshark be waitin to make entrance, too...(what,, no lemon cookie?)



Dear wives,

You have been selected to receive a new Chevy Suburban with extra cupholders. Go get your husbands now and bring them here to read the rest of the message to see how you will receive this wonderfull prize. Read no further until they are here as that will invalidate your winning entry.

Snatchers! Your wives are deleting your mail!!! We haven't heard from you. Don't let them touch the computer. They want to censor our cum-uniques!!! Stop them!!!! Mudshark...Bojk...Al...Bambi...Sibl

What...Oh, nothing Julie...I'm just sending a letter to my dear old Grandma. No, this is private.. No, I'm not sending any Snatchmail...honest. All right, you can read it just let me press the save button. Oh darn! I'm sorry...I pressed the send button instead. There it goes.


Arrgh, per'aps if ye 'ad more than a pence worth o' salt pork on yer 'arddrive, methinks the wench'd not only touch yer computer, but she'll put a spit shine on yer masthead, in the bargain, if'n ye catch me meaning.....

But what took ye faggotty gummers so long t' cut ol' Slaptain Mudshark free o' the mizzenmast? Arrgh, but it'll smart fierce when the blood begin t' flow back into me f'w'rd springline.

Where's that misbegotten cabin boy??? Mr. Rag, go to the f'ck'stle and pull those slatherin' bitches off of young Thibley. Fetch the lad to me quarters. I be need'n t' weigh me anchor in a warm water port 'til tides turn fum neap t' flood.

Arrgh, but doesn't a waft o' sea air up th' pantaloons serve t' quicken a man's loins.......

Carry on.



Aye,,,Slapitan an Thibley 'as got's to talkin 'bout their ragin' hormonals of the opp'sit sexes takin' their turn on th' wheel. Avast ye, wenches ..this be the warnin'! Let no man catch a wave 'til e's been flogged outright by his womens. Them's da rules o' the open seas... Our hearty soles needs these outriggin's so's we don't spoil our harvest too early, ya know. We has ta keeps our f'cktls outright an' well lubricated with all this here blarney,,,lest we cum too early an spoils all yur fun. So, all the little ladies might want a turn at tho' wheel, but be warned, it's a big,,bad,, knarly sort o' seaman we have's here. An they wants all the sperm oil they can gets, so's they can see better at night an all. A long fortnight indeed... Pull 'em in men, an let 'em have the rudder ta play with... We'll drag the bottom later...It's time ta get this ship upright!!



If any of them is out there an watching -- remember, there is an initiation that must be adhered to at all costs. You're forbidden to look at Emails without the proper introduction of hardcore and other visual effects home movies from annonomus sources. These indoctrinations are necessary to set the level of expectations comensurate with your level of understanding of these forbidden and somewhat ancient rituals. All we ask is your complete and abiding understanding (fat chance) so that we might maintain our current level of satifaction on a routine basis - unobstructed and free falling so that we can again regain those younger years of infactuation with the opposite sex (that's you, assholes!). Now get the hell out of our fun!! ....Uh, oh ...What's that dear?, I haven't been stroking myself before bed... honestly....this email stuff isn't what you think....we're just having some fun with all those memories of Snatches past.... No, not you!! Damnit ,, you always take it wrong.. ouch , don't hit me there, that hurts,,,,you can't call my mother that... an, another thing..ohhOOHhhch....Yo oh, yo oh, a pirates life fur me!!...class.. class.......CLASS!............CLAASSS!!! must write a hundred times - I am not pussy whipped.... I am not pussy whipped.....


Dear Dave,

That was an interesting question about winter feeding of your lawn. You are right - an application of lawn food rich in nitrogen will definitely stimulate the roots page down of the Crabgrass more than your preferred ryegrass or Kentucky bluegrass. This may set up a weakness during the pesky frosts page down in your decorative grasses. That can give the Crabgrass page down too firm a foothold for you to eradicate it, come Spring.

I suggest that you page down use a good quality fertilizer rich in potash and iron now - as soon as you expect a few days without frost. Then, follow it up page down in six weeks with a selective weed-killer, like Scott's Weed-n-Feed.

And, don't forget to change your automatic sprinkler page down settings when the weather turns warm.

I'm sure you can lick your Crabgrass problems, without too many days on your knees.


Paul Sarkisian
The Lawn Guy

We join Royal Navy Captain, M. Parshall duBoys, on his launch, the Fellatio, as he and his away team approach the silent hull of the fabled Privateer, S.S.Natch, as it lays heave to in the water. It appears to be a deserted ship.

PdB: Stroke, stroke, boys, stroke, stroke, stroke. Aye, but isn't it a fine breeze abeam today? Allows us to sail over to the S.S.Natch, instead of rowing all that way. Gives us a chance to bond, eh Boys?

Indian Boy, Philippe Toto Dodir: Oui, mon Capitan. Butt, maybe we do ze bonding bit too much, no? I tink I begin ze spasms. Oh....oh.....oh....

PdB: Hey, ya miserable bugger, let go of that thing. Lemme outa there, ye little whore! How did I get in there in the first place, anyway? Oh...oh....oh.....oh.....sput....oh...sput.....sput....sput....oh....sput...oh

IBPTD: No, please, mon Capitan, ze butthoahll, she rips, oooooowwwwwwwww.

PdB: Oh.....Ow....Oh.....spoot....sput.....oh.....AH!!! Well, I'm done. And look, we're here. Wipe yourself off and ready the lines, ya filthy bugger!

IBPTD: Ho, muz it be zo cut and dried? Maybe you can jez touch mon thingay?

PdB: No, Boy. No time. 'Ave the men climb aboard the S.S.Natch, we've to see why it's deserted. Perhaps Mr. Hackett will see to ya on the way back to the ship.

Fireman Bobbio: Sar! 'Tis desarted, sar. Powerful quair, it is, tho', sar. Quite a struggle aboard 'twas. An' the ones what attacked the ship tied a festering side o' dead meat to the mizzenmast afore they set 'er adrift. Gone rancid, it 'as. No 'xplainin' it, sar.

PdB: No, 'tis worse than that, Bobbio. That bloodied piece of gore be none other than Slaptain Mudshark!!!! This be the wark o' Captain Krusty - she an' 'er horde o' harpies defiled the S.S.Natch, and mutilated Mudshark. 'Is face be smeared w/ fish guts, and there be a mass o' blood down the front o' 'is trousers. Snoid, cum away from th' whale oil, an' try to work the trousers off of Mudshark's corpse here.


ALL: Oh, my God.....Mon Dieu......Ugh.......HHHHHHORRRRKKKKKK.....Blehhh..Blehhhh...Kaff...Kaff...Bl ehhhh.......Baaarrrfffff......

Cummunder Gardiser: They cut off 'is' 'is balls be gone, too.....BAAARFFF!!!!! They got 'is whole package, Sar!

MUDSHARK: rrrrrr......rrrrrrr.....rrrrr

PdB: What's that noise? Philippe? 'Ave you been eatin' rock snails again?

IBPTD: Mon Capiton, no! Ze body, he lives, no? Ze eye, zee eet, eet opens!!!!

MS: Arrggh.....fucking great.....first Krusty the bitch o' th' seas, and now the fucking Royal fucking Navy. Why'dn't ye bring the French Fucking Navy, too, while ye be at it?

IBPTD: Monsieur Capitan Mudshark! I speak ze French! Zis is goot, no? We zave you life, no?

MS: Arggh, shut yer fuckin' French piehole, bitch, afore I's rams me quiverin' cod down yer throat an' break it off in there.

FB: Cap'n Mudshark, Sar. Ye've haven' no dick no more. 'An yer balls be cut off! Ye've been wounded terrible grave, Sar!

MS; What? This? Arggh, 'tis but a scratch, I tell ye. Some sea water an' a stiff brush's all I need fer this. An' anoother thang, faggott, this slimy offal on me face only SMELLS and LOOKS like bloody fish guts. Them whores be usin' me mug fer the hobby horse o' the high seas, they did! Although, I acted like I didn't like it, th' whole time, I did!

FB: But yer balls!!! They cut off yer balls!!!

MS: They waren't cut off, boy....they was CHEWED off. Tied me here t' the mizzen, and Krusty let 'er Doberman bitch, Grrrson, 'ave at me. I'll not be gettin' that pair back, I reckon. Well, ol' Mudshark's always 'ad too many balls fer 'is own good, they've always said. 'Twas true, I tell ye. I was born w' five o' the little skulls. Got one shot off in Trafalgar. Krusty's prize bitch swallered the next two fer brunch yesterday. Now, I keeps me last two wedged up me inguinal canals. 'Tis time to pop 'em free fer some air, don' ye think?

PdB: Pop 'em free, Slaptain?

MS: Aye, duBoys, help me over to lean on the larboard rail thar. Then, 'ave that oversize dullard of yers fetch one o' the crossbeams from me midships capstan thar.

PdB: Mr. Timpson, you 'eard Mudshark, 'op to it!

T: Wha th fu I spoz' duh, hegh?

MS: Arrggh, ye 'aven't much oil in yer lamp, 'ave ye, boy? Jez' swing that beam, an' bring it t' bear right 'ere in me lower back, beneath me kidneys. 'Ard as ye can, boy.

T: Duh. Awwight.


MS: Arrght, ye pussy, ye'll 'ave to put some back inta' it. Me balls been wedged home fer quite some years!!!! Iffn ye hit me soft like that again, I'll stick that beam up yer arse, rig sails to it, and float ye 'ome. Now, HIT ME, BITCH!!!

T: Duh....Otay


MS: AARRGGHMEGAWDTHATSMARTS!!! Holy mother of shit, Timpson, I think ya popped 'em. Methinks I love ye, boy!

PdB: .Aye, look there, Mudshark, ye've as fine a set o' balls as any a man could fancy. But, yer pud. What'll ye do fer a pud?

MS: Arggh, I'll be doin' what I've always done. Mr. 'Ackett, in the tacklebox thar, ye'll find a lure, size 'o yer forearm. Shaped like a grunnion, but w' pipe threads fer its tail. I'd be usin' it fer me pud since I carved it from the nose cartilage of a sperm whale. Fetch it 'ere, 'Ackett, an' screw it home, afore the hole I keeps it in heals shut.

M'A: Sar, I've found it, but it be smeared w/ the blood 'n scales o' a bunch o' fish!

MS: Aye, boy, I keeps it that way, so's it's more pleasurable fer me partners. Aye, an' see 'ow the fins be shaped like bulgin' veins? Ye'll not be callin' the Mudshark an inconsiderate lover, now, will ye, boy?


MS: That'll be fine, boy. Now, DuBoys, ye limpdick mass o' Royal Navy pus....send yer men belowdecks, and 'ave 'em crack open the butt casks o' saltpork they finds there. Me crew be holed up in 'em 'til Krusty tired o' watching Grrrson mutilating me. Be quick about it, tho, I'm thinkin' the men be astartin to grow a might comfortable w/ the closeness down thar. We'll be needin' some help apryin' 'em apart, methinks. Arrgh, me crew be jiz like me new balls, a good stretch 'n some night air'll set us up, right as rain! 'Tis time we be huntin' some softer prey in some warmer seas, methinks.......


Dear Paul, Thank you for the timely lawn advice. I find that this is the time of year, as well, to deal with the troublesome scroll down chore of pruning all decidous trees. Observing the structure of the tree's canopy scroll down is always necessary -as hasty and ill conceived cuts scroll down may ruin the symmetry of your tree. All pruning cuts should be at a 45 degree angle scroll down to allow for drainoff and therefore lessening scrol down fungal invasions. I certainly hope your lopped off branch will be safe from any fungal infections. If not scroll down you may wish to rub it with alcohol. Any old wood will scroll down be shriveled and rotted. Keep your wood trimmed and vibrant and come spring it will gush forth with a display to be proud of.

May you have good wood,


Meanwhile back on the PMSCunt

Captain Krusty: Oh crew...oh crewwwww....Let's all hold hands and celebrate our taking of the SSNatch.

Cockswoon Julie: That's not my hand, ma'am.

CK: I'm glad you brought that up...I'm lookin' fer a bit of warmth and just hope you'll respond in kind.

CJ: Lip off, bitch. I wouldn't touch those iguana tits if'n ya paid me. Besides, you seem to have a bigger worry ahead. I used my spyglass and looked back at the SSnatch and noticed Captain Mudshark being tended to by Cabin Boy Thibley. They were surely in good spirits although the good cabinboy's face was partially obstructed- and I do mean but partially.

CK: Gode dummit! We'll have to sneak away under full sail.

CJ: Sneak away? How the hell is that possible? Them damn sails will be red and flappin' fer another few days. I say we tack this crack back and attack. Even if you do lack rack.

CK: Estrogenate'em? Pink aye that!


CRABBAGE NEWS FLASH!!!!!.....This just in.....UMph!!, , splatty splat.....umph,,,arghhhh! uhhhhOOOoooo!!

Heeello, my bruuder, DuBois of de FabiooooOOOooo lineage es just begeening to break es teeeth on de latest spew o de, I meean just crazy mens an all, at the smeEElliest CrabbbbAAAaage of all times. He reeally stunk up de course an all weeth es blunt putter an all. Oh, it huuerts me to think of it, es one putt shy of a full bag of reammers. But, hee does has redeeeaming value as a grounds keeper, an all. I hear he has a great bunch o succulants that neever need pruning - we donno how hee does it. Oh it makes me all hot just to think of es big fleshy cheeks all bent over an pruUUning all dose beeaautiful succulants. Weell, I gotta run now, my nail care speeciallist is making me over today an I cannot be Late, you know. Ef all does womens is still watching our beehinds out there, den they want to go to our WEEb site an check out our flAAAaabous pics o the day. Boy are they gonna be mad if we don't giv'em de pass words!! They won't want ta miss dees pics!! (Haa) OooOoooOFabio is sooOOoo beatiful today.


Meanwile aboard the PMSCunt:

Captain Krusty, you cunt sail on to the SSnatch. Look, they're turning to fight. My hair isn't even ready yet and I've broken a nail. My dress is wrinkled and I need to fix a run in my stockings. You just can't spring this on me without time. You never even consider me when you make decisions, maybe you could try to communicate with me once in a while?? Who the hell do you think you are, anyway? You know, I work too and I have to take care of the kids because they come running to me when they need help. You don't do shit around here! Oh yeah, after TV you come upstairs and ask for sex...gee, nice approach! I'd like a little time to myself, dammit. And maybe once in a while you could take me out! Hell, just dinner and a that asking too much? All you want to do is brew beer, golf, and write stupid shit on that computer to some fuckin' bunch of assholes who sit around and pick their...

Oh, sorry guys...I kind of lost the flow of the story. Let me go back and work on this.



Dear Paul,

These rains can damper one's time in the garden. But with spring on the horizon, diligence is the hallmark of a successfull yard! Spraying between showers scroll down with a dormant oil spray will scroll down eliminate many garden pests. - and rains will not scroll down wash off any applied oil sprays. Don't forget necessary anti-fungals scroll down to control peach leaf curl. Many organic gardeners prefer a sulfur spray or scroll down dust but with frequent rains these must scroll down be reapplied. Always remember that the wet areas can harbor microscopic pests and fungus. This is often tough to lick. Use a tarp if need be.


Captain Mudshark: Arrrr. Cabinboy Thibley, metinks I'm done. Ya be relieved of duty see'ns how ya relieved me. Now, that redsailed bitch be comin' about. All hands to yer stations. Uh... Lt. Bambi... could ya see fit ta remove yer hands from me loins. Ya knows what I meant.

Nav Rag: Captain!

Mudshark. Rag...throw yer scnoz agin' the breeze. We be needin all sails a servin'. And mind ya keep yer fingers at bay.

Rag: Arr Captain...ya be so hard on me...if'n ya catch me drift. M. Parshall duBois...Ya join me an' we can bring the Snatch about quicker than ya c'n say "Nice 4 putt, Snoid!"

Mudshark: Midshitman Hacket. Run yer undies up the mast. Fireman Bobbio...use yer cleepers and snip a hemmie. We be flyin' brown AND red. If'n that bitch Krusty be wantin a fight, by Peaches we'll giv'r one. Arrr...piss off Bambi! Don't ya fuckin' listen??


This is a great time to set out your Spanish lilies!!! These colorful garden exotics scroll down love the last days of wintry weather in our growing zone! If digging in the soil is just cold enough to make your fingers numb, and your nipples hard, scroll down you know it's the time for a special treat of a showy burst of red against a sunny fence or garden wall!!!
Loamy Sarkisian, the California Gardener

Arggh, ye snivellin' pantywaists! Drop ye mpegs amid this file, and ye'll see why the Spaniard's don't be ruling the seas quite so much as they'd please...... Fireman Bobbio'd 'ave to embowel all the cats in Madrid afore 'e'd 'ave enough catgut t' embroider the veins back into the arsehaole 'o th' like o' this one, I'll tell ye!

Arrgh, ye pantywaists,


Dear Paul,
After all danger of frost has gone, it is now time for planting tomatoes. Tomatoes are frost sensitive so timing scroll down is very important. Icy nights can kill a plant so scroll down make sure things have warmed up before planting your seed. Of course if you started early and already have a mature seedling that is ready to plant in your bed, make sure scroll down that it is planted as deeply as possible to allow for maximum root growth. Deeply planted roots assure a healthy stem and a much happier plant.

Dave, The Tomato Guy

Meanwhile, aboard the PMSCUNT...
Captain Krusty: Come on girls...battlestations! Cockswoon Julie, service the prisoners, and mind you Cumondoor Brandt takes no time at all so don't linger for a finger. Pads on ladies and start flowin'!!! RED ALERT!!!! Let's take this Cunt and rub that Snatch till it bleeds.

And aboard the SSNatch...
Nav Rag: I smell that bitch Krusty, sir an' believe me... she's got her loins ready fer a fight.
Captain Mudshark: Yer nose be bettern' a third eye, me boy.
LeBojk: Oy bloo'y beg t' diffuh. Oy loik me fird eye! Ceptn when its goh a bloo'y emmie!
Bobbio: Cleepers???...wood yu lack me t use my saxy cleepers on yor gleesening lower reshunns?
First Brigtoy Tommy: Gode dummit. Wut ahd yu teenking? Doan yu see doze red sails? Deese no time to be away fdum yur poast.
Mudshark: Arrgh Bambi, git yer sorry hands offa' me! That ain't what he be meanin'! Now lissn'...ya be needin' ta go down in th' hold n' get the Mercedes hood ornament. Put'r on the bow. Anyone be wantin' ta' go fer a ride????


Captain Mudshark: Men, man yer posts...we've got a bit of floggin t' do! Lt Bambi...fetch me me glass...what ho! It be the fell pink whale Scroby Dick! Arrr, the scourge o' these here seas. Why I hear tale o' many a sailor meet his end with the mighty Dick!

Lt. Bambi: Cap'n ... that thar pink whale aims t' ram the PMSCunt hard a stern.

Mudshark: Hold yer trap ya flamin' KDLang clone...he's gone under... he be droppin' limp to the sea floor. That Scroby Dick got no game unlike the man who be fartin' in Flogman's video.

Bambi: No Cap'n. He be risin' up hard 'n comin' a full head. Arrgh! The Cunt be ripped wide open...goin' down with narry a shudder.

Mudshark: Aye lads... a fine ship, she was. By Peaches...did ya see that? Thar be that bitch Cap'n Krusty all entangled with her tampon string, lashed on to that thar pink whale as he be divin'. Well lads, we c'n a be takin' a bit o' cumfert in Ol Cap'n Krusty gittin' her wish: to finally go down on a big dick.

don't be foor

Letuln to Book 1

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