I don’t know how this scene started, but I’ve got a pretty good idea about how this scene might have ended!

<wakka wakka>

Threads of smokey gas still wind through the house. She moves silently to the door like a cat, barely distracted by the madness around her.

The Senator’s son’s bachelor party was over. His friends, their fathers, fraternity brothers, others - all dead, lying in awkward, unnatural poses as they’d stood, circling her in wild camaraderie, just seconds before. 

The vial had been in the spine of her cd case. She’d pulled off the move handily, cracking the plastic quietly in her hand as she stomped a heel on the hardwood. She’d turned around. Spread her legs soooooo slowly as she breathed in deeply and bent over. 

She’d closed her eyes, drew circles in the air with her tight smooth ass, waited for the sound of coughing. It came. Became choking. Lasted. Stopped. Surveying the room, she turned with a clip and walked towards the front door.

You know who she is - the baddest stripper assassin there ever was.

At a certain point, the dark vampiritic threesomes just weren’t hot enough to make up for the mornings, waking up in the bizarre, cold loft with sparse, uncomfortable furniture and much taxidermy.

They might be sisters, they might be mentally ill. They never smiled and their rituals were frustrating, meaningless and complex.

You hated them and wanted them at the same time.

Man, 2008 was totally out of control.

Hey - it’s better than a fanny pack.

(Source: laosny)

Yeah… maybe I’ll let this one speak for itself. 

Or maaaaybe I’ll give a nod to my English Lit degree and throw down some Gulliver fanfic to take this to the next level! Here I go y’all:

I closed my eyes, dear reader, sure that it was not wrong to crush the single tab of ecstasy I had been given by the Ibizans, which had been tucked safely in my small leather pouch, and to dissolve it in the drum of honeyed dew, drunk only by the sweet virgin maidens of Lilliput.

Their pleasure was evident in their throaty exaltations, and, readers, the later scene during which I witnessed them bathing in my salty man-slickness was one upon which I thought in many a future self-flogging, indeed wondering darkly whether more than one Gulliver Jr. grew giant in Lilliputian belly that year.

Just call me Muffathan Swift.

Glitter Muff’s Guide to Fall Fashion

These aren’t your mother’s fall sweaters! Update a classic look with tailored construction, unidentifiable colours, and playful accents like ruffles and pleats. 

Consider wearing one to the next gangbang you go to that’s in a Walmart Dining Room Showroom on top of a table barely covered with a parachute!

That said, I do love a disinterested girl in dirty porn.

Oh man so bad so bad so bad so bad.

Public Health Muff warning: objects that are small and/or sugary should never be placed near the mucous membranes of any genitalia.

Regardless of how hot the resulting photo may look.

[also see: glitter, popsicles, lollipops, whipped cream, fun dip, candy underwear]

I’m always down for fairy tale concept porn, but the Pumas on the Big Bad Wolf ruin the effect.

Attention to detail people! Is it really so difficult?

There looks to be something sick and weird happening in this Romanian hotel room with that girl who looks kind of like she has scurvy.

With that said… filthy hot.

Hmm. Yeah, this is weird.

I’m thinkiiiiing:

• Escaping from a sex cult, still high from mind control drugs (probably LSD & E)?
• Ultra-secret international assassins who are just coming off of a long lead heist embedded as a harem of their target, the energy baron?
• They’re the farmer’s daughters from that old dirty joke, and they’re just coming back from the “swimming hole”?
• Nudist family at the airport. Poor, nudist daughters?