My lady, I live to serve the carnal indiscriminate canoodling that you require ad nauseum, the service to your nefarious neanderthal nether region that is always on the tip of my rapacious incessantly darting tongue which must retch at the very thought of servicing that Wookie-like insect-infested carpet, the service of my lips to your billowing bodacious boil-infected bottom of inestimable width and breadth that emits an odor most foul and rancid, the worship and lifiting of your large, lumpy, pendulous, and sagging breasts while I heft them in the search for some area of heterosexual interest.
