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Tubman sweated garlic juice off his fat fucking belly. His distended ribcage pressed out against his crappy skin. The bitch could hardly breathe beneath his bulk.

His too-small, gin-blossomed ass pumped in ferocious spasms between her impossibly splayed legs, forcing Godzilla noises out of the overtaxed, tube metal futon frame.

"Oh fuck," Tubman wheezed, spraying droplets of sour spittle, "I'm gonna make! I'm gonna make! Nnnnnnnng! I'm.... Making!!"

He collapsed on top of her and let out a minute-long question of a fart.

The End

Date Written: June 26, 2003
Author: qualcomm
Average Vote: 4.6

06/28/2003 Ewan Snow (5): Top-notch!
07/1/2003 scoop (4): OMG. TMI.
07/2/2003 Phony Millions (4): Ah heh heh heh...He said 'make'!
10/3/2003 Jon Matza (5): Long live Tubman!
02/19/2004 Ewan Snow: This is an all time great!
06/11/2004 scoop: This shoulda been a fiver -- "forcing Godzilla noises out of the overtaxed, tube metal futon frame."
06/11/2004 Mr. Pony (5): I want to capture Tubman and put him behind glass. I'd feed him pork and sing him songs.
06/11/2004 scoop: Maybe we could make Tubman and Tobias fight over a chocie piece of meat.
06/11/2004 Mr. Pony: OMG I was thinking the same thing!
06/11/2004 scoop: OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG! Jinx! Jinx!
06/11/2004 qualcomm: who's tobias?
06/11/2004 scoop: what's Lerpa?