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Miley Cyrus hitting the bong (pg. 3)
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| igottaknow |
| I agree with you that its ty thing to do the ppl who sell this stuff out to the media. I hate haters who use this stuff to attack celebrities. If you've never smoked at a party your either up tight jerk who has never lived or just a hypocrite. I have my laugh and move on. |
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| Ted Promo |
| I'm gonna Sheen her someday. |
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| Rose |
God, she is such a stupid bitch.
lol @ her friend making money off this. That's a smart move. |
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| stealthman |
| :stongue: :stongue: |
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| bARTovsky |
| quote: | Originally posted by Ted Promo
I'm gonna Sheen her someday. |
:stongue: |
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| Ted Promo |
| quote: | Originally posted by Rose
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THIS! THIS IS WHAT I WANT!
*throws a rather rotund pokéball* |
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| Halcyon+On+On |
*Rose uses sprint!*
It's not very effective... |
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| Ted Promo |
| *gyrates thrustingly in a charming outfit* |
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| Ted Promo |
The long grass never proved to be the best camouflage even though she wore zebra print. This was the disputed border along southern Arizona and Mexico and zebras aren't even indigenous to that region so it didn't even really make sense.
At all.
But she wore it anyways. This was a time when JOHN MCCAIN was young, but still staunch and steadfast against Mexicans in the most polarizing and xenophobic ways. Occasionally in the thick of the goldenrod evening when the air pressure lays like a tempest scourge on your slanted shoulders and makes the wisps of foggy air through your labouring lungs and grim and hard-fought achievement. Stoking his bereavement and sifting in firmament and cement his silver hair in step and lined cream, combed over to show his stern gaze. JOHN MCCAIN was looking for ROSE MARTIN'S MOTHER.
The one in that totally conspicuous zebra print. He rode out in his FORD F-150 to where he had spotted that oil slick of a scalp and ing stupid zebra print blouse and found out she was totally pregging right the there.
JOHN MCCAIN HELPED GIVE BIRTH TO ROSE MARTIN |
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| Ted Promo |
| I'm not certain what this means just yet; I'll define it later, but as it stands right now ROSE MARTIN,I bequief thee. |
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| Halcyon+On+On |
The dusty terminator rolled across the baking landscape like a vintage Rambler, rambling plants swaying in the cooling breeze solidifying the ground like so much corn muffins. A loquacious horizon spoke of the shifting colours, like marbled cheesecake fluorescence resting upon the supper chamber table, an invitation to future gorging and sucrose relief assured to fulfill, albeit temporarily, an insatiable sustenence of spermicidal proportions. My chapped lips balked at her mannerisms, a hasty beeline to her corner of the presentation, centralised bounty before her, a scarcely self-contained objection to her relative famine to be purged by the crackling influx of latex supposition misplaced in the complacency that onesuch belies any granted citizen of etiquette.
I had toiled over that cake; that is, my thoughts raced back and forth between the amorous dealings of mammal imperatives be they for fertile exercises or the likewise conceit of individual satisfaction by way of simulated friction. My loins aquiver by the delight of her ignorance, a procession of protein followed by the deceptive embrace of impending seed. Her green beans left untouched, she quickly reached for the pie-server, a spade that would offer an even greater douse of protein amidst the sticky sheen of my so-called protective filling, a contaminated slurp spilt across the textured fibre of chocolate dairy loaf. The fauna of domestic complication.
Her eyes alight with the delight of blended spices, my own secret recipe an obvious misgiving in the face of nourophilic dealings daily exercised much to the chagrin of her sweltering haunches. A moment of panic at the thought of my work gone unrecognized, I was scarcely aware of the point when I flew my entire frame out of my chair and screamed, "ROSE MARTIN, YOU ARE EATING MY SEMEN!".
What ensued was a sunshaft of relief at the cathartic recognition of my disdain for her stolid tendencies, wrought with the quelling significance of my resonating paroxysm. A further panic enveloped my sensations, a hypocritical relation to her very enveloping of the commode only moments later. I was not thinking when I calmly placed myself back down into my chair, and served myself a small slice of the very cheesecake tainted by my genetic correspondence. The chlorine aftertaste would have been barely detectable were it not for my psychosomatic sensitivities whereupon I once more bellowed: "SOMEBODY PUT CAKE IN MY SEMEN!"
Her green beans remained abandoned, aloft, for the rest of the evening. |
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| xCTx |
I love how she's living a typical 18 year old girls life and she gets for it cuz shes famous.
Take a hit.
Miley Cyrus can get it in the booty anyday. |
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