"Master Cheif was pressing over one hundred leaders one day when he began to see that another person had came inside of his workshop. Master Cheif, whom had his helmet off and was sheening in the wonderdous light with his brim of sweat, was still in his drab green metal suit that added to his fighting power, witch made the lifting of the leaders even easier, but he could still do it himself. Master Cheif soon wiped every thing up with a towel, but then on his head witch made him sticky.
He started to show off kind of, but you could not see his bulging through his suit, even if you could look at some of it. Suddenly he began to recognize the man's face, and he swallowed hard.
His swallow was dry and unhealthy, and almost salty and made him sick. It was because his neck and his rest of him was still tired after all of that work, and then being in his gym. But still he said yuck and was back to work, getting up and shaking his hands with Metroid, the man who just came in from the door. He benched the rest of his leaders, said augh and then how are you doing.
"Um okay," sad Metroid, but with his very strong voice, so strong that you could not see through his face. They shook hands and Metroid said.
"Do you come from here often?" Haha, Master Cheif said. But he didn't think it was funny he just new that a person was going to say it, and now he said it first and the joke was his today and no witch could steal it.
"Metroid was actually incredibelly tall, as if he was a bodybuilder. I could not see it but he had his neck so strong that yo he could see all of the organs inside, also bulging. Master Chef thought that Metroid noticed him looking because Metroid looked uncomfortable and completely still.
"Are you going to answer me." Metrod said, his eyes pulsating under his teal glass mask.
"Oh haha" Metroid said, Well I can see that you do. I live inside of my house.
"That's cool." Meatroid said, looking at Master Chef funny because he was being weird. "I wish I could be born inside of your house like you. That would solidify my happiness to it's very core, so solid that nobody could ever put ice on it to reduce the swelling."
"I wish we were gestated inside of it together," Master Chef said. "I learned how to eat with my first fetussibling, but maybe with your bulging solidity I could nail down the art of love."
Meatroid looked at him embarassedly as if he was bareassed with the rest of him naked. "I guess that you don't want any help with all of those leaders." He looked around to see if anyone thought his naked muscles were spectacular and like an odyssey.
No I do I said, "I really want them. But lets make it really hard."
He could tell that Meatrod meant business, because even though I couldn't see his face his life was very indeterminate, and practically he never died. Witches couldn't even kill him, and it felt like that was all I could think about whilst bulging my eyes. Meatroid said "Bring it one and I said okay."
So he started doing it, and soon enough he added another leader.
Meatrod started to grope that hard iron bar, straddling it like it was an incredelbelly heavy TV, where you had to hold onto the edges. It was also like a TV because they both had to work very hold to hard it, and it made them sweat, which added to the electric odor of voluptuous irony smell and the buldging lubricant that was the veiny blood of all of those throbbing leaders. They took a break when it had come too much, but they were so tired they wiped it off of their face and came again. They kept sticking more leaders onto the pole, even the ones from foreign countries that didn't like Israel, and eventually they had a sufficiently arousing in a bulging kind of way shishkebab of leaders and simultaneously sweat.
Now, Meartod began to straddle The heavy TV so to say with both of his hands, his gun hand now transformed into a drill that would penetrate anything alike with rubber and steal. By the time that he penertated the rubber he was about to get into Master Chef and his steal, because Maser Chef was lying there and he really wanted him too. We locked eyes and consummated the efficiency of our bulge, as I began to dig all of those brown leaders down into that steely bow-flex crevice of insanity and throbbinghood.
Master Chef was boiling in a broth of my arms and he was almost crushed by that glorious flatscreen of brutal emotions. "Oh my god, thank you" I said, praising Meatrod for his forgiveness after he raised the great steely log from my steemy midst. "Don't breathe in faggot," he told me, with a fist kissing the slight edge of my canine tooth, "there's too much me in here to taste all at once."
As he began to put on his shadow suit I began to see an instantaneous transformation in his lusty throbbing efficiency, drawing pentagrams on the wall with his special mayonnaise of pure-white desire and beating me with his ropeing beam. It was almost crushing Master Chef and I wait Meatrod was about to lose it all. At this point everyone in the bar had started to look at usthem, lynching Jews and drinking from large cups like the mayonnaise factories they were in the Boer War seventeen years ago.
It's okay, I said. If I keep going eventually I'll find a manwomb.
I started to penetrate the old Chefs steel, beating him with the glowing hot ropeing beam, when his Finnish side had started to leak out of his mouth and eyes, screaming nine nine through the spatters of emotion and justice, and his arms began to loosen he sighed. Everyone in the club was beginning to get tipping but before they started they started watching us do it, and this made me, Meatrod work so much harder.
Me Eatrod had begun to penetrate and soon every of the ones was cheering, but not like they were leaving in France. A disco ball had started blaring in the distance, angrily lashing out earth wind and fire that burned away all of the disgusting evolutionists from my struggling life. Soon Me Eatrod had become to come all over Chef, helping him pump through like a full leader, or wait, over a hundred, and soon he began to resemble a beautiful lamb of slaughter, but also like Me Eatrods favorite game, Rampage Ultamite Destroctor, where I would play as Ramsey and beat the world. I loved to beat the world, in fact if I could just beat the whole world off at a time I would do it, and every skyscraper on earth would see how beautiful Me Eatingrod is.
I pumped like a hundred leaders deep down the steely depths of Chef Ramsey, plunging through all of the metal and fur, straddling the horns and screaming to my bitches about raining down the condiments for tomorrow. It was such a tight fit, almost as if the weights were too big and I was killing him. It was all so heavy that I thought I might have to tell him to lose a few pounds, but hey he's the only person to accept Me Eatingrod, so I could not take them off myself. Then again he has tasted better than me.
Eventually, he lost his guard so bad that it was nearly like he lost sight of pumping. I passionately began to get in some headshots, turning on voicechat just to realize that there was a ton of people inside of his wombhouse and that it was actually like a party there. I tried to call out to him, "I'll pump you till you bulge me faggot," but to no avail, his dad had started playing anyways.
I began to feel a pleasure in my muscles that nobody had ever felt before. I soon began to love my muscles, and I decided that I would refer to them all as my love muscles from now on, and I would visualize them as like poodles or other dogs and I pumped them, then as he began to scream, counting all of my black leather poodles in groups of nines as they all helped me pump that red hot plasma and berating their lack of prawns, I began to see the twilight of fantasyality.
I pumped all one hundred of my love muscles, like the dogs they all were, even harder into the crease of Chef Ramsey's steely muscles, where he moaned with tiredness and probably death. I pumped my love muscles so passionately that they all exploded, right on everyone's face, fur biscuits and all, even blood. It was all red and white inside of me and Chef Ramsey, but hey it was both of our first times."
"And thus I conclude why it is to like gay video games, as they teach us all to kill all of our kids," said Kenneth Hammond. "As you will witness in my perfect essay that all of them gays that are video games and babykillers mentioned are all Satanic, and I should know because they were all inside of me." Kenneth Hammond smashed the Jack-O'-Lantern that powered his Powerpoint Presentation, smacking the attendants when they said what, and told them all to leave his bedroom. We wonder to this day what really happened, and what prophecy awaits us with this new book to meet our canon. Kenneth Hammond was last seen alive with only a Metroid figurine and some ibuprofen in his hands, walking towards the glowing wardrobe that gave him this vision.
-Answers in Abortion Pamphlets, 6/66/2012