Muddy Mindset or National Hot Tub Day Makes Every-din’ Word
Mar 26, 2021 23:53:14 GMT -5
Karlie Nash, Downfall, and 2 more like this
Post by Azurine Vebbins on Mar 26, 2021 23:53:14 GMT -5
Eagerly engaging exotic environments seems like an esoteric exercise. However, Pineapple Promenade lather their lithe limbs with freshly flooded kinetic sand. Prior to arrival at her father Archie’s abode, Azurine asked him to hose the entire backyard. While unbelievably unorthodox Mister Vebbins obliges since it’s a cherished custom back home in Phloriphornia. Grapplers on the far-flung Pacific island believe glistened granules gave gams greater grit.
Azurine Vebbins: I missed a spot on your shoulder, “Big Swoon.” How else can we tribal, tropical, and totally topical?
Archie analyzes what’s an apt address for acknowledging his daughter and her partner. Adorned in argyle louder than an AC/DC concert and a Taylor Made 2020 Quiver Ultra Lite Golf Bag slung onto his back, Mister Vebbins comes across on screen as highkey course caddie material.
Archie Vebbins: Arizonan aloha, Azzy and Nidrah. Heard you ladies have a large lambada Sunday night?
Azurine Vebbins: Indeed we do, Dad. We’re in a five-way flamenco along wid Two Gents, Dree Rin’s of Destruction, Brash and Brawn, and an amalgam callin’ demselves Da Gatecrashers.
Archie Vebbins: What makes it feel forbidden?
Nidrah: Well, Mister Vebbins, Archie, one team so far…Red, White, and Bruised...believes it’s degrading for women making moves in mud.
Archie Vebbins: Sounds like whoever booked dis burlesque brawl wants to cast a sallow shade on da tandem who takes dose titles.
Azurine Vebbins: I’d exhibit every numbered shade if it meant securin’ one of dose straps onto Nidrah’s taut tummy. I also recognize our current coup card-carryin’ chieftain delights displayin’ dames like us in very vulnerable venues. Garbage grapplin’ in gratuitous gunk’s not a high enough hurdle. Dis Sunday, Pineapple Promenade has da same slippery footin’ as our assembled adversaries. Even dough da event escalates on National Hot Tub Day, I’m deliberately discussin’ dis dance on Equal Pay Day. After all, if every entrant’s work rate and opportunity are comparable, den our profit margin must match, too. We women shall not muck meekly for middlin’ money, Tash and Tawn.
Nidrah: Hear hear, fugala‘au matagofie. Tatou te manumalo mo tagta. We prevail for the people. O le faamasinoga o le a fai mo tatou. Judgment will be ours. Ma pe a ou fusi i luga o lau tag ’au ulutala fusi, lo‘u Azzy, o lou manava sili ona mumu. And when I strap on your tag team title belt, my Azzy, your belly better blush.
Mister Vebbins feigns viewing a wristwatch.
Archie Vebbins: Was nice meetin’ you, Nidrah. I’m sure we’ll patter plenty over da next few days. Got a date at da lighted drivin’ range so I should skedaddle.
Azurine Vebbins: All da blessed, Dad. Also, consistent contact and fluid range of motion beats strokin’ after your stamina’s shot from one strong swin’. Don’t overcompensate like Two Brents. I notion deyr tea’s steeped higher dan whatever hill dey hail from. As for which dapper dandy I’ve been crankin’ cardio for? It’s Teo. I wanna listen for da cacophonic knell when crackin’ his kneecap. Den again, da pianissimo pitch of Blaze’s pins fallin’ might not be audible over Gist Plucka’s siren-screechin’ “Whoop Whoop.”
Last Monday at CruiserClash, Comedy of Combustion exploded all over our opportunity to regain momentum. Kiln Your Heat, my partner and I are stoked you’ll be moshin’ alongside da odd-er muck-ups. Gives Nidrah gumption to gift you wid gag versus gab. Translation: She’s smackin’ your hornhole shut via steel chairs we’ll soon be craftin’. Consider yourselves lucky if da burnin’ sensation felt on your labia oris is less smolderin’ dat Katta Pult’s upper ad-letic unmentionable. I’d recommend mud masks to soode swellin’.
Finally, speakin’ of masks, deyr’s da mystery muddlers know as Da Gatecrashers. Sara Pettis and Void collectively make one Hell of a volatile cocktail recipe. Bode glom to one anoder as Devil’s Gate goons However, under dese clay-caked conditions neider one’s careenin’ away as Cruiserweight Tag-Team Champion. “Child of Fate” and “Triple Ellipses”...you can soak in success anoder time. Sunday night, dough, as I’ve already mentioned is National Hot Tub Day. Our clean celebration would be a real dud if we don’t brin’ dose bomb belts. Deyrfore, dis couple promises on plantin' you pit proper wid matchin' His & Hers Pacific Rims.
Azurine Vebbins: I missed a spot on your shoulder, “Big Swoon.” How else can we tribal, tropical, and totally topical?
Archie analyzes what’s an apt address for acknowledging his daughter and her partner. Adorned in argyle louder than an AC/DC concert and a Taylor Made 2020 Quiver Ultra Lite Golf Bag slung onto his back, Mister Vebbins comes across on screen as highkey course caddie material.
Archie Vebbins: Arizonan aloha, Azzy and Nidrah. Heard you ladies have a large lambada Sunday night?
Azurine Vebbins: Indeed we do, Dad. We’re in a five-way flamenco along wid Two Gents, Dree Rin’s of Destruction, Brash and Brawn, and an amalgam callin’ demselves Da Gatecrashers.
Archie Vebbins: What makes it feel forbidden?
Nidrah: Well, Mister Vebbins, Archie, one team so far…Red, White, and Bruised...believes it’s degrading for women making moves in mud.
Archie Vebbins: Sounds like whoever booked dis burlesque brawl wants to cast a sallow shade on da tandem who takes dose titles.
Azurine Vebbins: I’d exhibit every numbered shade if it meant securin’ one of dose straps onto Nidrah’s taut tummy. I also recognize our current coup card-carryin’ chieftain delights displayin’ dames like us in very vulnerable venues. Garbage grapplin’ in gratuitous gunk’s not a high enough hurdle. Dis Sunday, Pineapple Promenade has da same slippery footin’ as our assembled adversaries. Even dough da event escalates on National Hot Tub Day, I’m deliberately discussin’ dis dance on Equal Pay Day. After all, if every entrant’s work rate and opportunity are comparable, den our profit margin must match, too. We women shall not muck meekly for middlin’ money, Tash and Tawn.
Nidrah: Hear hear, fugala‘au matagofie. Tatou te manumalo mo tagta. We prevail for the people. O le faamasinoga o le a fai mo tatou. Judgment will be ours. Ma pe a ou fusi i luga o lau tag ’au ulutala fusi, lo‘u Azzy, o lou manava sili ona mumu. And when I strap on your tag team title belt, my Azzy, your belly better blush.
Mister Vebbins feigns viewing a wristwatch.
Archie Vebbins: Was nice meetin’ you, Nidrah. I’m sure we’ll patter plenty over da next few days. Got a date at da lighted drivin’ range so I should skedaddle.
Azurine Vebbins: All da blessed, Dad. Also, consistent contact and fluid range of motion beats strokin’ after your stamina’s shot from one strong swin’. Don’t overcompensate like Two Brents. I notion deyr tea’s steeped higher dan whatever hill dey hail from. As for which dapper dandy I’ve been crankin’ cardio for? It’s Teo. I wanna listen for da cacophonic knell when crackin’ his kneecap. Den again, da pianissimo pitch of Blaze’s pins fallin’ might not be audible over Gist Plucka’s siren-screechin’ “Whoop Whoop.”
Last Monday at CruiserClash, Comedy of Combustion exploded all over our opportunity to regain momentum. Kiln Your Heat, my partner and I are stoked you’ll be moshin’ alongside da odd-er muck-ups. Gives Nidrah gumption to gift you wid gag versus gab. Translation: She’s smackin’ your hornhole shut via steel chairs we’ll soon be craftin’. Consider yourselves lucky if da burnin’ sensation felt on your labia oris is less smolderin’ dat Katta Pult’s upper ad-letic unmentionable. I’d recommend mud masks to soode swellin’.
Finally, speakin’ of masks, deyr’s da mystery muddlers know as Da Gatecrashers. Sara Pettis and Void collectively make one Hell of a volatile cocktail recipe. Bode glom to one anoder as Devil’s Gate goons However, under dese clay-caked conditions neider one’s careenin’ away as Cruiserweight Tag-Team Champion. “Child of Fate” and “Triple Ellipses”...you can soak in success anoder time. Sunday night, dough, as I’ve already mentioned is National Hot Tub Day. Our clean celebration would be a real dud if we don’t brin’ dose bomb belts. Deyrfore, dis couple promises on plantin' you pit proper wid matchin' His & Hers Pacific Rims.