I’m sure this woman doesn’t exist on paper. The bottled water bastards invented her. Maybe from one of those human trafficking rings that steals decent looking babies to sell to Rosie O’Donnell during her frequent episodes of marriage. This one fit the wet suit and has a stellar ass. Don’t ever ask what happened to those 245 hot bikini models you saw last year once or twice but never again. They went to live on the farm with your childhood dog, Strutter. They’re there running through the fields and sleeping in the hay loft at night. Ignore the shallow unmarked graves, that’s where the farmer keeps the ice cream sundaes and doggy treats.
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