http://www.carstuckgirls.com/


hmmm.....nothing hotter than a girl getting her car stuck in the mud...

OH WAIT, EVERYTHING IS HOTTER THAN THAT!!

 

wow....i am amazed as to how you even found this site. Furthermore, who the hell thought of this idea and actually thinks that they will profit off this.


Btw. I feel sorry for the cars.

 

damn is this some kind of weird new fetish that I havent heard of yet? Because I really try to be ahead of the curve on weird fetishes, guess Im getting old..

 

getting a little slow there Jeremy? my mind is still blown by that N.U.D.E. game. " gimme a sammich, *****!"

 

think Im gonna invent my own fettish about robot girls getting stuck in the mud. HAHA! Back ahead of the curve, take that b****es!

 

The problem isn't the concept, it's the delivery. I'm sure there is a "girls getting cars out of mud" fetish but they have butchered it so bad I'm embarrassed for them. I could probably write a thesis on everything they are doing wrong. It's like watching... a... umm... damn, I can't even think of a useful metaphor, they've done such an awful job.

 

let me help you..

its like watching some dumb eastern eurotrash trailor **** getting stuck in *insert type of sand or mud here* and trying to be all skankish?

 

Damn, it's almost exactly like that!

I found a fetish site that was all about getting wrapped in clingwrap by roy orbison. I **** you not. ROY ORBISON.

And they were great, because they wrote roy orbison talk like ****ing gandalf. I'll have to see if i can find it.

 

Found it.

http://www.michaelkelly.fsnet.co.uk/karl.htm

Enjoy the read.

From story one.

It always starts the same way. I am in the garden airing my terrapin Jetta when he walks past my gate, that mysterious man in black.

'Hello Roy,' I say. 'What are you doing in Dusseldorf?'

'Attending to certain matters,' he replies.

'Ah,' I say.

He apprises Jetta's lines with a keen eye. 'That is a well-groomed terrapin,' he says.

'Her name is Jetta.' I say. 'Perhaps you would like to come inside?'

'Very well.' He says.

Roy Orbison walks inside my house and sits down on my couch. We talk urbanely of various issues of the day. Presently I say, 'Perhaps you would like to see my cling-film?'

'By all means.' I cannot see his eyes through his trademark dark glasses and I have no idea if he is merely being polite or if he genuinely has an interest in cling-film.

I bring it from the kitchen, all the rolls of it. 'I have a surprising amount of clingfilm,' I say with a nervous laugh. Roy merely nods.

'I estimate I must have nearly a kilometre in the kitchen alone.'

'As much as that?' He says in surprise. 'So.'

'Mind you, people do not realize how much is on each roll. I bet that with a single roll alone I could wrap you up entirely.'

Roy Orbison sits impassively like a monochrome Buddha. My palms are sweaty.

'I will take that bet,' says Roy. 'If you succeed I will give you tickets to my new concert. If you fail I will take Jetta, as a lesson to you not to speak boastfully.'

I nod. 'So then. If you will please to stand.'

Roy stands. 'Commence.'

I start at the ankles and work up. I am like a spider binding him in my gossamer web. I do it tight with several layers. Soon Roy Orbison stands before me, completely wrapped in cling-film. The pleasure is unexampled.

'You are completely wrapped in cling-film,' I say.

'You win the bet,' says Roy, muffled. 'Now unwrap me.'

'Not for several hours.'

'Ah.'


****ING GOLDEN!!!!

 

This kids is why you dont inhale large amounts of amonia and bleach at the same time.

 

wow.








wearing dark glasses
he approached me without clothes
the cling wrap shone brightly

through the flashing lights
reflected off smooth surface
a glimpse of johnson

 

Oh crap......haikus? Can they DO that?


A GLIMPSE OF JOHNSON?