Rather, this is more apt. Should one of the gamer girls of The Joystixx deign to advance into your ‘private video game booth’, she shall not beseech you to allow her to manoeuver your ‘joystick’ in the midst of her bountiful ‘asteroids’. Conversely, the dalliance will commence (and conclude) with an abortive ‘Hey, paunchy! Here’s your onion rings/assorted fried shit. Take the plate, but exercise all due care not to touch my hands as it’s transferred; I don’t want to catch whatever it is that’s growing on your face. And balls, I imagine.’ You WILL get a fleeting glimpse of her ass-teroids in those shorter-than-short-shorts-short-shorts as she vacates the scene with the grace and haste of a youthful gazelle taking flight from a ravening lion, which is surely a victory by anyone’s standards.
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