bill-swift - October 11, 2010
You know I refrain from anything to do with the walking cheese spread known as Shauna Sand. Oh, sure, occasionally I'll drop an anonymous call into Child Protective Services to see if they'll extricate her daughter before the window of meaningful re-programming closes, but, outside of that, I limit my involvement to that once or twice a year when Shauna Sand does something so profoundly inglorious, it deserves mention.
Imagine the surprise of parents and kids alike, shopping for pumpkins for their annual Halloween tidings, whence the innocents come upon the pumpkin whore, Shauna Sand, in a miniskirt and heels, slowly seducing the business end of a relished weenie into her lingual orifice. There's no ghost or goblin story so horrifying as to prepare a child's mind eye for this level of skankadelic assault. Forget a normal night light, these kids are going to demand a blue light and bleach next to their beds. Enter Sand-cans.
Update: Oh, could it get worse? It has. Mommy, why is that two-bit hooker flashing her panties at the pumpkin patch?
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