Naughty little Ariana Grande needs to be fucked like the whore that she is. Join this chat to see if you agree.
This is for the people who love her body and want to fuck her.
Read the directions.
1. Type how she makes you feel.
2. Type how you would fuck her.
3. Any type of sex is aloud.
4. Remember to send pics as well.
5. Enjoy.
Joke page for people of all ages. If you want. Please make jokes about her. Enjoy.
Mom: I saw John Cena at WWE.
Son: No way, you can’t see him though.
Mom: God!
Son: What?
Mom: You watch too much reality TV (comes to smack butt).
Son: Also because I’m John Cena.
Mom: Where, where’d ya go?
John Cena: Hey, Mom.
Mom: I’m only 31, you’re 42.
62 is not just any number as it so happens to be my height 6,2 just as 25 is my age ,on facebook
Carly: Hey do want to have sex? age (43 Zina: No! age (10) Carly: Good cause I can make you do it anyway! age (43) What do you spot in this place that gay!
GWEN IS BACK, FRESHFRY IS BACK, ADDISON BANKS IS BACK.... THIS WEBSITE IS COMING BACK TO THE GOLDEN AGE!!!
ur dads penis was chopped off at the age of 2
“Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.”
A woman decides to have a face lift for her 50th birthday.
She spends $15,000 and looks sensational. On her way home, she stops at a news stand to buy a newspaper. Before leaving, she says to the clerk, “I hope you don’t mind my asking, but how old do you think I am?”
“About 32,” is the reply.
“Nope! I’m exactly 50,” the woman says happily.
A little while later she goes into McDonald’s and asks the counter girl the very same question.
The girl replies, “I’d guess about 29.” The woman replies with a big smile, “Nope, I’m 50.”
Now she’s feeling really good about herself. She stops at a candy shop on her way down the street.
She goes up to the counter to get some mints and asks the assistant the same burning question.
The clerk responds, “Oh, I’d say 30.”
Again she proudly responds, “I’m 50, but thank you!”
While waiting for the bus to go home, she asks an old man waiting next to her the same question.
He replies, “Lady, I’m 78 and my eyesight is going. Although, when I was young there was a sure-fire way to tell how old a woman was. It sounds very forward, but it requires you to let me put my hands under your bra. Then, and only then I can tell you EXACTLY how old you are.”
They wait in silence on the empty street until her curiosity gets the better of her. She finally blurts out, “What the hell, go ahead.”
He slips both of his hands under her blouse and begins to feel around very slowly and carefully. He bounces and weighs each breast and he gently pinches each nipple. He pushes her breasts together and rubs them against each other.
After a couple of minutes of this, she says, “Okay, okay... How old am I?”
He completes one last squeeze of her breasts, removes his hands, and says, “Madam, you are 50.”
Stunned and amazed, the woman says, “That was incredible, how could you tell?”
“I was behind you at McDonalds’."
Why did the guy's birthday party stink?
Because he was turning farty!
Why did the chicken cross the road?
Because the chicken had 4 chicks and a cheating hen who all sucked out all his money he got from his extremely boring job, and he finally got some peace for himself and was going to the local bar, which was on the other side of the road.
He walked in the door, wings sagging, feathers catching on his claws. The bartender eyes him as he sits on a bar stool. "Chuck, how ya doin'? The missus doin' good?"
"Just give me the hardest stuff you got. I'm done."
This caught the bartender by surprise. "Chuck, come on, don't be sayin' that. Just look to the future and you'll be fine."
"What future?" Chuck replied in a huff. "My wife and chicks are so goddamn pestering sometimes, you know? But if I leave, they'll all suffer, and I don't want that either. Oh, God, Phil, I don't know what to do."
"You know, you've got a good heart for a rooster your age," Phil answered. "We need that in these parts. I'm tellin' ya, there will be more than what's happenin' right now, ya know, life's got all its gears turning for ya, and there's just a bit slow right now. The gears haven't been oiled in a while, but who's the only one who can fix that?"
Chuck knew the answer. "Me."
Phil returned with his drink. "McClucken's Whiskey, on the house."
Chuck glanced at his glass. He held it up to the light. His face reflected in an aura around it, neither looking forward to the light and not backward, either.
"No thanks, Phil," Chuck sighed, "But thanks anyways."
He went to get up out of his chair. Phil called as he walked out the door, "Just remember to oil the gears every now and then, eh?"
Chuck's comb flapped in a cool breeze brought in by the season. A bench was nearby, staring across to the other side. And he just sat there, sat there thinking. Cars blurred to a colorfully colorless nothingness as he thought in silence.
He could see an open window in his mind, full of chickens: a sassy hen, two identical sportish chick; another, older than the two, and body bristling with blue comb-dye and the latest thing he watched online fresh on his Chickstagram page; finally, the first of the bunch, shy, bookish, with a secretly courageous soul. They all looked... worried, worried for the rooster who guided them, helped them grow, supported them... and all looking out of the window back at him.
A single tear welled in Chuck's eye.
The chicken walked back across the road to his family, to his friends, and to the life he was content with.
The moment came. The starter dropped his red flag. "They're away!"
Not for one second did Agba need to hunt for Lath in that flying stream of horseflesh. He did not even look for the scarlet and white stripes of the jockey's body-coat. His eyes were fixed on the littlest horse, the littlest horse that got away to a bad start!
The field was far out in front. The big horses were whipping down the steep slope to Devil's Dyke, skimming along the running gap, leaping up the opposite bank and across a long flat stretch. They were beginning to bunch, making narrow gaps. Lath was coming up from behind. He began filling in the gaps. He went through them. He was a blob of watercolor, trickling along the green turf between the other colors.
For a brief second the horses were hidden by a clump of hawthorn trees. Agba's knees tightened. He felt Sham quiver beneath him, saw white flecks of sweat come out on his neck. It was well the grooms were there to hold them both!
The horses were coming around the trees now. The golden blob was still flowing between the other colors. It was flowing beyond them, flowing free!
In full stride, Lath was galloping down the dip and up the rise to the ending post. He was flying past it, leaving the "lusty" horses behind.
"The little horse wins!"
"Lath, an easy winner!"
"Lath, son of Godolphin Arabian, wins!"
People of all ages and all ranks clapped their hands and cheered in wild notes of triumph.
Agba never knew how he and Sham reached the royal stand. But suddenly, there they were. And the Earl of Godolphin was there, too.
"I am pleased to give," Queen Caroline was saying in her sincere, straightforward manner, "I am pleased to give and bestow upon the Earl of Godolphin, the Queen's Plate."
Everyone could see it was not a plate that she held in her hands at all. It was a purse. But only Agba and the Earl knew how much that purse would mean to the future of the horse in England. The Earl looked right between the plumes in the Queen's bonnet and found Agba's eyes for an instant. Then he fell to his knees and kissed the Queen's hand.
A hush fell over the heath. The Queen's words pinged sharp and clear, like the pearls that suddenly broke from her necklace and fell upon the floor of the stand. No one stooped to recover them, for the Queen was speaking.
"And what," she asked, as she fixed one of her own purple plumes in Sham's headstall, "what is the pedigree of this proud sire of three winning horses?"
Agba leaned forward in his saddle.
There was a pause while the Earl found the right words. "Your Majesty," he spoke slowly, thoughtfully, "his pedigree has been...has been lost. But perhaps it was so intended. His pedigree is written in his sons."
How the country people cheered! An unknown stallion wearing the royal purple! It was a fairy tale come true.
The princesses clapped their hands, too. Even the King seemed pleased. He puffed out his chest and nodded to the Queen that the answer was good.
Agba swallowed. He felt a tear begin to trickle down his cheek. Quickly, before anyone noticed, he raised his hand to brush it away. His hand stopped. Why, he was growing a beard! He was a man! Suddenly his mind flew back to Morocco. My name is Agba. Ba means father. I will be a father to you, Sham, and when I am grown I will ride you before the multitudes. And they will bow before you, and you will be King of the Wind. I promise it.
He had kept his word!
For the first time in his life, he was glad he could not talk. Words would have spoiled everything. They were shells that cracked and blew away in the wind. He and Sham were alike. That was why they understood each other so deeply.
The Godolphin Arabian stood very still, his regal head lifted. An east wind was rising. He stretched out his nostrils to gather in the scent. It was laden with the fragrance of wind-flowers. Of what was he thinking? Was he re-running the race of Lath? Was he rejoicing in the royal purple? Was he drawing a wood cart in the streets of Paris? Or just winging across the grassy downs in
