"Come! Eat us! Eat us!" the Pringles thought in mental waves emanating to fill the room. "They promised us in the factory we'd be eaten. Don't worry about fat. They'll love you when you're fat!" The entire can of Pringles thought this as one. Just as each Pringle looked and tasted alike, so did they think alike. But it ended there. Once inside her body it was every chip for itself. A mad rush would begin to settle the new, wild frontier that she was. Some would congregate in the central regions of her tender midriff, others would savor the choice land of her tanned thighs, as lovely inside as on the surface. The venturous ones dreamed of a life in the warm suburbs of her curvaceous bottom. The Pringles sent out another wave of wishes to direct the lady, "Come on! We're spicy! Just the thing for a hot Cajun mama!"
Story #67
5 comments:
Those Pringles has better think as one and give her a curvacious bottom -- as it is, she lacks a backside at all. Those sweats have drawstrings in the front so they don't fall off her hipbones.
Pringles advertises that they're not greasy like Lays Potato Chips, ergo that roll of toilet paper won't be necessary for her fingers, and there's no Olestra involved in their production either.
« mush » - Laughter is the Spackle of the Soul
Ah the wonders of sweatpants and sweatshirts, trying to imagine the bumps and curves inside...
Those friggin' commie chips. They're so delicious. That's how they sneak in to the good ol' US of A. By being delicious, and sneaky, and strategerous.
Those friggin' commie chips. They're so delicious. That's how they sneak in to the good ol' US of A. By being delicious, and sneaky, and strategerous.
Pringles came out in 1971 and I started munching them immediately. Pringles, Fritos and Husman's BarB-Q Potato Chips were my staple diet back then, all that good old American fat content.
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