He lifted his cheek up to quietly fart one off, but a sprout came out almost whole. Then, having nowhere to go, it simply sat between his jockstrap and the heavy folds of his huge rump, gradually compressing until it resembled a hot patty of cabbage.
Suddenly the wrapping paper, the champagne, the excitement and the excess of roughage all got to him, and he flopped out a hot, brown Christmas present right onto the floor, where it was immediately trodden on and tramped around the house before anyone realised.
“Do you want stuffing?” he asked with a wink. She got his meaning, and she began to reply suggestively that she did, but no sooner had her lips and vocal chords moved just enough for her affirmative to be discernible than his thick wand of schlongmeat was free and plunging toward her oral cavity.
“Silent night, holy night,” they sang sweetly. “All is calm, all is bright. Round yon v-” PLAPFFBBB! Suddenly a sleigh-load of manure was flung across the street by a catapult erected solely for that purpose, and this surprise seasonal offensive in the decades-old neighbourly feud was the most devastating yet, showering all the singers, the man at the door, his porch and a goodly portion of his hallway in admittedly high-quality animal cack.
His cum splattered into her face and was followed, seemingly from nowhere, by a satisfying ‘cha-ching!’ sound.
He looked up, she looked at him, but before she could flee the room, he levelled the muzzle of his shotgun with her face and fired, hitting her dead-on and splattering the wall behind her with the mist and fragments of her exploded skull and brains.
She was simply using his face as a wad of toilet paper.
She opened the door on her advent calendar. Ah, a little chocolate. How lovely! She popped it out of the plastic and h- suddenly her entire body was smashed against the wall several metres away as a torrent of turds hit her with incredible force. Her bones shattered, her brain pulverised and her heart shocked, it was only a question of whether she’d suffocate before she died from the impact.
Given that the six men had gone for a spicy banquet and then slept in a room barely big enough to hold a single bed and a wardrobe, it was no surprise that the concentration of guffs in the air had reached combustible levels, and as the flames ravaged their contorted bodies, an onlooker remarked that they were fortunate to have already died of asphyxiation.
Her terminal sphincter was so loose that her alimentary canal and its frequent effusions more resembled a busy piece of guttering than a functioning set of human organs. Any degree of pragmatic retention was foregone ; it knew only how to produce, and that most prolifically.