Just as he began to push the ring onto her finger, a huge crash and the scattering of glass sounded as Pete from next door hurled himself through the oldest and finest of the stained glass windows, failing to halt proceedings by more than ten minutes and subjecting himself to a night in hospital, during which time the bride and groom had a marathon session of hard sex with her being treated to a copious serving of thick cum.
Just as she reached terminal velocity, her coccyx connected with the roof of the brutalist abomination, all the vertebrae shattering inside her. Suspended by her enormous weight on the building’s edge for a moment, she then slumped slowly over and tumbled flabbily down to splatter on the unyielding flagstones below.
Her huge bangers stunned him into silence, a silence broken only by the sound of his orgasmic suspiration and the titters of those around him as a silvery wet patch appeared on the front of his purple camouflage cargo pants.
Hold on! Was that an Oscar? Had he just won an Academy Award? It couldn’t be! This was unbe- Oh, no. No, it was just a turd. Still, he had won it.
She looked good in pictures, but in person there was something thrushy about her.
The wyvern’s talons tore through her bodice, missing her vital organs by an inch. Surely the next swipe would be the death of her. Her lacey covering fell open, exposing her bosom, and although that tremendous sight would not lift her guards’ spirits enough to turn the battle, it did draw forth a great cry of approval from both sides. Still, though – the wyvern! Its great claw was raised as though to swipe down and through her, but the beast stayed for a moment, transfixed by those sumptuous knockers, and now it lost the momentum and was run through from four directions, ‘til it tottered and stumbled and, finally, fell to the ground on top of one of the enemy soldiers, drenching the hapless man’s jerkin with its final ejaculation and deafening him with its orgasmic groan-cum-death rattle.
What kind of man gets bum implants? Well, apparently the same kind who gets his eyes widened, his jawline straightened and his ribcage shortened to allow self-fellation. And, if the strictly confidential yet poorly-guarded records were to be believed, which the court ruled that they were, the same kind of man also saw fit to have his balls enlarged, which wasn’t unheard of but usually didn’t entail the use, and indeed the tragic and eventually fatal overuse, of growth hormones and, verily, something listed only by its brand name (Mr Magoo’s Magic Nutbulge).