He stepped into the dark house and closed the front door behind him. He turned on the little lamp by the door. Everything was eerily quiet. He grinned, wondering if they were all going to jump out at him and shout “Surprise!” and st- BONK! He trod on the landmine and was immediately blown with sickening force into the ceiling, whence he bounced hard into the floor, there to lie until death came.
“Oh no?” he leered. “Then explain this!”
He threw down the polaroids of her naked body. Just as he had claimed, she had the birthmark that matched that of the killer. And she had the same huge, round bosoms that each of the witnesses had described. The three detectives were stunned, each staring at the pictures for ten, twenty, thirty seconds, before one of them suddenly uttered a sound that began like surprise but grew into amazement and then orgasmic exultation, and just as he spunked, his two colleagues did the same, all now flopping back in their chairs and barely able to keep their eyes open as the fronts of their trousers went dark and began to glisten.
She was only the vicar’s daughter, but she knew a surprising amount about massive turds as well.
It was unbelievably spoogey, this place. Well, these pants, anyway. His pants. The ones he was wearing. They were spoogey because he had cummed into them, and recently. Essentially, he had cummed in his pants and then been slightly surprised at how cummy that left them. Five minutes later the fabric had fused to his pubes.