Zimmer
About the George Zimmer copypasta
HI, I'M GEORGE ZIMMER, FOUNDER AND CEO OF THE MEN'S WEARHOUSE. 9/11 WAS A LIE. THERE WERE NO TOWEL HEADS. THERE WAS NO AIRPLANE. IN TRUTH I WAS VISITING THE BIG APPLE, SO AS TO COMPARE MY GARGANTUAN MEAT TRAIN TO IT AND LAUGH AT THE GASPING NEW YORKERS AS I POUNDED THEIR BELOVED NAMESAKE INTO BIG APPLE SAUCE. HAVING NOT GOTTEN RELEASE FROM MY CULINARY EXERCISE, I MEANDERED DOWN THE STREET WITH MY VITAL BLOOD ENGORGED SEWER PIPE OUT IN FRONT OF ME LIKE A BLIND MAN'S CANE, LOOKING FOR A HOLE IN THE BACKSIDE OF A WOMAN WHICH I WOULD STRETCH BEYOND HUMAN LIMITS. I SPOTTED AT THAT VERY MOMENT AN ATTRACTIVE FEMALE IN A MINISKIRT WAVING AT ME. I SLAPPED HER TO THE GROUND WITH MY ENORMOUS PHALLUS AND QUICKLY RAVISHED HER SKIRT LIKE A STARVED DOG ON A BABY MADE OF STEAK. THE SIGHT THAT AWAITED BOTH SHOCKED AND ENRAGED ME. AFTER SEEING THIS "WOMAN'S" RAISIN-SIZED WINKY WINKLER, I VOMITED DOWN HIS THROAT AND PENETRATED HIS ESOPHAGUS, RIPPED OUT HIS SPINE AND PEELED HIS CORPSE FROM MY MONEYMAKER. TO TEACH ALL OF NEW YORK A LESSON FOR LETTING THIS FLAMING FAG BAG LIVE, I LET LOOSE A SEMENAL FLOOD OF BIBLICAL PROPORTIONS UPON THE TOWERS OF TWO (AT WHOM'S SMALL SIZE I LAUGHED LIKE A CLOWN RAPING AN 8 YEAR OLD), WHICH CAUSED THEM TO COME CRASHING DOWN LIKE ME AFTER A WEEKEND METH BINGE. I MOCKED THE NEW YORKERS AND MADE NIGGER JOKES AS THEY RAN FROM MY EVER EXPANDING CLOUD OF SPERMAZOA, MASTURBATING TO THE LOOKS OF HORROR ON THEIR FACES. THE GOVERNMENT, IN AN ATTEMPT TO SAVE FACE AND BECAUSE THEY HATE ARABS MORE THAN JEWS, PAINTED A BOEING 767 ON MY GIGANTIC COCK AND CALLED IT A TERRORIST ATTACK. THE FEELING OF PAINTBRUSHES ON MY DICK MADE ME COME AGAIN, AND PRESIDENT BUSH SNORTED UP EVERY LAST DROP BECAUSE HE THOUGHT IT WAS COKE. I GUARANTEE IT.
I'M GEORGE ZIMMER, FOUNDER AND CEO OF THE MEN'S WEARHOUSE. MY SECRETARY, FOLLOWING A BARBARIC BEAVER BEATING THAT SLOUGHED OFF HER UTERINE LINING MORE EFFECTIVELY THAN HER OWN MENSTRUAL CYCLE, INFORMED ME THAT MY TWO LEAST FAVORITE ARTISTS, 311 AND SCOTT STAPP, WERE RECENTLY INVOLVED IN A SCUFFLE. HISTORICALLY A MEDIATOR, I FLEW IN MY LEARJET TO MEET THE TWO BANDS. THE TWO GROUPS WERE WHINING LIKE ANNA NICOLE SMITH AFTER INHERITANCE MONEY UNTIL I PREPPED THE MEMBERS OF 311 FOR THE IMPENDING IMPALEMENT WITH A COMPREHENSIVE COATING OF NUT NECTAR, GLUING THEM TO THE GROUND. AFTER SUSTAINING A BLUNT FORCE TRAUMA TO THE HEAD FROM MY CROTCH CRUSHING CONCUSSION CANE, STAPP WAS TAKEN 'HIGHER' THAN EVER BEFORE AS HE WAS BOUNCED LIKE A BABY UPON THE Z-MAN'S TWO-TON TROUSER-SCHNAUZER, WHILE THE 311 MEMBERS WERE HELD CAPTIVE BY THEIR OWN ASSHOLES LIKE BOWLING BALLS. THE FORCE FROM MY CULVERT-SIZED COCK SPLITTING STAPP APART WAS ENOUGH TO CAUSE HIM TO DEVELOP DUAL PERSONALITY DISORDER. AS STAPP PROCEEDED TO BLEED TO DEATH, MY STEADFAST SLUT-SPEARING SON-SIRING SKINFLUTE BURST THROUGH THE LEAD SINGER'S BVD'S, CAUSING HIM TO BREAK OUT INTO A RAPE-INSPIRED RENDITION OF 'COME ORIGINAL'. I COULD ONLY INTERPRET HIS SINGING TO INDICATE IT WAS TIME TO FINISH UP, SO I BURIED THE ALT-ROCK GREAT IN A GOOEY GRAVE OF GONAD GOULASH. MY GROIN YETI IS NOW THE SIXTH MEMBER OF 311, I GUARANTEE IT.
HI, I'M GEORGE ZIMMER, FOUNDER AND CEO OF THE MEN'S WEARHOUSE. WHILE SURREPTITIOUSLY PLUNGING MY ROSY-CHEEKED CYCLOPEAN ALLY INTO THE ANAL CAVITY OF A YOUNG MIGRANT FARM WORKER OF INDETERMINATE GENDER IN THE FRONT ROW OF A MOVIE THEATER, THE POOR YOUTH SCREAMED FOR MORE THAN THREE MINUTES STRAIGHT, FINALLY COUGHING UP A LOAD OF 100% PURE ZIMMER SAUCE AND PASSING OUT. THE OTHER MOVIE PATRONS, ANGRY AT THE INTERRUPTION OF THE ADVENTURES OF SHARKBOY AND LAVAGIRL IN 3-D, BEGAN PELTING ME WITH DRINKS, FOOD, AND PHONE NUMBERS HASTILY WRITTEN ON NAPKINS. UNFORTUNATELY, MY OUTRAGEOUSLY DAPPER SUIT WAS RUINED IN THE PROCESS. I NONCHALANTLY PULLED THE UNCONSCIOUS YOUTH OFF MY ENORMOUS EYEBALL GOUGER AND STRIPPED NUDE. THEN, WITH A BESTIAL ROAR, I BEAT THE ENTIRE AUDIENCE TO DEATH--WITHOUT LEAVING THE FRONT ROW. ON MY WAY OUT, IN THE CUSTOM OF THE ZIMMER FAMILY, I GAVE THEM A BURIAL AT SEMEN. I GUARANTEE IT.
HI I'M GEORGE ZIMMER, FOUNDER AND CEO OF THE MENS WEARHOUSE. I HAVE BECOME AWARE THAT YOU /B/TARDS HAVE BEEN SOILING MY GRACIOUS NAME ON THE INTERNET AND ATTEMPTING TO TARNISH MY STREET REP WITH YOUR FALSITIES AND ACCUSSATIONS THAT I AM NOT THE REAL DEAL. CLEARLY THERE IS SOME CONFUSION HERE. YOU /B/TARDS TREAD DANGEROUS GROUND IN YOUR ATTEMPT TO DECLARE ME AND MY GARGANTUAN GRAVY GEYSER A FRAUD. CLEARLY, YOU ARE VICTIM OF YOUR OWN RUSE HERE, CHARLATANS. MY THROAT RENDING MAN-TRUNCHEON WILL HEAR NO MORE OF YOUR LIES. ONE COULD CALL YOUR ACTIONS HERE HERESY, BECAUSE AS ANY /B/TARD KNOWS, MY ASS SHATTERING MAN SHUTTLE RIVALS, NO, SURPASSES THE MIGHT OF THE GODS THEMSELVES. JESUS DID NOT DIE BY CRUCIFIXION, HE WAS DRIVEN UNDER BY AN ONSLAUGHT OF MY SUFFOCATING SACK SAUCE. SO DRAW YOUR WEAPONS AND MAKE YOURSELF HEARD, AND PREPARE YOURSELF TO PERISH IN THE CHAOS OF A MANCANO ERUPTION THAT KNOWS NO EQUAL. I GUARANTEE IT.
HI. I'M GEORGE ZIMMER, CEO AND FOUNDER OF THE MEN'S WEARHOUSE. ON NOVEMBER 1ST, MY HE-SPEWING MAN VOLCANO WILL SIMULTANEOUSLY SLATHER TEN MAJOR CITIES AROUND THE WORLD WITH THICK, CALLOUS SPOOGE. NOT A SINGLE SOUL IN ANY OF THOSE CITIES WILL BE SPARED FROM MY GOD-KILLING GREAT HUNK OF MAN-MEAT. WHEN THE MEDIA ARRIVES TO VIEW MY SPERM-SOAKED DISASTER, THE SPERM WILL ATTACK AND DESTROY THEM ON LIVE TV. EACH SPERM BEING THE SIZE OF A FULL GROWN GERMAN SHEPHERD. WHEN THE WORD GETS OUT TO THE REST OF THE WORLD THAT MY VAST CUM-FLUTE IS ON THE LOOSE AGAIN, HAVOC WILL ENSUE. I GUARANTEE IT.
HI, I'M GEORGE ZIMMER, CEO AND FOUNDER OF THE MEN'S WEARHOUSE. ONE LATE EVENING, AS I WAS YODELING INTO THE CAVERNOUS COOCH OF MY COHABITATION PARTNER, I HAD A BRIGHT IDEA - TO STROKE MY MASSIVE MANLY MEATSICLE OVER THE BURNING FORESTS OF YELLOWSTONE. FIRE SUPPRESANT MAY NOT STOP THE RAGING FLAMES, BUT MY COLLOSAL COCK CONGLOMERATE WOULD. DOUSING THE FLAMES IN GEORGE'S JOCKSTRAP JUICE WOULD CAUSE THE FLAMES TO IMMEDIATELY EXTINGUISH, LEAVING NOTHING BUT TREES AND SLICK SACK SAUCE WITHIN THE PINES. WHILE WOODLAND ANIMALS WOULD NOT SURVIVE THE TORRENTIAL RAINS OF MY SUPER SPOOGE SYRUP, THE FOREST RANGERS, IF FEMALE, WOULD BE VERY APPRECIATIVE. I GUARANTEE IT
HI. I'M THE REAL GEORGE ZIMMER, THE FOUNDER AND CEO OF THE MEN'S WAREHOUSE. I RECENTLY WAS TRAVELLING ABROAD IN CHINA, SEEKING TO PERHAPS SELL THE ONCOMING TIDE OF CHINESE BUSINESSMEN THE ABSOLUTE FINEST THAT THE WEST CAN OFFER THEM, APPEASING THE RED DRAGON. WHILE ON THE OUTSKIRTS OF HUNAN PROVINCE, I NOTICED A PORCELIN SKINNED, BEAUTY OF A GIRL, FESTOONED IN HUMBLE PEASANT GARB AND WORKING MENIAL JOBS. RIGHT THEN I DECIDED THAT I WOULD GRANT HER A RERPREIVE SHE COULD NEVER FORGET. AT ONCE I LOOSED MY THUNDEROUS LABIA LATHE, AND USING MY IMMENSE GROINAL DEXTERITY, TORE HER GARMENTS OFF. THEN I PENETRATED HER TIGHT, VIRGIN, FUCKSLOT. THEN, AFTER A FEW HOURS OF THRUSTING, SHE ORGASMED SO HARD THAT THE DRY CAKED EARTH OF HER FATHER'S FARM SPRANG INTO BLOOM. THE MAN IN QUESTION RUSHED OUT AND STARTED SCREAMING AT ME IN HIS HEATHEN DEVIL TONGUE. I LOOSED A BLAST FROM MY STUPENDUS SCHTUPPER, SO MASSIVE IN VOLUME, THAT MY HOT PREGNANCY-INDUCING CHOWDER SHOT OUT OF THE GIRL'S MOUTH AND HIT HER FATHER SO HARD, HIS DESSICATED BODY SHATTERED AGAINST THE GREAT WALL SO HARD THAT PEOPLE IN NEW YORK SHAT THEMSELVES. I GUARANTEE IT
HI, I'M GEORGE ZIMMER, FOUNDER AND CEO OF THE MEN'S WEARHOUSE. I'D BEEN HEARING ALOT LATELY ABOUT THE MERITS OF THIS CHUCK NORRIS FELLOW, SO I THOUGHT I'D PAY HIM A VISIT- ZIMMER STYLE. AS I APPROACHED HIS HOUSE, I HEARD A TWIG SNAP BEHIND ME AND THEN OUT OF NOWHERE CAME THE LEG OF THE ONE AND ONLY CHUCK NORRIS. LUCKILY MY REFLEXES WERE TOO FAST FOR HIM. MY MASSIVE MASCULINE MEAT-PIPE BURST FORTH FROM MY FINELY-TAILORED TROUSERS, ENSNARING HIS LEG WITH THE POWER OF A THOUSAND ANACONDAS. HIS ONCE POWERFUL INSTRUMENT OF DEATH THUSLY DESTROYED, HE WAS COMPLETELY POWERLESS. I DECIDED THAT THAT UGLY MUG OF HIS WAS NOT UP TO ZIMMER STANDARDS, SO I DETERMINED TO DELIVER A MAKEOVER HE WOULDN'T SOON FORGET. HE BEGAN TO CRY LIKE A KITTEN UNDER A STEAMROLLER AS MY PULSATING PELVIC PILEDRIVER DELIVERED BLOW AFTER BLOW TO HIS EVER-SOFTENING SKULL. AS I FINISHED OFF MY FLESH-SCULPTURE, I REALIZED THAT I HAD FORMED HIS HEAD INTO THE SHAPE OF DEVIL'S TOWER. THE SHOCK CAUSED ME TO LET FORTH A FLOOD OF CAUSTIC COD CREME THAT BURNED OFF THAT RIDICULOUS STUBBLE HE CALLS A BEARD. HE'S UNCONCIOUS NOW, BUT HE'LL SOON WAKE UP. HE'S GONNA LIKE THE WAY HE LOOKS. I GUARANTEE IT.
HI, I'M GEORGE ZIMMER, CEO AND FOUNDER OF THE MEN'S WEARHOUSE. THIS MORNING I MADE A VISIT TO YOUR DECREPIT OLD GRANDMOTHER AT THE RETIREMENT HOME - I COULD SMELL HER EXCITEMENT AT MY ARRIVAL EMENATING FROM HER DEPENDS FROM HALFWAY DOWN THE HALL. I WIPED THE SHIT OFF THAT WRINKLY ASS WITH THE CHRISTMAS CARD YOU SENT HER BEFORE I IMPLANTED MY SEXUAL SQUID THREE FEET UP HER COLON. HER WHEELCHAIR COLLAPSED UNDER THE RELENTLESS POUNDING OF MY POWERFUL ANAL INTRUDER. SHE CLIMAXED WITH SUCH FEROCITY THAT MRS. PETERSON THREE DOORS DOWN WENT INTO CARDIAC ARREST AND OLD MAN JENKINS CAME OUT OF HIS COMA. SHE LAPPED UP THE REMNANTS OF MY BOYBUTTER OFF THE LINOLEUM AND USED IT TO TAKE A WEEK'S WORTH OF MEDS. I GUARANTEE IT.
HI, I'M GEORGE ZIMMER, FOUNDER AND CEO OF THE MEN'S WAREHOUSE
NOW THIS IS THE STORY ALL ABOUT HOW EVERY PERSON IN THIS WORLD CAN’T RESIST MY PLOW AND I’D LIKE TO TAKE A MINUTE TO TALK ABOUT MY KIT YOU’LL LIKE THE WAY IT LOOKS…I GUARANTEE IT
IN NEW YORK CITY, BORN AND RAISED POLISHING MY PISTOL’S HOW I SPENT MY DAYS FINGERING, TINKERING, TOUCHING UP MY TOOL CLEANING IT AND MAKING ALL THE LOVELY LADIES DROOL WHEN SUPERMAN FELL FROM THE SKIES ABOVE, SAID, “I CAN PWN YOUR PURPLE-HELMETED WARRIOR OF LOVE”. SO I GAVE HIM A TASTE OF MY PILE-DRIVING PLEXUS AND REALIZED, “I SHOULD MAKE MEN’S SUITS IN TEXAS”.
I HAILED FOR A CAB AND WHEN IT CAME NEAR IT HAD A STICKER THAT SAID “OBJECTS SMALLER IN MIRROR”. SAID I TO THE CABBIE “I CAN PROVE THAT WRONG!” SO I SHOWED THE GOOD SIR MY SIZEABLE SCHLONG IT VERILY WAS A SIGHT THAT HE JUST COULDN’T QUIT AND THAT’S WHEN I FIRST PROCLAIMED, “I GUARANTEE IT!”
I PULLED UP TO MY MANSION WITH A TRUCK OF WOMEN AND GAVE THEM ALL A TASTE OF MY OMNIPOTENT SEMEN LOOKED AT MY KINGDOM AND KNEW I WOULD FIT AND THAT’S HOW I CAME TO SAY, “I GUARANTEE IT”.
HELLO, I'M GEORGE ZIMMER, FOUNDER AND CEO OF THE MEN'S WEARHOUSE. JUST NOW, A MENTALLY INSANE MAN NAMED ERIC BAUMAN STOLE A SUIT FROM MY STORE AND CLAIMED IT WAS HIS. IN NO TIME, MY MASSIVE MANHOOD MISSILE TORE OUT OF MY FRESHLY TAILORED PANTS, KNOCKING HIM TO THE GROUND. THE LOOK OF FRIGHT IN HIS EYES CAUSED MY LOVE MACHINE TO TINGLE, AND WITH MY OBLITERATED PANTS LAY STREWN ABOUT MY ANKLES, I CHARGED AT HIM WITH THE FEROCITY OF A FREIGHT TRAIN. THE LOOK THAT GRACED HIS TEARFUL EYES AS MY PULSATING POWER PUMP RUSHED TO MEET HIS FACE WILL CAUSE ME RUMBLING LAUGHTER FOR MANY A YEAR TO COME. SCARED AND HELPLESS, HE TRIED TO RUN BUT IT WAS FUTILE AS HE GOT A TASTE OF MY COLLOSAL COCK CANNON CRASHING ACROSS HIS CRANIUM, KNOCKING HIM ACROSS THE FLOOR, THROUGH SEVERAL DESKS, AND FINALLY CRASHING HIM AGAINST THE WALL, WHERE I STOOD OVER HIM RELEASING A MULTITUDE OF MANJUICE, DROWNING HIM IN MY RICH PROTEIN SHAKE. THE COPIOUS AMOUNT OF CORN SYRUP FROM MY PULSATING POWER PACKED PUBIC FLESHMEAT FLOODED THE STORE AND SEVERAL NEARBY STREETS, INJURING HUNDREDS AS THEY TRIED TO FLEE. I GUARANTEE IT.
HI, I'M GEORGE ZIMMER, FOUNDER AND CEO OF THE MENS WAREHOUSE. RECENTLY, I WAS APPROACHED BY QUITE A LUCIOUS LOOKING LADY PERSON. HER BINDING BUST FIGURE IMMEDIATLY FORCED MY TWITCHING GARGANTUAN MAN CANNON TO RAPIDLY EXPAND TO DIVINE ELEPHANTINE DIMENSIONS. THE LADY IN QUESTION, WHO'S BEAUTY WAS ONLY MATCHED BY THAT OF MY COLLOSSAL DOWNSTAIRS DOWEL, WAS ASTOUNDED AND THUS PROCEEDED TO STARE INTENTLY AT MY INTENSIFYINGLY TITANTIC LUST LOG OF INFINITE SEXUAL DESIRE AS IT OBILTERATED MY FINE UNDERWEAR AND TROUSERS CUNNINGLY CONSTRUCTED BY MY DIGNIFIED CHAIN OF RETAILERS. SHE WAS SO FLABBERGASTED AT THE SHEER SIZE AND GRANDEUR OF MY MAGNIFICENT AND IMPRESSIVE ZIMMER BATON THAT I UNDRESSED HER FINE SKIRT AND UNDERWEAR GARMENTS WITH MY PSYCOKINETIC EYES AND SLAMMED MY GIANT OMINOUS VEINY WHALE INTO THE CREVACE OF HER ORIFICE AND DISCHARGED AN ARMY OF MINITURE DAPPER ALBINO BOSNIANS TO COAT THE INSIDES OF HER ANAL CAVITY WITH ONLY THE FINEST SMELLING ZIMMER PROTEIN PACKED PENILE PRODUCE. ONCE I HAD FINISHED WITH THE PUPPYLIKE WHORE, I STAMPED MY NOW ALMOST FLACID STOPCOCK OF JOY AGAINST THE GROUND AND CHARGED INTO THE NIGHT SKY WITH THE ROCKET FUEL OF A THOUSAND GODS TO CONTINUE MY CRUSADES OF MEAT CLOBBERIN'. I GUARANTEE IT.
HELLO, I'M GEORGE ZIMMER, FOUNDER AND C.E.O. OF THE MEN'S WEARHOUSE. AS BEFITS ANY MAN OF MY SENSATIONALLY STUPENDOUS STATURE, I HAVE HAD MY SHARE OF BRUSHES WITH THE LAW. I RECALL ONE AUSPICIOUS AUTUMN AFTERNOON I WAS LEAVING THE SCENE OF YET ANOTHER OF MY RIDICULOUSLY RAPTUROUS RAPE RUNS AT THE LOCAL CONVENT WHEN I WAS ACCOSTED BY A POSITIVELY PULSE-POUNDINGLY PRECOCIOUS POLICEWOMAN. ONE LOOK AT THE BUSTY BADGE-BRANDISHING BEAUTY HAD MY CONSUMMATELY COLLOSAL CROTCH CANNON THUMPING AGAINST MY PANT LEG FOR RELEASE. A TWITCH OF THE WRIST, AND MY MONSTROUSLY MIGHTY, MAGESTICALLY MANED LOIN LION ROARED FORTH AND DROVE DEEP PAST THE LUSCIOUSLY LASCIVIOUS LAW-LADY'S LABIA. AS SHE SQUIRMED AND SWAYED AT THE SOUL-SPEARING SENSATION THAT IS THE SPIRITUAL SEXPERIENCE OF ZIMMER, MY SOFA-SIZED SWEATY SEXUAL SWASHBUCKLER SPOUTED A SINFULLY SUCCULENT SPRAY OF SENSATIONALLY SLOPPY, SWEET-SMELLING SPERM SAUCE. I'VE NEVER PAID A PARKING TICKET SINCE. I GUARANTEE IT.
HI... I'M GEORGE ZIMMER - FOUNDER AND CEO OF THE MEN'S WEARHOUSE. CECIL, YOUR TECHNIQUES SUCKS WORSE THAN MONICA LEWINSKY HOPPED UP ON BILL CLINTON'S COCK ON A BAD DAY. I WOULD ADMIT THAT I PLUNGED MY IMMENSE PEVLIC REDWOOD INTO THOSE HOT, DRIPPING ORIFICES ANY DAY OF THE WEEK. SORT OF LIKE THE NIGHT I HAD WITH YOUR MOTHER ON A MIDSUMMER'S EVE. SHE WAS ASTOUNDED WHEN I WHIPPED OUT MY LUMBERING MAN-MEAT AND MADE MY WAY WITH HER WHILE I RECITED TO HER PORTIONS OF DANTE'S INFERNO IN LATIN. SHE SCREAMED SO LOUD, IT CAUSED THE NEIGHBORS TO ORGASM. I GUARANTEE IT.
HI, I'M GEORGE ZIMMER, FOUNDER AND CEO OF THE MEN'S WEARHOUSE. I RECIEVED YOUR MEMO CONCERNING LAST WEEKS LUNCHEON, AND I MUST SAY I REALLY ENJOYED MYSELF. YOUR SISTER, WHO APPARENTLY DECIDED TO ATTEND THE PARTY WEARING A STUNNING SILK DRESS, GAVE MY GARGANTUAL ENORMOUS PULSATING COLUMN OF FLESH NO OTHER CHOICE BUT TO EXTEND AND ERECT TO ITS FULL POTENTIAL, THE SIZE OF WHICH I CAN HARDLY EXPRESS IN WORDS. AT THE SIGHT OF MY IMMENSE MEAT HAMMER, I FOUND YOUR SISTER BEGGING AND MOANING, ON HER KNEES, FOR JUST ONE TASTE OF MY ZIMMER SPECIAL. THE RESULT WAS INEVITABLE; YOUR SISTER WAS INSTANTLY BLOWN ACROSS THE ROOM AS MY COLOSSAL HOSE EXPLODED IN A TORRENT OF MY DNA PUDDING. IT TOOK HER 2 HOURS TO REMOVE THE THICK LAYER OF MY SPECIAL NUT BATTER FROM HER FACE, AND EVEN THOUGH I STRONGLY DISCOURAGED IT, SHE DECIDED TO CONSUME THE ENTIRE QUANTITY OF MY HE-SALSA, THE VOLUME OF WHICH COULD EASILY FILL A INDUSTRIAL SIZED FUEL TANK. I GUARANTEE IT.
HI… I’M GEORGE ZIMMER - FOUNDER AND CEO OF THE MEN’S WEARHOUSE. LAST NIGHT I UNSHEATHED MY MUNGO MAN SPOUT FROM MY JEANS AND FLOPPED IT DOWN IN FRONT OF YOUR MOTHER - YOUR SENILE DOWNSTAIRS NEIGHBOUR TAPPED AT HER CEILING BECAUSE OF THE CLAMOR. YOUR MOM WAS BARELY ABLE TO NIBBLE AT MY PLUMP, PRODIGIOUS MEMBER BEFORE I GRABBED IT LIKE A LASSO AND SMACKED HER ACROSS THE FACE SO HARD SHE FLEW, SPINNING, ONTO THE BED BENT OVER - AWAITING THE ADMISSION OF MY THROBBING ACREAGE OF FLESH. SHE COULD ONLY TAKE 30 SECONDS OF HALF MY SCROTAL CAMEL BEFORE SHE FAINTED. I FINISHED UP AND BESTOWED A STUNNING LIKENESS OF THE POPE ON HER BACK IN BABY SPACKLE. I USED HER TOOTH BRUSH AS TOILET PAPER AND LEFT A QUARTER ON HER ASS. SHE CALLED ME FOUR TIMES TODAY. I GUARANTEE IT.
HI, I'M GEORGE ZIMMER, FOUNDER AND CEO OF THE MEN'S WEARHOUSE. ONE DAY, ABOUT A WEEK AGO, I WAS HOLDING A MEETING WITH MY COMPANY'S BOARD OF DIRECTORS, EXPLAINING THE IMPORTANCE OF DEDICATION, AND QUALITY IN THE SALE OF OUTRAGEOUSLY DAPPER SUITS, WHEN I NOTICED ONE OF THE MEMBERS OF THE BOARD WAS, IN FACT, A STUNNINGLY BEAUTIFUL BLOND FEMALE, HER BEAUTY MATCHED ONLY BY HER PROFESSIONAL MANNER AND ABSOLUTELY ELEGANT SUIT. THIS COMBINATION OF STIMULI GAVE MY MONOLITHIC CROTCH CANNON NO CHOICE BUT TO AUGMENT AND OBLITERATE MY PANTS. WITHIN MOMENTS MY MEMBER HAD DESOLATED THE BOARD ROOM, THE TABLE HAVING BEEN SMASHED UNDER THE SHEER GIRTH OF MY PELVIC PULVERISER, AND THE WOMAN IN QUESTION WAS IMPALED ON ITS GARGANTUAN TIP, HAVING THROWN HERSELF IN ITS APOCOLIPTIC PATH OF DESTRUCTION IN AN EFFORT NOT ONLY TO SAVE THE LIVES OF HER COLLEAGUES, BUT TO EXPERIENCE FIRSTHAND THE QUASI-RELIGEOUS EXPERIENCE THAT IS ZIMMER. AS MY TROUSER TRUNCHEON EXPANDED, DEMOLISHING WALLS AND DISPATCHING THE INTERNS WHO ATTEMPTED TO ESCAPE WITH THEIR LIVES RATHER THAN THROW THEMSELVES AT THE MERCY OF MY THROBBING FLESH MISSLE. MOMENTS LATER MY PHALLUS HAD KNOCKED OUT MANY OF THE BUILDING'S SUPPORT BEAMS AND THE FLOORS OVERHEAD CRASHED DOWN, THE FORCE OF THEIR MOMENTUM CAUSING THE ENTIRE BUILDING ITSELF TO COLLAPSE IN A NIGHTMARISH MANNER NOT UNLIKE A FAMOUS DISASTER FROM A FEW YEARS AGO. RISING FROM THE RUBBLE, WITH THE STUNNING BOARD MEMBER STILL ON THE TIP OF MY GOD-SHLONG CRYING ALOUD FOR MERCY, HER SUIT AS WELL AS MINE UTTERLY RUINED BY THE AFFAIR, AS WELL AS A DOZEN OTHERS STILL CLINGING TO THE SHAFT. i LET OUT A THUNDERING ROAR AND LET SPEW FORTH MY SEED WITH SUCH AWE-INSPIRING FORCE THAT THE LOAD SHATTERED THE SOUND BARRIER, VAPOURIZING MY LUSTY ASSOCIATE, CRUSHING EVERYONE IN SIGHT AND SHATTERING EVERY WINDOW IN A 5-MILE RADIUS. IN THE AFTERMATH, STANDING NAKED AND COVERED IN CEMENT DUST, AND SMILING CONTENTLY AT THE DEMOLISHED, SEMEN-COVERED RUINS BEFORE ME, I SPOTTED A SMALL DOG, STUMBING IN THE DEBRIS, ITS EARS BLEEDING AND GASPING FOR BREATH IN THE HUMID MUSK. I COULDN'T HELP MYSELF. WITH A LOUD THUD MY ELEPHANTINE MAN-HAMMER HAD CRUSHED THE ANIMAL LIKE A THICK, MEATY FLYSWATTER. I GUARANTEE IT
HI, I'M GEORGE ZIMMER, FOUNDER AND CEO OF THE MEN'S WEARHOUSE. THE TWELVE MINERS WERE ACTUALLY ALIVE. I WAS IN THE RESCUE PARTY EYEING A PARTICULARLY ATTRACTIVE FEMALE WHEN WE FOUND THE GROUP. IN THE JOY OF UNCOVERING THESE COAL-CLAD MEN CLINGING TO LIFE, MY EXTRAVAGANTLY ENGORGED ENDOWMENT FREED ITSELF FROM ITS ENCLOSED ENVIRONMENT AND TORE THROUGH THE WOMAN'S CLOTHES, TAKING HER FOR A SURPRISE RIDE ON THE ZIMMER MINESHAFT DRILL. THE SHOCK AND AWE CAUSE BY MY MASSIVE MEMBER RENDERED THE REST OF THE RESCUERS UNABLE TO HELP THE SURVIVORS. SEEING THE WIDE EYES OF THE MINERS IN FRONT OF ME, I LET LOOSE A LEGENDARY LANDMINE OF LIQUID MAN-LATHER, EXPLODING SO POWERFULLY IT LACERATED THE BODY CAVITY OF MY FEMALE COMPANION, MIXING WITH HER BLOOD LIKE A STRAWBERRY CREAMSLUSH AS IT FILLED THE CAVERNOUS MINE AS IF IT WERE A GIGANTIC UTERUS. ONLY ONE OF THE MINERS HAD STRENGTH ENOUGH TO STAY ABOVE THE RISING WAVES OF MY CAVE CHOWDER, SWIMMING TO THE SURFACE WITH ME, THE OTHER RESCUERS, AND MY IMPALED COMPANION. I'M NOT SURE HOW HE SURVIVED, BUT I'LL FINISH HIM OFF WHEN I MAKE MY ROUNDS WITH THE NURSES TONIGHT. I GUARANTEE IT.
HI, I'M GEORGE ZIMMER, FOUNDER AND CEO OF THE MEN'S WEARHOUSE. ON MY RETURN FLIGHT HOME FROM MADRID ON HOLIDAY, I WAS AGHAST TO LEARN THAT THE AIRLINE PATRON SEATED IN FRONT OF ME HAD BECOME OVERLY INDULGENT IN THE COMPLIMENTARY SPIRITS OFFERED BY THE FLIGHT CREW. HIS UNRULY BEHAVIOR TOWARDS THE OTHER PASSENGERS WARRANTED A SWIFT AND RATHER UNSOLICITED EXERSIZE SESSION OF HIS VULNERABLE ANAL CAVITY. STANDING TO SPEAK HARSHLY TO THE MAN, MY WONDERFULLY WICKED WOMAN WOOING WONDER WIENER FELL TO THE FLOOR OF THE AIRCRAFT WITH A TERRIFFIC THUD FROM THE BERMUDA SHORTS THAT HAD SOMEHOW CONTAINED IT PREVIOUSLY. HIS SCREAMING PLEAS FOR MERCY AND FORGIVENESS ECHOED IN THE OTHERWISE SILENT CABIN, AND I SUSPECT THEY WILL RING FOREVER IN THE EARS OF THOSE WHO BORE WITNESS TO THE DRAMA AND FERVOR WITH WHICH MY GREATLY-GIRTHED GATLING GONADS PIERCED BOTH HIS HERSHEY HIGHWAY AND THE SANCTITY OF HIS VERY SOUL IN UNISON. UPON SATISFACTION OF MY LESSON HAVING BEEN TAUGHT, I RELEASED ONTO MY ADMIRING ONLOOKERS A TORRENTIAL TESTICULAR TSUNAMI THAT MADE UNWILLING MEMBERS OF THE MILE HIGH CLUB OUT OF EVERY PERSON ON BOARD FLIGHT 606 TO NEW YORK CITY. I GUARANTEE IT.
HI, I'M GEORGE ZIMMER, FOUNDER AND CEO OF THE MEN'S WEARHOUSE. AS I WAS BROWSING THE MAJESTICALLY ANONYMOUSLY SHITPILE THAT IS /B/, I NOTICED THEY WERE GEARING UP FOR SOMETHING KNOWN AS THE ALL9S GET AND 10M GET. FIGURING THEY WERE NEARING SOME SORT OF WORLDWIDE INTERNET MILESTONE, I PROMPTLY BEGAN POSTING LEGENDARY COPY PASTA ABOUT MYSELF THROTTLING RANDOM FEMALES OF ALL AGES WITH MY MAMMOTH SPERM CANNON. OF COURSE, I REALIZED AT THAT TIME THAT IT WOULD TAKE BOTH GETS TO CONTAIN SUCH AWESOMENESS, SO I WENT BACK TO SIMULTANEOUSLY PELVIC PUMPING YOUR LASCIVIOUS LOLITA-NYMPHOMANIAC OF AN ELEVEN YEAR OLD DAUGHTER, OUT OF HER MOUTH AND INTO THE SLIPPERY WET LOVE TUNNEL OF YOUR OLDER, MORE DEVELOPED THIRTEEN YEAR OLD, ORGASMING THEM BOTH FAR BEYOND ANYTHING YOU AND YOUR NOW DEAD WIFE EVER EXPERIENCED TOGETHER. THEY WILL HAVE THE HONOR OF BEARING MY HEIRS FOR THE NEXT THIRTY YEARS. I GUARANTEE IT.
HI, I'M GEORGE ZIMMER, FOUNDER AND CEO OF THE MEN'S WEARHOUSE. 9/11 WAS A LIE. THERE WERE NO TOWEL HEADS. THERE WAS NO AIRPLANE. IN TRUTH I WAS VISITING THE BIG APPLE, SO AS TO COMPARE MY GARGANTUAN MEAT TRAIN TO IT AND LAUGH AT THE GASPING NEW YORKERS AS I POUNDED THEIR BELOVED NAMESAKE INTO BIG APPLE SAUCE. HAVING NOT GOTTEN RELEASE FROM MY CULINARY EXERCISE, I MEANDERED DOWN THE STREET WITH MY VITAL BLOOD ENGORGED SEWER PIPE OUT IN FRONT OF ME LIKE A BLIND MAN'S CANE, LOOKING FOR A HOLE IN THE BACKSIDE OF A WOMAN WHICH I WOULD STRETCH BEYOND HUMAN LIMITS. I SPOTTED AT THAT VERY MOMENT AN ATTRACTIVE FEMALE IN A MINISKIRT WAVING AT ME. I SLAPPED HER TO THE GROUND WITH MY ENORMOUS PHALLUS AND QUICKLY RAVISHED HER SKIRT LIKE A STARVED DOG ON A BABY MADE OF STEAK. THE SIGHT THAT AWAITED BOTH SHOCKED AND ENRAGED ME. AFTER SEEING THIS "WOMAN'S" RAISIN-SIZED WINKY WINKLER, I VOMITED DOWN HIS THROAT AND PENETRATED HIS ESOPHAGUS, RIPPED OUT HIS SPINE AND PEELED HIS CORPSE FROM MY MONEYMAKER. TO TEACH ALL OF NEW YORK A LESSON FOR LETTING THIS FLAMING FAG BAG LIVE, I LET LOOSE A SEMENAL FLOOD OF BIBLICAL PROPORTIONS UPON THE TOWERS OF TWO (AT WHOM'S SMALL SIZE I LAUGHED LIKE A CLOWN RAPING AN 8 YEAR OLD), WHICH CAUSED THEM TO COME CRASHING DOWN LIKE ME AFTER A WEEKEND METH BINGE. I MOCKED THE NEW YORKERS AND MADE NIGGER JOKES AS THEY RAN FROM MY EVER EXPANDING CLOUD OF SPERMAZOA, MASTURBATING TO THE LOOKS OF HORROR ON THEIR FACES. THE GOVERNMENT, IN AN ATTEMPT TO SAVE FACE AND BECAUSE THEY HATE ARABS MORE THAN JEWS, PAINTED A BOEING 767 ON MY GIGANTIC COCK AND CALLED IT A TERRORIST ATTACK. THE FEELING OF PAINTBRUSHES ON MY DICK MADE ME COME AGAIN, AND PRESIDENT BUSH SNORTED UP EVERY LAST DROP BECAUSE HE THOUGHT IT WAS COKE. SUDDENLY, HE CRIED OUT, "WHAT'S THAT AMAZING SMELL?" THEN A GROSSLY OBESE NEGRO POPPED OUT FROM BEHIND THE BURNING, TWISTED WRECKAGE OF THE WORLD TRADE CENTERS AND QUIPPED, "THAT'S THE POWER OF PINE-SOL!" DISPLEASED AT HER INTERRUPTION OF MY DEVASTATING SODOMY CONQUEST, YET SIMULTANEOUSLY ODDLY AROUSED BY A SUB-HUMANS DEFIANCE IN THE FACE OF MY TITANIC MEAT MONOLITH, I GRABBED THE NEGRESS BY HER ARMS AND INSERTED MY BATTLE CRUISER OF PASSION INTO THE ROILING WAVES OF FAT WHICH OBSCURED HER VAGINAL CLEFT. SHE SCREAMED INDECHIPHERABLY IN EBONICS, SO TO SHUT HER UP I POURED ALL THE CONTENTS OF THE PINE-SOL BOTTLE DOWN HER THROAT. UNFORTUNATELY, THE CHEMICALS IN THE LIQUID COMBINED WITH MY UNEARTHLY SUPER-SEMEN TO FORM A HIGHLY UNSTABLE AND EXPLOSIVE MIXTURE OF PURE POWER. JUST BEFORE THE FAT NEGRESS BLEW APART AS A RESULT OF THE INCREDIBLE CHEMICAL REACTION, MY MOTHER GOT SCARED AND SAID, "YOU'RE MOVING WITH YOUR AUNTIE AND UNCLE IN BEL-AIR." I WHISTLED FOR A CAB AND WHEN IT CAME NEAR, THE LICENSE PLATE SAID 'FRESH' AND IT HAD DICE IN THE MIRROR. IF ANYTHING I COULD SAY THAT THIS CAB WAS RARE, BUT I THOUGHT, 'NAH, FORGET IT, YOU HOLMES, TO BEL-AIR!" I PULLED UP TO THE HOUSE ABOUT SEVEN OR EIGHT AND I YELLED TO THE CABBY, YO HOLMES, SMELL YA LATER!" I LOOKED AT MY KINGDOM, I WAS FINALLY THERE, TO SIT ON MY THRONE AS THE PRINCE OF BEL-AIR. ONCE I ENTERED MY NEW, PALATIAL ABODE (ALMOST, BUT NOT QUITE, WORTHY OF MY INCALCULABLY HUGE MEAT MISSILE) I IMMEDIATELY SWEPT MY NEW FOSTER PARENTS ASIDE AND HEADED FOR THE ROOM OF THEIR YOUNG NIECE. YOU SEE, I JUST SPENT THE LAST TWENTY MINUTES RUBBING A TWELVE YEAR OLD GIRL'S BARE CHEST. "HOW?" YOU ASK. WELL APPARENTLY THERE ARE A SELECT FEW CONTEXTS WITHIN WHICH SUCH AN ACTION IS ACCEPTABLE. FOR INSTANCE, IF YOUR NIECE HAS A HACKING COUGH AND YOUR SISTER ASKS YOU TO "PUT SOME OF THIS ON HER" WHILE SHE CALLS THE DOCTOR.
"PUTTING SOME OF THIS ON HEAR" MEANT USING MY BARE HANDS TO RUB THIS VAPOR OINTMENT SHIT ALL OVER HER BARE NAKED CHEST. MY HEARTBEAT IS STILL ALL ERRATIC FROM IT. I HAD A BONER THE SIZE OF MANHATTAN THE ENTIRE TIME. SHE'S SLEEPING NOW AND I GUESS SHE FEELS BETTER BECAUSE SHE STOPPED COUGHING.
DETAILS: SHE'S ABOUT 5 FEET TALL, HAS LONG BROWN HAIR, A CUTE FACE, A THIN WAIST AND LONG SKINNY LEGS. SHE'S IN JAMMIES I THINK BECAUSE ALTHOUGH I'M PRETTY SHAKEN UP RIGHT NOW I KNOW I UNBUTTONED SOMETHING BEFORE I WENT AT IT.
GOD I FEEL SO GREAT. I JUST RUBBED MY HANDS LAL OVER HER FUCKING TITS, YOU GUYS. WELL THE PUFFY PARTS OF HER CHEST ANYWAY. HER NIPPLES GOT HARD. I JUST ABOUT WEPT TEARS OF JOY. OBVIOUSLY, THERE ARE VERY FEW THINGS IN THIS UNIVERSE WHICH CAN BRING ME TO SUCH A STATE, AND COMBINED WITH MY INCREDIBLE STATE OF AROUSAL, I WAS UNABLE TO HOLD BACK THE STORM BREWING IN MY COLOSSAL PUDDING BLASTER. MY STEAMING-HOT SILVER LAVA BLASTED OUT FURIOUSLY, INSTANTLY KILLING MY UNFORTUNATE YOUNG COUSIN AND REDUCING MY NEW HOME TO BLASTED BITS AND PIECES OF WOODEN DETRITUS. I GUARANTEE IT.
HI, I’M GEORGE ZIMMER, FOUNDER AND CEO OF THE MEN’S WEARHOUSE. THAT’S A CUTE STORY, ROBOT GEORGE ZIMMER. BUT I CAN BEST YOU. MY MORTAL MAN MAYONNAISE MAKERS AND MY FLESHY FEMALE FANTASY FULFILLER ARE MORE THAN A MATCH FOR ANY MERE TECHNOLOGICAL TOY. IT WAS SIX MONTHS AGO, AND SPRING HAD COME EARLY. THE LADIES WERE OUT IN FORCE, HUSTLING TO AND FROM THEIR JOBS, OR JUST HAVING FUN IN THE CRISP FEBRUARY AIR. UNTIL I ARRIVED IN NYC, HAVING FLOWN IN ON MY PRIVATE JET. AS ALWAYS HAPPENS AT AIRPORTS, I HAD A LINE OF FLIGHT ATTENDANTS A HUNDRED YARDS LONG, BEGGING FOR A CHANCE TO RIDE MY TANTALIZING TESTICLE TERRIER. MY IN-FLIGHT NAP, ONLY INTERRUPTED BY MY SEXY ONBOARD STEWARDESSES SURREPTITIOUSLY SNEAKING SENSUOUS CARESSES OF MY STUNNINGLY SEXY SUIT AND SEXUALLY SOOTHING SEMEN ASSAILANT, HAD LEFT ME PREPARED TO PLEASE ALL OF THEM. WITH A FLASH, I WAS INSIDE THE FIRST FLIGHT ATTENDANT, PUMMELING HER PASSAGES WITH PELVIC PROWESS AS SHE SCREAMED IN JOY, SHOCKING MANY ERRANT TRAVELERS AS THE MERE SOUND OF MY EROTIC PILLAGING BROUGHT THEM TO A MASSIVE SIMULTANEOUS ORGASM. THREE HOURS LATER, I STRODE OUT OF THE AIRPORT WITH A SMILE ON MY FACE, THE ONLY ONE STILL CONSCIOUS. AND MY SUIT WAS STILL IMMACULATE. I GUARANTEE IT.
HI, I’M GEORGE ZIMMER, FOUNDER AND CEO OF THE MEN’S WEARHOUSE.
ONCE UPON A MIDNIGHT DREARY, WHILE I PONDERED WEAK AND WEARY OVER MANY A QUAINT AND CURIOUS 4CHAN MOD'S WHORISH MOTHER WHILE I NODDED, NEARLY NAPPING, SUDDENLY THERE CAME A TAPPING AT MY FANTASTIC FERTILITY FRANKFURTER "TIS SOME WHORE," I MUTTERED, "RAPPING AT MY VEINY VENEREAL VIENNA WIENERSCHNITZEL. ONLY THIS AND NOTHING MORE."
AH, DISTINCTLY I REMEMBER, IT WAS IN THE BLEAK DECEMBER, AND CHILL HAD WITHERED MY OPULENT ORAL OPIATE UPON THE FLOOR. WITH A BLINK I LOOKED AND SHUDDERED, MY FOOT IN VIEW MY SIGHT UNCLUTTERED I SIGHED AND BEGAN TO VISUALLY EXPLORE THE AREA AROUND MY COMPUTER. AND I DISCOVERED SOMETHING MORE.
THE FOOT I SAW BELONGED TO ANOTHER, A VIXEN BORN OF SOMETHING OTHER THIS WAS NO 4CHANNER’S WHORISH MOTHER, BUT A VISION OF LUST AND ANAL PLUNDER A MIGHTY AMAZON, CLOTHES TORN ASUNDER AND PANTING MIGHTILY AT MY APPARENT FUROR HAVING SEEN MY LANGUID LADIES LUXURY LOVELINER AND NOTHING MORE.
MY NEED AWAKENED AS MY COMPUTER DESK WEAKENED AND CRACKED BENEATH MY BEWITCHING BEEF BICYCLE MUCH TO THE DELIGHT OF THIS WOMAN, CHRISTENED LENORE. I STOOD WITH DIFFICULTY IN THE WRECKAGE AND OFFERED TO MY LADY A PACKAGE A NIGHT OF UNENDING UNSTOPPABLE UNDULATING AND NOTHING MORE. WITH A NOD AND SAUCY GRIN THE PRINCESS OF THIS TALE BEGAN TO SLIDE THE TIP OF HEAVEN IN AND WHILE I OFFERED TO BE GENTLE, YOURS TRULY ISN’T SENTIMENTAL AND SO I RAMMED HER WITH MY FORCE DU JOUR-- A CARNAL CORINTHIAN COLUMN FORMED OF LUST AND WHORE. SHE CRIED IN ECSTASY, THEN WRITHED STILL MORE.
I REAMED HER ONCE INSIDE MY STUDY, AND THEN I BROUGHT HER TO A BEDROOM, WHERE I DELIGHTED HER WITH MY MIGHTY MAN MUSHROOM GALLANTLY GALLOPING THROUGH HER MUDDY ROAD TO BRING HER ORGASMS OF MAGNITUDE UNDISCOVERED AS SHE BEGGED FOR NOTHING BUT “MORE! MORE!”
AND SO WHEN MORNING ARRIVED AND ALTHOUGH SHE WAS FLUSTERED I ADDED AN ICING OF MY MAGNIFICENT MAN MUSTARD AND SHE SCREAMED MY NAME FOR NEARLY AN HOUR AS PASSIONS RAGED IN HER DELICATE FLOWER. SHE ASKED ME FOR MY NUMBER, AND PROMPTED ME TO GIVE IT. SO I TOLD HER TO VISIT THE MEN’S WEARHOUSE IN TUKTUT NUGAIT. “BABY, I’LL BE THERE,” I SAID, “I GUARANTEE IT.”
SIX MONTHS LATER, I SOLD HER FROZEN CORPSE TO THE CHINESE AS AN AUTHENTIC PRESERVED NATIVE AMERICAN. I GUARANTEE IT.
HI, I'M GEORGE ZIMMER, FOUNDER AND CEO OF THE MEN'S WEARHOUSE. IN A HIGH MATRIARCHAL SOCIETY, I, WITH MY GARGANTUAN GORGON'S EYE, I WOULD RISE ABOVE THE SHACKLES OF INSUPERIORITY AND SET SUCH A BACKWARDS WORLD STRAIGHT. THE WOMEN WOULD RECOGNIZE ME AS A GOD AND OFFER SACRIFICES OF YOUNG VIRGINS TO SATE MY LUST. HOWEVER, AS THE GIRLS WOULD ONLY LAST SECONDS ON MY STUPENDOUSLY STOUT SPERM-SPITTING SPICHTER-SPLITTER, I WOULD THEN PROCEED TO CRUSH THE CITIES OF THESE PEOPLE ARMED ONLY WITH MY WOMAN PLOW OF DOOM, SENDING MANY A EAGER YOUNG MEN AND WOMEN TO THEIR MESSY, SPERM CLOGGED DEATHS. I GUARANTEE IT.
HI, I'M GEORGE ZIMMER, FOUNDER AND CEO OF MEN'S WEARHOUSE. ON A RECENT BUSINESS TRIP TO TOKYO, I FOUND MYSELF IN A VIDEO ARCADE, WHERE ONE OF THE LOCAL TEENAGE BOYS WAS ATTEMPTING TO MAKE UP FOR HIS UNFATHOMABLY TINY TWAT TACKLE BY PLAYING "DANCE DANCE REVOLUTION" IN FRONT OF A GROUP OF JIGGLY-CHESTED JAPANESE JAILBAIT. SCOFFING AT HIS SCANDALOUSLY SIMPLISTIC SKILLS, I PROCEDED TO LIBERATE MY TWITCHING TESTICULAR TRUNCHEON AND SWING ITS PRECIPITOUS POUNDAGE INTO THE YOUTH'S FACE, CRUSHING HIS SKULL AND FREEING THE MACHINE. I THEN ACHIEVED A RATING OF "AAA" ON THE SONG "MAX 300" USING ONLY THE RAPID RIPPLING OF MY RAUCOUSLY RIGID RAPEROD. NEEDLESS TO SAY, THE WET-PANTIED WOMANLY WATCHERS WERE ALREADY IN THE THROES OF PASSION FROM THE OVERPOWERING SCENT OF MY TORPID TESTOSTERONE TUBE, SO I LET THEM GATHER 'ROUND FOR A GROUP HUG OF THE GARGANTUAN GIRTH OF MY GORGEOUS GUY-GIRDER BEFORE CONQUERING EACH OF THEIR QUIXOTICALLY QUIVERING QUIMS WITH A FURIOUS FOUNTAIN OF FROTHING FUCK-FOAM. MY HIGH SCORE HAS NEVER BEEN BEATEN. I GUARANTEE IT.
HI, I’M GEORGE ZIMMER, FOUNDER AND CEO OF THE MEN’S WAREHOUSE. I AM IMPRESSED THAT SOMEONE SO OBVIOUSLY INCAPABLE OF BIPEDAL MOVEMENT DUE TO THE ENORMOUS ROLLS OF FLESH SURROUNDING YOU IS CAPABLE OF TYPING AT ALL. I HAVE A SET OF TRIPLETS NIBBLING AT MY CARNAL CORNUCOPIA; WHEN I CLIMAX, A DELICIOUS DELUGE OF DONG DROPPINGS WILL BE FLUNG INTO LOW EARTH ORBIT. A TEAM OF SCIENTISTS HIGHLY TRAINED IN THE EROTIC ART OF ALIGNING MY RAPACIOUS RAPE ROCKET WILL ENSURE THAT THIS QUALITY QUIM-CAULK QUINTESSENCE RE-ENTERS THE ATMOSPHERE AIMED EXACTLY AT YOUR ADMITTEDLY AMPLE FRAME. IF THE SIZZLING HEAT OF MY NIAGARA-LIKE TORRENT OF BOILING HOT FERTILITY FLUID DOESN’T KILL YOU, THE FACT YOU’LL BE TOO AROUSED TO DO MORE THAN INHALE IT DEEPLY WHILE TRYING VAINLY TO FIND A WAY TO REACH YOUR IMPRESSIVELY INSIGNIFICANT INCEST INCHWORM WILL. I GUARANTEE IT.
HI, I'M GEORGE ZIMMER, FOUNDER AND CEO OF MEN'S WAREHOUSE. I WAS BROWSING THE INTERNET AFTER RAIDING YOUR MOTHERS CUNT WITH MY TREMENDOUS TWAT TUNNELER, WHEN I SAW 4CHAN FOR THE FIRST TIME. UPON ENTERING /B/, MY MASSIVE MANSNAKE TORE MY IMMACULATELY TAILORED TROUSERS, SMASHED MY COMPUTER MONITOR, AND BATHED THE REMAINS IN A STICKY SEA OF PLEASURE PETROL. INFURIATED, I USED MY TITANIC TICKLEROD TO BREAK DOWN THE DOOR AND HUNTED DOWN YOUR LEADER, MOOT. I FOUND HIM DIVING WITH HIS FRIENDS, AND PLUNGED MY ASS-SEEKING MEATMISSLE INTO HIS UNSUSPECTING PROSTATE. HE THRASHED IN AGONY, THEN IN ECSTASY AS MY POWERFUL PYLON TORE HIS MORTAL BEING IN TWAIN, THEN HE DROWNED IN AN OCEAN OF SEMEN MIXED WITH HIS OWN BLOOD. OBVIOUSLY MISTAKING MY COLLOSAL CUM COLLUMN FOR A SEA ANIMAL, HIS 4CHAN BUDDIES WERE SO CONFUSED THAT THEY CAME BACK AND TOLD YOU RETARDS THAT MOOT WAS EATEN BY A SHARK. I GUARANTEE IT.
HI, I'M GEORGE ZIMMER, FOUNDER AND CEO OF THE MEN'S WEARHOUSE. I KNOW MOST OF YOU PROBABLY ENJOY STAR WARS. WELL, SORRY TO SAY, IT WASN'T LUKE THAT BLEW UP THE DEATH STAR. IT WAS ME AND MY LENGTHY LENGERIE LIGHTSABER. SO I WAS FLYING AROUND IN MY X-WING, SKILLFULLY SHOOTING DOWN ENEMY TIE FIGHTERS, SLOWLY ENGORGING MY VEINY VAGINAL REAPER. EVENTUALLY, MY IMMENSE IMMEASUREABLE INPREGNATOR GREW TOO LARGE TO FIT IN MY SHIP, AND ME AND MY JABBA FLEW OUT INTO SPACE. AS HORNY AS A PEDO AT SWIMMING LESSONS, I FLOATED AROUND LOOKING FOR SOMETHING TO BUST A NUT AND RELIEVE MY LEVIATHAN LOVE LOAF IN. I SPOTTED THE DEATH STAR AND IMMEDIATELY STARTED TO THRUST MY TWAT JOCKEY INTO IT. STROKE AFTER STROKE I STARTED SINGLECOCKEDLY DESTROYING THE EMPIRE'S ULTIMATE WEAPON. AS MY SUPER SPUNK CANNON SLOWLY SWELLED WITH SAC SAUCE, I FLAILED AROUND IN ECSTACY AND HIT DOWN SEVERAL MORE TIE FIGHTERS. MY MIGHTY MEAT MISSLE TWITCHED WITH HAPPINESS AS I QUICKLY FILLED THE DEATH STAR WITH MY FUCK STICK'S FETAL FOOTSOLDIERS, OUTNUMBERING THE ENEMY BY 1000 TO 1. THE FILLING OF THE STRUCTURE WITH MY PECKER PHLEGM CAUSED IT TO EXPLODE LIKE A VIRGIN'S CHERRY ENCOUNTERING MY CERVIX SLAMMER. THUSLY, THE DEATH STAR WAS DESTROYED BY ME, NOT LUKE SKYSCHLONG. I GUARANTEE IT.
HI, I'M GEORGE ZIMMER, FOUNDER AND CEO OF MEN'S WAREHOUSE. BACK WHEN I WAS A FRESHMAN IN MY DAY, ON THE FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL I RAPED 3 YOUNG COYOTE PUPS AND RAVAGED AN ENTIRE GROUP CHEERLEADERS. AND WHEN I WAS FINISHED WITH MY MARVELOUS RAPE RAMPAGE, MY MASSIVE MALICIOUS MOLESTATION MANDABLE UNLEASED A TORRENT OF MY SLIMY STICKY ZIMMER BABY GOO. NO ONE AT THAT SCHOOL HAS BEATEN MY RECORD SINCE, I GUARANTEE IT.