>>16590605>>16590623They all poop normally, though.
Meanwhile, Kevin Nash's rectal walls flutter like a windsock and gas passing through it makes sounds like a foghorn. He charges rent for storage and can hold a Sherman tank inbetween his glutes. His asscheeks pucker and bead with sweat when BET is on his televison. His butthole has seen more cockends than weekends. His shitting tubes act as an incubator for Tyrone's buttbaby. He hasn't had what medical science classifies as a normal bowel movement in years, what with all the dildoes, bundt cake, and various shapes of Jordan sneakers he has had shoved up there resulting in his colon being able to produce what can be described as slurry crap frapèe's. It quivers at all the Diddy parties it had ran on it and through it over the years and the mere smell of baby oil sends it into a convulsing tizzy of anticipation. In order to maintain his rectal webbings tightness, Nash has resorted to lodging neck rings up his ass used by the South Ndebele peoples of Africa after being inspired by all the old copies of National Geographic's he used to goon to. Even the ghost of Don King has taken residence up Nash's shitpipe and every so often pops his head out to shout "ONLY IN AMERICA!" Each and every one of Nash's sphincter rings has been blown out like Firestone tires and has a permanent coating of Tyrone's jizz to replace the mucosal lining. The average hotdog machine will have 547'500 wieners in it and traps 4'277 gallons of juice in it during its lifetime, just like Nash's asshole...except the juice is composed of Compton baby batter. Nash's crap chasm has been declared to be in a state of emergency by the W.H.O. since 1992 and its semen retention capacity is at Defcon 3 status. Blown out, shredded, and a frap-blap-dapadoo'd balloon knot, Nash hasn't taken a normal shit in decades. That-that's about it. Your tears are delicious, Wolfbitch.
