Kevin Nash had a gaggle of googly-mooglies shag, screw, ass-tap, bone, bang, boink, Zimbabwe'd, pork, trombone, knock boots, bake their potatos, buttered his biscuit, put bread in his oven, groped his trout up his particular river, did squat thusts in his cucumber patch, ground his corn, planted their parsnip, played the clown at the bedroom rodeo, took his old one eye to the black optometrist, fucked, shagged, boned, banged, boinked, screwed, nailed, shtupp'd, balled, rutted, scored, smashed, bumped uglies, matrimonially polka'd, horizontal tango'd, conquered his dark pink fortress, did multi-person pushups, assaulted him with a friendly weapon with a bit of the old in out, did hot yoga, parallel parked, bow chick a wow wow'd, bushwacked, chesterfielded, crushed his buns, dipping their wick, did balls deep exploring his his hidden valley, hit a home run, cleaned his cobwebs in the womb room, rode his bony express, opened the gates of his Mordor, Slytherined his Hufflepuff, christened his yak, dug up his sand crab, bent him over a barrel, harpooned his salty longshoreman, jammed his clam, waka waka'd, wet their willeis, used their telescopes to explore his black hole, wiggled their tooth-picks torpedoed their eels, sent emails to his spam folder, soured their krauts. splooge bathed, wam bam thank you maam'd, tipping their velvets, pee pee friction pleasured, and took their black skinboats to Nash's tuna town asshole in the smoldering hot summer of 1992. He was raped in a 24 hour straight ooga-booga African tribal fuckfest that would make
LegalPorno.com do a double take and has Belladonna asking Nash for tips to this day.
Wolfie and all his "Friends" knows it too.
