“Shit. Hits. Fan,” Bob muttered, wiping pussy juice from his chin with a filthy rag and pulling his coveralls over his rampant cock before turning...to face Richard’s raging storm. “Are you shitting me, Bob? Are you fucking shitting me, Bob?” Bob didn’t answer. “What do I pay you for, you fat fuck? What do I fucking pay you for?” “Fixing cars.” “That’s fucking right. Fixing fucking cars.” Dick looked round the office in a deranged manner. “I don’t see no fucking cars in here.” He went over to. It was a fact that most of the f****y tolerated only slightly. Folks could be heard wondering aloud why Kendra would bring along someone ‘like that’. Around the barbecue pit, Kendra defended herself saying, “He has no real f****y and thinks of me like an aunt. Jesus said, ‘Whatever you did for the least of these, you did unto me.’” One fifty year-old relative with a nice stocky build chortled, “That’s true! He just ain’t getting’ no dick down here.” “Damn right, Unc,” a cousin chuckled. All the. More

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