Lucknow Bhabhi Fucked By A Postman
Rockie could hear the concussive sound of the two skulls colliding, and then watched as both agents fell limply onto the gravel shoulder and rolled down the embankment into a culvert. “JR…,” She yelled, running toward him, “What have you done?”“Stay back Rockie,” he told her. His attention had been drawn to an unmistakable sound about ten feet from where the unconscious agents were laying.“There’s an angry rattlesnake down here that I need to deal with.”She stopped at the back end of the Corvair. “Oh God, JR, be careful.”JR slowly descended the embankment until he reached the agents. He kept his eyes on the coiled rattler while he felt around on the web belt of the first agent he came to, searching for the assault baton he expected to be there. Instead, he found an old wooden Billy Club. Grinning because it further validated his suspicions, he removed it from the ring holding it.He slowly approached the agitated rattlesnake with the club extended in front of him. He could see that. “Yeah, this week has been too crazy. Because working 60 hours last week wasn’t enough, he gives me enough work to keep me there for 70 this week. Are you sure this is what we signed up for?” I asked as I went to change out of my work clothes into jeans and a cami. “We’re livin’ the dream, my dear,” she said with a cheesy fake grin. “So I went and got that dank – like Thurgood Jenkins says, ‘it smells like the bomb’ so let’s get this going. Got blunt?” “Got weed?” We laughed and I sat down to roll it up. This is how it is between us. Fairly removed from the whole stereotypical “pothead” culture, we find it somewhat rebellious and definitely hilarious to sort of immerse ourselves into that culture. Quoting Half Baked and How High? are just part of it; when we smoke, we jam out to Ben Harper, Bob Marley, and Phish. We watch trashy reality television and smash on anything other than the salads we eat all week long. We both can, and do, discuss issues ranging from classical Greek.
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