There was a scream from a child, close enough to boil the fear pent up inside, yet far enough away nothing could be done. The air was thick with tense nerves, and big breasted Midwestern women, ready to break down, and burst those bussum bonds, and give satisfaction to a gravity thus denied. The moment was coming to a head, and as the debris left by the raging force of wind and rain, some call a t
ornado, while others call the finger of an unholy god, was being carted away. A panic built upon the ruin of many a cheap beers drank, and a mountain of schwag w**d engulfed. The end of the third day, the last and final day approached, and a venerable trove of loveless canned liquid libations remained. None would be left behind, none could be. It was this realization that prompted the first of many manic, yet fruitless solo attempts to consume, the unconsumable, to imbibed the unimbibeable. All met with prompt and utter defeat. It was not a lack of conviction, or nerve that proved to be our undoing,or inexperience at such collegiate tasks, all were well versed. Never had so few, come up against so many, save maybe those 300 brave Spartans, or General Custer and his last stand. We brave souls, on that night, the 18th of July in the year of our lord 2010, in the northern plains of Wisconsin decided to make our last stand. We decided to fight our liquid foe head on, and consume his soul once and for all. It was just by chance that the idea, like an unexpected grab to the crotch from a beautiful women, hit me. My mind started to reel, and I saw a light at the end of this tunnel. Time was not on our side, but it might just work. I took one of the their foot soldiers in my hand (a Milwaukee Beast if I recall), and punctured a hole deep inside. All looked upon me as if I had gone mad. Surely this would not work, it had been tried. It couldn't be done, not with so many. It was then my inspiration struck them. I slowly turned our foe over, covering his wound, and puncturing another. I beckoned for one of our fierce Amazonians to put her supple lips upon his wound, and then I lifted my own war weary lips to the other side. We, together, as one, dispatched this pathetic excuse of an intoxicant in less time then it took for the sexual innuendos to pour out upon us. No sooner had we finished then my brothers and sisters in arms took up the fight. In an o**y or lips and knives, sucking, and crushing, spitting up, and swallowing. We had won, and depleted the once formidable force. The night was ours, and as the fires of victory grew, so too did the unimaginable lust that can only follow a victory such as ours. Slumber came as the glorious sun began to peek her face, and burn away the triumphs and tragedies of the night gone by.
!!Shot-gun-duet, because two sexy sisters sucking down a beer, is way hotter than one!!
