“You could have fucked me ’til your uncut, overexposed on the blogs, ‘too ginormous for my snatch’ pecker fell off. And I’d still no way never ever in a thousand years sell, loan, sample you my Easton. And to answer your question, I run my company with my pussy, and twenty-four other pussy-sporting employees. Easton girls do not allow dickheads or cocks in our fashion world. Period.”

“We may paint our faces. We may fuck around. But pussy-ass bitches here wont be found. My homies stand behind me all the way. My true family and forever we'll stay. Don't fuck with me, cause they got my back. Where do your friends go, when they know you can't hack? Do they stay and help? Fuck no, they run! Back to their mommies while we have our fun. My juggalo family, we don't fuck around. So tell me this now, are you down with the clown?”

“You want me?” he breathed. “You want my mouth on your pussy, sucking it until you scream, or my cock back inside it? Tell me how you need it, and I’ll give it to you.”

“Spare me. You don’t kiss period. But look at you. My, my, my. Aside from your bashed up face, you’re glowing. I haven’t seen you look happy in years.” Taddy studied her from top to bottom. “He slammed your pussy, didn’t he?” Taddy gunned for an answer. “The longtime Miss Prudence of Prudeville, my frigid friend, the “Big AppleStarved for Sex” got her McIntosh plucked. Or should I say fucked and made into apple sauce.”

“Actually, I wouldn't mind a Malibu and coke.""You're having a fucking pint.""Is my choice of drink too gay for you?""Malibu and coke is a pussy drink. Last I heard you were strictly anti-pussy.”

“With trembling hands, Zach opened the front cover and flipped to the dedication page. "To Zachary Easton, my editor. Fuck you.”