**UPDATED FOR YOUR LULZING PLEASURE. I GUARANTEE IT.**
HI, I'M GEORGE ZIMMER, FOUNDER AND CEO OF THE MEN'S WEARHOUSE. I'D LIKE TO TAKE A MOMENT OF YOUR TIME TO EXPLAIN THE TRAGIC EVENTS OF DECEMBER 8TH, 2005. YOU SEE, A SOUTHWEST AIRLINES JET DID NOT CRASH INTO A CAR IN CHICAGO, BUT MY THROBBING PALADIAN PHALLIC FETUS FORCER'S BABY SPACKLE. I WAS STANDING AT GATE B22 WHEN A TALL, LEGGY BLONDE BABE BOMBSHELL OF A CUSTOMER SERVICE AGENT BENT OVER TO ASSIST A CRIPPLED CHINESE CHILD IN A WHEELCHAIR. MY WONDERFULLY WICKED WOMAN WOOING WONDER WEINER BEGAN TO AWAKEN FROM IT'S SPLENDED STUPOR, TEARING MY TIGHTLY TAILORED SUPREME SUITPANTS THAT I HAD JUST FLOWN IN FROM YOUR MOTHER'S HOUSE IN TUCSON APART. WAITING PASSENGERS BEGAN TO GASP IN AWE AT THE GIRTH OF MY GOOD FRIEND. SHE SPUN AROUND TO SEE WHAT THE COMOTION WAS, AND SLAMMED HEAD FIRST INTO MY PULSATING PUD, LEAVING AN IMPRESSION FROM HER MESSY MAKEUP ON MY SIZEABLE SCHLONG. I IMMEDIATELY THREW HER TO THE FLOOR, RIPPED OPEN HER KHAKAI PANTS AND BEGAN TO MASSAGE MY MONSTER-SIZED MEAT MISSLE INTO HER LIQUIID-COVERED LACE-PANTY LAIDEN LOVEHOLE. SHE SCREAMED LOUDER THAN THE PASSENGERS ON UNITED 585, AND SECONDS LATER I DRENCHED HER IN A TORRENTIAL TESTICULAR TSUNAMI THAT SLAMMED THROUGH THE GLASS WINDOWS OF CHICAGO-MIDWAY AIRPORT, FLYING DOWN RUNWAY 13C, BREAKING DOWN THE BLAST BARRIERS, AND INTO THE CAR ON SOUTH CENTRAL AVENUE, DROWNING A CHILD IN MY SALTY SUCCULENT SEWING SEEDS. AS I TURNED SIDEWAYS, MY ACREAGE OF FLESH FLUNG A SITTING SOUTHWEST, SHOVING IT DOWN THE RUNWAY LIKE A HORDE OF WOMEN TO MY GARGANTUAN MEAT TRAIN, COVERING ANY EVIDENCE OF MY SEXUAL ESCAPADE. I GUARANTEE IT.
