Juicy Poone Mug

Having lost the physical, mental, and moral qualities considered normal and desirable, this once-woman is the most stunningly appalling, disgusting, horrid creature to roam the face of the planet. This bitch is a shocking, heinous, harrowing, vile, shameful, unforgivable, unpardonable CUNT. The following anecdote scratches the surface of what tapping this Medusa entails: There once was a girl named Carmen; The bugs on her twat were a swarmen; Nevertheless, I put my dick to the test; And NOW the sores are ALARMIN. To Whit, when you meet a Juicy Poone at the bar, or the nightclub, the lights might be just dim enough to suggest to you that it may somehow be acceptable to take the Juicy Poone home for an innocent night in your personal rumpus room. You may find yourself tempted to take it home and show it your etchings or lithographs. Hold it right there, Old Sport. Get a hold of yourself. If you fall into the Juicy Poone's trap, and wind up at your place, your dick will take a look and be instantly transmogrified into a pillar of fucking SALT. Woe unto you then, for it is too late. "Things fall apart, the center cannot hold," and your best friend, Mr. Happy, falls right the fuck off. And he shatters on the floor. Game over, you have fallen victim to the venereal charms of the Juicy Poone. With a gaze "blank and pitiless as the sun," the Juicy Poone moves its slow thighs" and slithers out the mother fucking door, back to the bar to claim another unwary traveler.