Everybody got a favourites folder. C. Moore got his. You are now privy.
Ain't nowhere C. Moore's without his top butt babes. PC, tablet, AND phone. Babes like Monica. NOOD!!! On a MIRROR! And she's got that 'Oh C. Moore! I didn't expect you home so SOON!' look on her face.
Some fellas get anxious when their butt babes are 'unknown'. Who is she? Can anyone ID pleeease? blah blah blah. Like they're gonna find their emails or f***books or titters and get to know them or something. You cannot imagine the enormity of the f*** I do not actually give whether I KNOW butt babes names or whether I don't. Don't be asking me for names, addresses or star signs.
When C. Moore's lottery numbers come up there's gonna be a new gym in Rio. Hot butt females ONLY and C. Moore's in charge of whether you qualify or whether you don't. The interview looks something like this, with C. Moore off-camera doing something classed as obscene in most cultures. She here is DEFINITELY in.
C. Moore loves rear double biceps and glootz squeezed tight.
ÜBER GLOOTZ! Fanny and Gilly are two women who can make C. Moore miss his train and wake up dishevelled when the toilet attendant bangs on the door to say they are closing. Or make C. Moore realise he's spent more than twice the length of his scheduled lunch hour doing things company policy doesn't exactly FORBID, but frowns upon nonetheless. Hypnotic glootage 'par excellence'.
More post-lottery win activity with Dianne Solomons perfect glootz and perfect everything in FULL noodity, beckoning C. Moore to follow her into the waves. Grim reaper take note. If you want C. Moore to follow, THIS is how it's done.
Gentlemen, it has been a pleasure.