I've only got a few minutes to tell you my gruesome story, so I'll try to be brief. There I was, fraught with buzz, standing on your mother's porch in my briefs, sneezing at the pollen perfume and regretting the lump of Gouda in my briefs, nestled betwixt splayed testicles, underneath my astoundingly large bag. The cheese was wet, you see, sweating its grease around and through my briefs, and the breeze was surely going to freeze the bejeezus out of my wang and thangs. And then she opened the door and smiled, and reached for my briefs, and I thought I'd be brought relief by her teef of my cheese, thus allowing the breeze to dry what was now dribbling down my thigh. (Such a large bag, and such large dollops of heat and sweat adorning it, despite my general chill -- oh!) But no -- her reach moved to deek, and your chief yanked the briefs round the back, and I screeched -- I screeched! She laughed and sighed, and snapped back inside, and there I stood with a wedgie...what a tease! And the cheese -- smooshed all around, I must say did please, although I was still cold as a motherfucker. So I banged on the door again. Jesus.