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Cute High Ying Yang Babies

Cute High Ying Yang Babies


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Cute High Ying Yang Babies Description

Cute High Ying Yang Babies, Cute High Ying Yang Babies Games, Play Cute High Ying Yang Babies Games

Right, this needs to go over with the other stuff. Ken. For ‘s sake, Spud, I did it yesterday. Thank you, Ken. Thank you, Prosser. Come on, lads Game You’re in here with the medic and the med store. HQ, mortar pit. Go on then, sign ’em out Game There’s about sixteen odd here at Athens. Seven, eight, up at Normandy. That’s it. Stay on marked tracks. Enjoy. Well, the clinical term is dick rot. Was it anyone nice? Four, actually. All delightful. Bastard. Right, put it away. You gotta be careful flashing it about this lot. What is it? Long time on the hill. Gungy mortars? The rumours are true, pal. Not that they’d go near that rancid thing. Yeah. From Nog Gorman. Happy birthday. He says make sure you save ’em till the big day. When’s that? Seventh. Why, what are we now? Unlucky, pal. Fifth. that. I’m not waiting two days. You taking heat up here? Nah, I get more contact when my bird’s on the rag. I mean it were busy for a bit but Terry’s pissed off back to Sangin. We own all this high ground. Out of small arms range. A few Chinese rockets, bit of boom boom in the valley, but that’s it. Lucky cos we’re out of ammo. Nah, boredom or ANA’ll get you before Terry does. Right. Jonesy, yeah? Yeah. Antibiotics, anti-inflammatories. Take one of each before each meal. Run the course. Give the pin dick a bit of R and R, yeah? Stop staring at my arse, you throbber. What’s the hurry, hat? Aye up, lads, budgie express inbound. Er, wind direction please, Private Harvey. I do know this guy, right? Out of the west, Private Smith. Er, yeah. OK, I’m, er Game I’m dead. I’m a man. I’m British. I’ve got a beard. We think. We think. I, er, killed a king and I’m not Guy Fawkes. Who didn’t kill anyone. For ‘s sake, Stu mate. er! It’s like watching a retard trying to a doorknob. I thought you knew your history. Just guess, will you, before I slit my wrists. Am I anything to do with King Arthur? No. You got three guesses and then it’s five bines for mush. This is a stitch-up. Hey, rules is rules. Right, Stu? When you’re wounded and left on Afghanistan’s plains

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